Summertime and the Livin' is Easy

Last Saturday the spousal unit and I drove down to Newbury MA to watch our son Adam play in a Vintage Base Ball Game. (http://www.vbba.org/ if you are interested) To be honest it was a mixture of unrealistic expectations or bait & switch, as we expected to see our grandchildren but were trumped by Princess and Superhero Camps.

The game was held on an historic farm and played in a field with corn and vegetable plantings marking the center field and right field borders. The players wore authentic 1860's uniforms and play by 1860's rules. The woolen uniforms were particularly cozy as temperatures and humidity flirted with the triple digit marks. Rules prohibit eye protection but not sunscreen. This was a "beer" game in that one of the sponsors for the event was the "Ipswich Brewery". Parked near the field was a vintage 1948 Dodge Route Truck, fully restored to its glory and fitted with about a dozen taps on the drivers side side panel. Beer was free but there was a tip jar accepting modern 2011 currency.

After the game, which the Newtown Sandyhooks succomed to the local Essex team 11-8, there was a Barbecue celebrating the 20th anniversary of the brewery and the restoration of a historic barn. This barn was built in 1775, a year before the declaration of independence. A grant was recently obtained for the restoration and evidently this event was the first one since completion. From my perspective the restoration was quite authentic including the green head flies that bite and the 1775 air conditioning system, consisting of perspiration running down the small of your back with not even a whisper of a breeze.

The food was quite good. Five courses of barbecue including smoked wings, pulled pork, KC Ribs and fixings. Each course had a different brew to taste. (Note taste. If the revelers had drank full flagons of each brew, we would still be at the farm!) From lagers to ales to an oatmeal stout with desert. Adam even managed to get the window open behind him, much to his mother's delight.

There are pleasures in life that catch you by surprise and leave with you a memory worth sharing. Our Newbury Saturday was one such. Thank you Adam for inviting us to share a hot, sweaty delightful summer outing. Maybe someday you too can have a beer truck of your own.

Tap Dancing Grannies and Strangers Funerals

The Spousal Unit and I had went for a bike ride to Litchfield NH and included in our route the Litchfield Strawberry festival. At the festival was a troupe of tap dancing Grannies. The average age must have been 60 or better. They were not quite the Rockettes, but I doubt seriously if the Rockettes have more fun that these ladies rendition of "Play Me Some Mountain Music". White cowboy hats and red square dancing outfits and big smiles.

I sing with a group of Hospice volunteers called the Wellspring Singers. We routinely go to the Hospice House and nursing homes to bring live music to those nearing the end of their journey. We were asked to sing at a memorial service for a lady that had been served by the singers during her stay at the Hospice House.

Sitting at a memorial for someone you do not know is an interesting window into a life now gone. A husbands gratitude for 70 years of marriage. Three daughters testimony of how valuable in life the mandatory chores and cooking lessons had been. A grandson remembering how she had altered her routine to help him get a rare poster of the band Rush and comforted him when a second grandson shoved him out of the number one position in the order of things. A local politician that could not in his own good conscience resist the opportunity to speak in front of a captive audience.

In the space of three hours I went from the dancing Grannies to one that got away. I am reminded on this Father's Day how precious the days are; how even the simplest things can make a big impression on others; that "Dance like no one is watching" is good advice even when people are watching; and most important, attitude is the most powerful personal attribute to keep one on course and guide the way for others.

I think I will learn to tap dance.

Just when you think you have it figured out!

I turned 60 this March 29. (Thank you, thank you...hold your applause please.) I am happy with my life and have become comfortable in my own skin. I have felt like I have learned many of the fundamental skills necessary to make it in this world. Until....I came across this video from Ted.com. I realize now there is so much more out there. Enjoy.

http://blog.ted.com/2011/05/20/how-to-tie-your-shoes-terry-moore-on-http://www.blogger.com/img/blank.gifted-com/

Confirmed Kill!

No odor! No Chemicals! Sheer power!

Exploring Venus

From time to time my sense of humor leaves a trail of misunderstandings and even bruised relationships when others do not see the hilarity that is so obvious to me. I have the awful habit of picking my fingers, leaving my cuticles ragged and often bloody. On more than one occasion I have commented to my spousal unit that I need a manicure.

On my most recent birthday, she presented me with a gift certificate to get a manicure and pedicure. The mere thought of going into an environment so saturated with estrogen was a little more than unnerving. I was caught between the emotions of, "No way in @#%#$! (insert epithet of your choice here)" and "You are not serious, are you?" She was.

I am serious about giving honor in relationships. To reject the gift dishonors the giver. I squirmed, sweat a little and said "Thank you very much." I had travel plans soon after the gift so I got a stay of execution for a couple of weeks. My reprieve ended today.

Walking into the salon like a man condemned, I was very aware of the eyes following me to the vibrating throne with a foot-bath below. I had forgotten to change my glasses when getting out of the car, so I sat with my dark aviators on, feet soaking in blue water feeling very conspicuous.
After about 10 minutes that seemed like hours, Holly arrived. Holly is from Viet Nam and speaks very little English. She holds up a menu with my options for treatment and I said in my best English spoken to someone who understands little English, "I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT I WANT". She looked over to her left like an NFL quarterback to where the spousal unit sat smirking and getting a manicure, and got the signal. "Number 4, hold the polish on 2--Break!"

Thus began the adventure of clipping, filing, rubbing and massaging that I have to admit felt really nice. I was too uncomfortable to talk to the other patrons and conversation with Holly did not seem to have potential so I did what I do best. I let my mind wander.

I looked around at the brown faces sitting at white feet giving service. My first thought was that this is not right. How unfair. Until I realized that when Holly was but a child her homeland was in ruins, her future dismal. For some reason, her people determined to offer service to those in our country who can pay. Because she is willing to wash feet, she has food, clothing and shelter in the most fascinating nation on the planet.

As she labored to lavish care on my feet, it was humbling to sit there and let her serve me. Granted this was an economic exchange, but the experience was challenging to my soul nonetheless. For my thoughts went to another who washed feet. His was not an economic exchange, but humbling just the same. I could understand why one would say, "You are not washing my feet!" I had those feelings today.

To wash ones feet, and do it well requires a focus and attention and prostration. I cannot imagine that it could be accomplished standing up. It is dirty work. She clipped and scraped dead skin and made a mess with her ointments and goo. As I watched her perform her duties my admiration and respect for her grew. She worked hard, she did good work. She was focused, focused on me, on my feet. Once again humbling.

When I entered the Venusian lair I was uncomfortable and out of place. I confess that when I was done I wasted no time getting out of there. I think now that the gift was much greater than the treatment received. Watching Holly go about her business, thinking about her life, her history and the world we live in stopped me cold. My life is narrow at times. I do what I do and in my own way serve people. Today I got to experience being served in a way that that was new. It took me to a place I would never have gone. Reminded me of one long ago who too served by washing feet, asking for nothing in return but to pass it on.

The Urge to Kill

March 29, 2011. I am a peaceful man. A tradition in our house is that on your birthday, you get to specify the menu and activities for the day. We sat down on our back patio to a platter of barbecue spare ribs, pinto beans, garlic mashed potatoes and cole slaw. It is hard to imagine a more perfect day with a more perfect companion and meal until we had an uninvited guest--Da, Da, Daaah!. THE FLY!

No ordinary fly this, but one that had impeccable timing, coordination and speed. I lift my fork--he lights on my cheek. I try the napkin slap he launches to the left. A worthy adversary, no doubt. I even tried the old towel pop technique, but as he swiftly dodged the damp missile I could almost hear his high pitched mocking snicker as he jetted around our feast while I fumed.

I did not let the pest ruin our birthday feast, but I did make a personal commitment to become a man of violence. That's right. I have declared war. The intruder has gone one step too far. The fly must die!

As in any military operation the build up of arms and personnel is critical to the ultimate success of the mission. On a shopping venture to Carefree we stopped at the local armory. Acres of goods from around the world at my disposal. I ask the clerk where I could find the necessary equipment to launch my offensive. She did not know. (I am convinced that if WalMart is the future of American retail it is no wonder we are floundering. But that is another blog for another day.)

Finally the commander of the armory(the manager)led me to the right location in a discrete location amidst the many shelves of chemical weapons, I found it. The ultimate weapon. In the words of the manufacturer, it "is the ultimate tool in your arsenal of bug killing weapons". Exactly the kind of power I need. Plus, this incredible advanced technology is green! "No chemicals, no odors, sheer power!"

Plus, if I ever break this incredible weapon, the manufacturer will replace it for free--guaranteed! I am sure that this will set me back financially. After all, whoever develops such environmentally advanced lethal technology must be a profiteering arms merchant. But no--this incredible device cost only 98 cents!

Behold The Black Flag Super Swatter! With MAXIMUM SNAP!


Should this operation receive media coverage and reports come from the front lines, be assured that this is a family blog and any disturbing images will be fully disclosed with adequate warning.

My New Convertible (sort of)

As you know we spend time during the winter months in Arizona. As I am sure is common among most people, we daydream and speculate about what we should do and other things that probably won't happen. Over the past few years we have been processing the thorny issue of transportation.

Last year we gave our trusty old Volvo to Josh with the intention of replacing it. As we evaluated our lives we asked the question, "Could we get by with one car?" Surprisingly enough the answer is yes. In fact we get by quite nicely. It requires planning and organization--Ginger does most of that--but it works. Sometimes when I tell friends that we have only one car, they look at me like I have a third eye or something. It just isn't normal,I guess, but I have always thought normal was overrated.

Anyway, during our fantasy period of thinking about what car to buy, we thought a convertible would be nice in New Hampshire in the summer and AZ in the winter. Sounds reasonable. But we didn't buy another car.

Enter plan B. We decided to get bikes. It was our Christmas present this year. It has been a lot of fun. As for performance, they get 1 mile per 15o-170 calories. Top speed so far is 23 MPH downhill. We have joined a bike club and are meeting some serious bike junkies. Also when we run errands here on our bikes, the $3.60 per gallon fuel in my trusty Murano stays in my Murano. Over all it is good.

More important, we are learning that we can write our own script. The beauty of life in this free country is that you can be creative in how you live it. Gotta go now. Bike club is going for a ride at 8 AM.