And then came Emma…

Little Emma napping. Already, she and her grandpa share a common interest.

Here I come, a grandfather laden with photos.

Attached please find two suitable-for-framing shots of my new (Friday, May 4) granddaughter, Emma.  The date explains why there was no post last week; grandpa was too busy the following Monday hustling around St. Paul, MN doing Emma’s (and her parent’s) bidding.  (There might also be the small issue of Emma’s grandfather not being able to figure out his new iPhone.)

There are no bumper stickers or web sites or ballads about Emma.  Due to the surreal nature of this 6 lb., 4 oz. development, the creative department is already behind in product R&D.  No doubt all grandparents consider their grandchildren worthy of a brand name, but I like little Emma just the way she is.  If her fame spreads no further than the thin corridor between her nursery in St. Paul and my place in Charlotte, that’s okay with me.

Emma and grandpa on Emma Day One. She’s a regular little cutie.

There was no letter last week; what appears below is what was sent in the excited run up before Emma’s birth.  One note of disclosure: since my printer was on the fritz, the letter was emailed for the first time since the kids went overseas during college.  Reid called me out on it; “This email business isn’t going to cut it. Please mail next week. “

You got it, kid.

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May 1, 2012

Ellen/Reid: At breakfast this morning, I watched the bluebirds continuously – every two or three minutes – feed their two or three hungry little offspring in the nesting box.  I can’t quite see the quantity of babies as they jostle and stretch their necks as the parents arrive with food.  It’s relaxing to watch the birds come and go.  Only now do I read that the ‘experts’ advise against affixing a nesting box to trees lest predacious snakes and squirrels zero in on the fledglings as easy meals.  But where else are you supposed to put it?  Well, the birds found it and are using it and that’s what matters.  Three deer wandered through this morning until a couple of yappy Beagles up and scared them away.

Reid, I’m interested in how the job thing is going.  We seem to face some of the same issues in the workplace, and I’ve resolved to let things roll off my back and adopt a little cheerier disposition.  That seems to be making a difference for me.  This has helped since my late-in-life realization that the only controllable thing is me.

Your uncle called yesterday, in part to check on you, Ellen, and it’s the first time we’ve talked in a few weeks.  The final remnants of your grandparent’s basement are being cleared out, and he was interested if I was interested in anything.  About the only item of note to me was your grandfather’s old manual Royal typewriter.  But if the antique came down here, what would I do with it?  It would be left to you guys to deal with at some point so I just let it go.  I recall changing out the ribbons on the thing years and years ago when I was attempting to write high school papers and such.  I’ve had my fill of that clunky old beast.  Hard to believe at the end of next month it will be two years since your grandfather’s passing.  I miss him and think of him often.

My weekend was a hodgepodge of golf and filing papers.  I just got sick of having stacks and stacks of papers lying around, unfiled and unorganized.  My Saturday night was watching baseball and sorting through the stacks over a couple of beers.  All of the stuff isn’t filed as of yet but I’m getting there.  Having a shredder nearby has made a world of difference.  I walked a hilly golf course on Sunday by myself and had a good time, and shot pretty well, if you think 81 is shooting pretty well.

The Bridger trip is coming around a little slower than I’d hoped for.  We have some scheduling issues that we have to work around, and that’s okay.  Trying to herd everyone is just one of the challenges.  I’ll still make the trip, but it’s anyone’s guess as to how many will make it with me.  I’m still hoping for 3-4.  It’s exciting to think about and look forward to.

Ellen, my bags have yet to be packed for the trip north to see my granddaughter (and you guys, too) but once the call comes I’ll book the flight online, shove stuff in a carry on and race out the door.  (Reid, we’ll make similar arrangements for you.)  Betsy and Bob, and Felicia, too, have offered a ride but I’ll probably just motor out to the airport and park it in long term.  My guess is I’ll stay in Minnesota for 3-4 days or until my welcome wears out.  What was it that Ben Franklin said, ‘Guests, like fish, go bad in two days.’  Without Googling it, I think that’s pretty close.  You get the drift.

Alright, time’s up and I’m outta here.  See you guys in pretty short order.  Better make sure my camera batteries are fully charged.

Waiting for “the call”

Sometime this week, “the call” will be made and I’ll hop a plane to St. Paul to meet my granddaughter.  She apparently is in no particular rush to meet her new world.  My prediction as to the day she would arrive was April 24.  Her grandfather is short on predictive powers.

Footnote to last week: The Swallowtail caterpillar must’ve made a dandy meal for some predator.  He/she is nowhere to be seen.

————–

Here is last week’s letter – the first in the past 7-8 years to be emailed since my *&#$%@ printer ran out of ink.

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April 24, 2012

Ellen/Reid: I can hardly stand all this waiting.  She will come when she’s good and ready, and not before.  So much for the passed-along family trait of early children as exhibited by the kind-of-early entry of both of you rascals.  A load of wash will have to go through this night so as to be ready to pack.  The bag isn’t out yet but I know where it is and it can be packed in a flash.  This is just so exciting.  Just think if it was triplets or quadruplets or something more than that.  You could syndicate a TV reality show and get free diapers and formula.  Unfortunately, it’s when those stop that the real expenses begin.  And yes, Ellen, the third installment of the Hunger Games comes with me.  Reid, you’re gonna be known as “Unca’ Reid.”  Better get used to it.

Cold and blustery down here the last couple of days.  Not very hospitable for the tomato plant but the lettuce must love it.  The herbs want it warmer too but the temps are forecast to be in the 70s and 80s later in the week so they will just have to deal with it.  The lettuce harvest is in full swing and the salads are scrumptious.  I’ve concocted a homemade vinaigrette dressing of olive oil, garlic, balsamic vinegar and soy sauce which is pretty good.  Since potatoes are on the banned list of high-carb foods, lettuce is filling the bill although not quite filling me up.

In another bit of good gardening news, some volunteer parsley sprang up of its own volition on the south side of the porch in the pine straw.  Must have been random seeds from the plants yanked out in the fall once they died away.  It offers me a measure of redemption because last year I summarily executed a horde of caterpillars found munching on the parsley.  Only after the extermination did I see, to my discomfort, that I had offed what would become beautiful Swallowtail butterflies.  I’ve often rued the massacre but now there is a chance to atone.  A single Swallowtail caterpillar is now on one of the plants, eating his/her way through the leafs.  He/she will stay undisturbed where he/she is and I will pamper the plants with daily watering and regular fertilizing so as to be in peak condition when the real swarm of Swallowtail larvae arrives this summer.  I’m not altogether sure how the singular worm got here (was he/she a surviving egg from the discarded plants?).  I’ll take photos of the cocoons as the worms fashion their metamorphosis cages.

I’ve also been watching with interest the blue birds fight off nest-robbing chickadees and Carolina wrens hell-bent on taking over the nesting box.  The male blue bird ain’t gonna let that happen.  He zooms in at the first hint that other birds are threatening the box.  Kind of fun to watch.  The blue birds must have fledglings because they cart food to the box as often as they catch something.

Reid, you are on the right track in looking at other options within Razorfish.  The firm seems to be on pretty solid footing.  Just keep your chin up and attitude good and you’ll come out just fine.  People do ask what you do and I still struggle to adequately explain it.

No real change with Felicia’s son.  He’s still with her, and if he remains clean for the next 10 days or so he can return to the recovery house in Asheville that he bolted from a few weeks ago.  It’s strain on her to be sure.  I’m thankful you guys are like you are.  Things could always be worse.

I’m emailing this today because my printer is on the fritz.  Actually, it’s out of ink so it’s the owner that is on the fritz.

I’ll see you all in a matter of days.  What a combo: a welcoming party and reunion wrapped up in one cute little bundle.

The massacre of the Swallowtails

Last year, I massacred at least two dozen Swallowtail butterfly caterpillars in a single senseless act of butchery.  Their execution was swift: each was squished underfoot.  They never had a chance to emerge in all their fluttering glory.  Their wingspans  were denied flight.   Brazen cruelty grounded these little winged aviators before they could grace  our airspace with their beauty.

A Swallowtail caterpillar makes his/her way along a parsley stem. Unlike last year when this worm's relatives were massacred, the visiting bugs will be allowed to stay and eat to their heart's content. I'll do all I can to help them thrive.

Their capital offense? Munching my rarely used and mostly decorative parsley plant.  Parsley is one of the Swallowtail’s preferred food sources.   The plant looks good only – if then – as window dressing on a plate and is hardly worthy of protection.  My cruelty became remorse within minutes of the carnage while Googling to see what predacious bugs I had just slaughtered.  The full color image of the very worms I had pressed flat moments before show that rather than be treated as invaders, these were to be cherished and fed and allowed to mature.  But no.  I took the low road.   Early this spring parsley was very nearly planted again in hopes the winged glories might favor my porch garden pots again.

And they have.  Even though it is the cool of April, a lone Swallowtail caterpillar just this day is inching his/her way along the stem of one of two volunteer parsley plants as it enjoys dining priveleges its forbears never had.  Miraculousy, and with no help from me, two parsley plants have sprouted to the side of my porch.  I will protect these plants with daily surveillance and routine fertilization.  These twin parsleys will become the Ritz of parsley plants for visiting Swallowtails.

I say this because this is how I hope Ellen and Reid will treat such living things.  My atonement is certainly fodder for today’s letter (alas, yet to be composed) and as is the routine, it will be posted next week.  In the meantime, if I could fashion a “Welcome” sign that is legible to Swallowtails and plunk it in the ground adjacent to the parsley, I would.

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Now to the bigger, more immediate news: The countdown for the birth of Ellen and Tim’s baby girl is now in earnest.

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April 17, 2012

Ellen/Reid: Wow, Ellen, now the clock is ticking and it’s even picking up speed.  Who knows, by the time this letter arrives, your little wonder may be already among us.  My phone is on and at the ready for “the call.”  Nothing is packed yet, and probably won’t be until you sound the ‘Come to St. Paul’ alert.  The chair looks great, and the upstairs is almost unrecognizable.  That will be so cool to have a new bath and upper bedroom done, not for your guests but for you guys.  That is some nice living space.  No sooner had I said it would add value to your house than some nabob from some online living magazine warned against adding bathrooms that would add too much value to a home.  To heck with that idiot.  Can’t you add a room or two simply because it’s nice and makes life easier for you?  What a moron.  It’s not always about resale.  I wasn’t aware you were going to the extent you did, but if you’re going to add a swanky bathroom, why not upgrade the bedroom, too?  Nice.

Had my first salad of the season from the front porch lettuce pot last night, and if you do ever plant lettuce, be sure to add some arugula.  That adds a nice spice to the plate.  Store-bought dressing doesn’t do much for it, but it just prods me to make some homemade vinaigrette.  If it’s acceptable to you guys, I’ll create a little garden plot in the backyard while I’m there.  By the time your daughter is a little one, you can show her how to go out and pick raspberries, which is really a rite of passage for kids – just like you two bumpkins did years ago.  You guys saw to it that very few raspberries ever made it into the house.

Watched the blue birds move in and out of their nesting box this morning, often delivering some bugs to what must be their new brood of hatchlings.  That’s my assumption.  They dive bomb other birds that get anywhere near the box.  Squirrels aren’t immune to the strafing either.  My second box has a nest but I’m not sure what kind of birds built it.  The blue birds held off the chickadees to claim their space.

The forest behind the house has completely leafed out and now we are totally hidden from the condos across the stream and greenbelt.  They can’t see us and we don’t want to see them.  I like that portion of it, the privacy and the quiet.  The front porch is getting a workout.  I might put a tasteful lamp out there to further enjoy my morning paper and a cup – limit, 6 – of coffee.  A couple of years ago I transplanted a sprig of English Ivy, and now it threatens to overrun the entirety of the porch.  It does need to be trimmed back, but not just yet.  It looks vibrant and nice.  Nothing wrong with a little greenery slinking all over the place.  You see some lizards darting in and out of it now and again, so it’s a little arboretum/refuge for them.  That’s okay.

Felicia’s son continues his struggle.  In honesty, I don’t know how she does it let alone holds up under the strain.  It’s just the damndest, God-awful thing.  Hard to imagine the stranglehold drugs have on a person.  It’s been hell for him to try to kick it.

The trip to the Bridger Wilderness may be delayed into early August.  Trying to accommodate some schedules while getting the most people to go.  We will be a smaller group than last year.  Maybe 4-5, tops.  I’m hell-bent on it this year and next.  Felicia won’t go – she worries incessantly about mosquitoes.  If they’re as bad as last year, can’t say as I blame her.  The guy at the Sublette County paper is keeping me apprised of the snow pack.  The guess is that the skeeters won’t be as problematic as last year.  But that’s just a guess.

Okay guys, gotta go.  Ellen, Reid and I will be on full baby alert.  We’ll take care of ourselves; no need for you or Tim to cater to us.  You have bigger – or make that smaller – matters to attend to.

Saying enough too often

Are weekly letters akin to the rattan settee on my front porch that is slowly engulfed by the creep of English Ivy? Maybe the single sheets are engulfed in like manner by the preponderance of life enveloping Ellen and Reid.

Last week was the second week running that no letter was stamped and mailed.  This is the first two week stretch of no notes in at least a half decade.  After 11 years, I am rethinking my approach.

Not that there’s not enough to say; indeed there’s no dearth of enough material.   It is perhaps, however, that I say enough too often.

I admit this partially in view of my eye-opening trip to Chicago to see Reid, and the impending birth of Ellen’s baby.  They have an enormous amount going on in their lives, and I am wholly uncertain if the notes have the same impact as even 3-4-5 years ago.  Their lives are picking up speed and things are likely not as they were before in terms of the need for information.  Are the pages viewed as just another piece of mail?  We may soon find out.  So far there has been no hue and cry over the missing envelopes.

But there will be a letter today.  I’ll post it next week.

My son and Chicago…

Reid in his new hometown. Chicago is a good place for him, and the kid is good for Chicago, too.

Chicago is a great place.

It is especially great if you 1) are young, 2) have a good job in the Loop, 3) have a nice apartment in a lively part of town, and 4) have a nice girlfriend who likes you back.  Reid has all those things.

My weekend there was roughly 48 hours of sorely needed, long overdue catch-up time.  Most of the catching up was over copious amounts of food and and somewhat less copious amounts of drink.  All the better to ply the facts out of him: How’s work?  How’s the agency biz?  You spending much time with Liz?  Show me photos of India.  We need to talk about St. Paul when Ellen‘s baby arrives.  Are you going to stay in Chicago?  When will you visit Charlotte?

A microcosm of our weekend: the Mother of All Burgers, and a Guinness.

His answers were expansive and well beyond the shortish texts that punctuate some of our weekly exchanges.  All of which a parent hopes to glean on just such an extended weekend.

There was next to no chit chat about Charlotte.  He’s been filled in all along about what’s going on down here.  This was about where he’s been, what’s he’s doing, and where he’s going.  So in that vein the weekend was all good.

There was no letter sent last week; I put all my eggs in the Chicago basket.  Ellen had to do with no letter for one week.  Trust me, that’s no deal breaker.

I used to love to run…

I haven’t thought about running for a long, long time.  My cousin Tom jogged my memory about it in a comment last week.  Literally, I rarely ever talked about running to Ellen and Reid, and certainly never in a letter.  But Reid broke a little bit of ice last week when he called to say he hit the bricks for an 8K (about 5 miles) in Chicago.

There was a time when I used to love to run; now I can hardly imagine lacing up the shoes again.  Where I once wondered how to run a race, now I wonder why I did it at all.  This month marks the 30th anniversary of my last competitive marathon (2:25).  The next day I went cold-turkey and haven’t run, nor missed it,  since.  Bad ankles – even to this day – serve as a reminder of too many miles too fast.  The trophies – Grandma’s, White Rock, Oktoberfest, Drake, Omaha, Lincoln, etc.  – and such went into a box and stayed there until they made a final trip to the dumpster when I moved to Charlotte.

And here’s how last week’s letter went down:

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March 26, 2012

Ellen/Reid: Reid, it’s pretty impressive to be able to run an 8K as fast as you clipped it off yesterday, especially with very little training.  You ought to keep at it.  You ought to Google a running coach – now deceased – named Arthur Lydiard.  He coached a lot of good New Zealand runners back in the day.  His shtick was that runners ought to concentrate on long, slow aerobic distance running rather than anything fast and anaerobic.  I wish I would have paid attention to that.  It might have saved my ankles, but his larger point was you only have so much energy in terms of energy stores and when that is used up, it’s gone.  I would think you would be good at it.  It’s in your genes.  Your cousins were pretty good, your uncle pushed 9:45 in the two mile and I was 2:24 in the marathon and 1:02 in the 20K.  I just wouldn’t push it to the max.  That’s a recipe for disaster down the road.

I’ll follow your advice, Ellen, and buy a ticket now for around May 1 to head north to see your new daughter.  You make a good point that for a change fee the ticket can always be amended.  Nothing like being gouged by the airlines.  The CEO of US Airways said last week the fee is here to stay.  We get Southwest Airlines down here relatively soon, and that should turn the screws on the other airlines somewhat.  My preference would be to stay at a local hotel.  That would suit you all better.  I’ll find something in downtown St. Paul.  I’ll stick around for a couple of days and leave before Ben Franklin’s truism, “Guests, like fish, begin to smell after three days,” comes to pass.  There’s probably a lot to be said for that.  I’m glad you will take me up on the cleaning service for a few months.  That should make your life somewhat easier.  Just let me know who you have picked so I can chat with them about payment options.

Speaking of which, the cleaning service came in today and for the life of me I have to wonder why they haven’t been here all along.  It is just better in all respects; neatness, aromatically, etc.  They are pros and I am a non-pro.  It’s worth the money.

It was kind of a blah weekend in these parts.  With Felicia’s son’s situation, there wasn’t a lot of levity so we just sort of hunkered down for the duration.  Felicia is very strong.  I’ll keep you posted.  We did go out for a bite Friday night but that sort of dissolved and we made burgers Saturday night and watched the basketball tournament.  The first week of the tourney is more fun than the latter stages.  Without being able to pinpoint why, I’m sort of a Carolina fan although they got rolled last night by KU.  That they stayed in the game longer than they had any right to is testament to their personnel.  They had a couple of key folks out and they paid the expected price.

Saw my first copperhead of the season last week down at a course in South Carolina.  Trust me, when you’re poking around in the weeds for golf balls, the visage of a snake gets your attention real quick like.  It proves that white men can jump.  It wasn’t a monster, a couple of feet long, but length is of no issue once the venom starts to work.  At least I’m rustling around with a club rather than my feet.  Still, all it takes is one lightning strike and you’re done for the day if not far longer.  The dogwoods and azaleas are out right now, and it made for a nice drive to the course which was in the boonies.  My guess is the spring blooms will mostly be gone once the Masters rolls around.  The nesting box we put up last year is now the residence of the Eastern Blue Birds.  They apparently have won the scrap with Chickadees over nesting rights.

Well, you two keep your heads up.  Reid, let’s kibitz about when the two of us will get up to see your niece.  I’ll wager that the day she says “Hello, world” will be Sunday, April 29.  Any takers?

We have something worth caring for…

Reid called Sunday morning after he crossed the finish line of an 8K run in Chicago.  For the record, I cannot recall a call from him on a weekend day before noon.  The kid was pumped.

His 8 minute per mile pace ain’t half bad.  Jeez, I didn’t even know the kid was running.  Then again, 26-year-olds can climb out of bed and hit the bricks for 5 miles without even thinking about it let alone train for the distance.  I’ll laud him in today’s letter which will be posted next week.

I say all this because it’s good that he and his sister are far from couch potatoes.  They get out and do things (i.e. Reid to India/backpacking; it’s a piece of cake for Ellento assume the ‘Down Dog’ position and whatever other tortuous yoga contortions are called).

I am now the avowed foe of morons who would choose to defile the path of my daily walk.

On the other hand, their dad hauls his carcass off the couch for a daily constitutional of 2.5 miles around the block.  As of late, however, it has made me increasingly disheartened to see the communal path shared by Felicia and me and others treated as the personal dumping ground of who knows how many slobs.  So, because I have two hands and prefer my walk to be a little tidier,  I’m bending and stooping to pick up (and recycle) trash along the way.   Plastic in any form draws particular ire.  I allude to it below; it will probably make the kids think I’m loonier than birther zealots.  Okay, maybe not.

The larger point for Ellen and Reid is that we have something worth caring for.  That Diet Coke bottles, Bud Lite cans, 5 Hour Energy and Gatorade G2 bottles and Burger King or McDonald’s wrappers – plus other vile pieces of unimaginable trash – can be discarded without a second thought makes some dolt’s problem my problem.  I’m willing to stoop and bend to keep my little patch of turf clean.

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March 19, 2012

Ellen/Reid: Ellen, you look marv in your Facebook photos.  You really do.  It is just amazing how you’ve managed to care for yourself and your baby.  The clock is ticking, too; it won’t be that much longer now.  Not that you have to share potential names with me, but you have some in the hopper, don’t you?  At least it’s not like you’re gonna have twins where you could have a rhyming scheme like Dora and Flora, or something like that.  One at a time sounds about right.

One of my best friends at the bank appears to have run out of all his options to find something inside, even at a lower level.  All the talk and go-get-‘em assurances about “Oh, you’ll find something” have fallen through.  It just drives me crazy but him more so.  He’s nearing panic-mode.  I don’t know what a guy of his standing and age in life will do.  There really aren’t any parallels to my situation because things were wholly different, but all I can do for Mike is hope that something pops at the last minute.  Internal alliances and allegiances aren’t what they used to be.  No one has his back, and that is distressing to me.  His reviews are good; he just got caught in the cuts.  That’s about all there is to it.  That’s the way business is these days for better or worse, and from my view it’s decidedly worse.

Felicia had a bit of a scare yesterday.  Because I head to church an hour early to interview folks and do profiles on people for the church newsletter, she typically hangs back at the house and has more coffee, finishes the paper then heads over for a just-on-time arrival.  But she never showed and I assumed she was beat from working long hours on Saturday and wanted a day off.  But when I got to my car, there were texts from her that she was having heart flutters or it was skipping a beat.  A policeman saw her in distress on the side of the road, and he called 911.  She was taken to the ER by ambulance.  So I raced over there right away, and they had her on a gurney out in the hallway since no rooms were open.  We were there about 3 hours as they tested and x-rayed her.  She has what’s called PVCs, which essentially is an untreatable fluttering of the heart.  I’m not sure what will be done about it right now, but it doesn’t appear to be life-threatening.  It was a scary episode for sure.  She feels better now but I’ll know more when she comes over for our evening walk.

I’m trying to herd the cats for the Bridger Wilderness.  I think – think – we’ll end up with about 5 or 6.  Obviously Ellen, you guys are out for the foreseeable future, but Reid, if you haven’t used up all your time, you and Liz are welcome to come out West.  That would be a gas.  July 23-27.  Its country you know pretty well.

My weight continues to drop.  It’s down about 10 lbs. from a month or so ago.  I’ve adhered to the tenets of the diet for the most part but I fudge by having cereal in the morning.  I feel pretty good and my belts are cinching a little tighter these days.  Some carbs in the morning, no carbs the rest of the day.  We’ll see if it is sustainable.  Vegas wouldn’t touch those odds.

I have an idea for a new blog which will, I am certain, assure the two of you that your old man is battier than ever.  I’m socking away content for the next month or thereabouts so when it does go viral, it will hit the ground with some pages.  The only thing I can tell you is it will be environmentally related but there will be no shortage of goofiness.  If you want to turn your heads and deny me, I’ll understand.  But it keeps the creative juices flowing and that’s not all bad.

Okay, by for now.  I’ve got some leftover flank steak that we’ll use to make salads of for dinner.  My diet has included a lot of lettuce, and if any more is consumed, there is a good chance I’ll turn into a bunny rabbit.  You knew my high school mascot was a bunny, didn’t you?

Back to the Bridger…

Buried in last week’s letter (see below) to Ellen and Reid is a hurried mention of the Bridger Wilderness.  (That’s me, above, doing my pack mule imitation.  But I love that country and will go as long as I am able.  As age advances, my window slowly closes.  I have to go now while I can.)

We will go back to Wyoming in July of this year; the full week of the 23rd through 27th to be exact.  In fact, we will really be out there by Friday, July 20 to acclimate a day or so and then head into the back country on Sunday the 22nd.  It will be more arduous than ’11 but not by a whole hell of a lot.  Four to five hours a day on the trail, max.  The ultimate goal is to be in country but the fishing is a primary draw for me.

There is worry in some quarters about another infestation of mosquitoes.  The winged vampires extracted a fair dose of blood last year but that’s when the water was high and the conditions ripe for a ‘skeeter explosion.  I’ve tried to prevail on Felicia and Bob that the blood suckers cannot possibly be as bad as last year, but apparently by their standards, any amount of mosquitoes won’t do.  To them, the only good mosquito is a dead mosquito.

Ellen and Tim will be no-shows this year, and Reid has pretty much tapped out his vacation time on his journey to India.  That doesn’t mean others (i.e. you) aren’t welcome.  The door is open.  But just be sure to shut it so the mosquitoes don’t get in.  The more trekkers, the merrier.

——————–

March 12, 2012

Ellen/Reid: The remainder of my spring planting took all of 5 minutes this morning.  Jammed a few spinach seeds into a large pot and watered the lot.  That’s the extent of getting my hands dirty.  I miss a little plot of dirt to poke around in.  Takes me back to the old days of black Iowa soil, raspberries and sugar snap peas.  Those were the days.  If there was a 6’ x 6’ chunk of good earth out back right here, right now, that would be nirvana.  But since there is no ‘out back’ other than the driveway and blacktop, that will remain a dream.  Still, it’s good to have something to water in the morning and fertilize on the weekends.  Fun to watch stuff grow.

We broke the bike out for a couple of rides this weekend.  Good to fire that mother up.  I just like to get out.  I suppose now that the weather should be – should be – consistently nice, the Harley will be a normal mode of transportation for us.  It passed its 45,000 check up with flying colors.  That, and a $500 check to the dealer, will do that for a bike.  It would be fun to ride to Illinois and Minnesota sometime.  That too, is a dream.

On the medical front, I had what is called a Calcium Scoring Test a few weeks ago.  It’s where they pass you through a CT scanner as they try to ascertain if there is any coronary plaque build-up in and around the heart.  It’s a byproduct of high cholesterol.  The test is over and done within a matter of minutes and you are on your way.  The results are in.  It’s all good.  The doc called me to say the results showed zero accumulation, which he cannot explain other than good genes.  I have relayed this on to your uncle in the event he wants to discuss it with his physician.  I guess as you age you worry more about that stuff.  But that was a good bit of news heading into the weekend.

Ellen, I think I will self-moderate a bit on the Atkins diet.  I miss a bowl of morning raisin bran topped with a banana, so I will revert to that then go carb-less the rest of the day.  I think Felicia isn’t as attuned to that approach as I am, but if I omit the bread and the spuds, that’s where most of my carb problem lies.  Hopefully the weight will continue to stay steady now that it’s kind of, sort of where it should be.  Just saying ‘no’ to ice cream has helped more than a little bit.

My trip to Scotland to play golf at St. Andrews is likely to unravel.  Steve has some new business coming in the door right about that time, and he’ll probably take a pass.  Our other candidates have deferred, too.  So now it’s on to the Bridger Wilderness July 23-27.  It will be Tom, Troy, maybe Felicia if we can assure her there are few to no mosquitoes, and maybe a couple of others from church.  I’m actually pretty excited about going back out there.  John and his crew can’t go as Ellison and Sophie go back to school right about then, plus they probably had their fill of trudging and huffing and puffing last summer.  Still, we’ll have a good time doing the loop, which is pretty much what Tim and Tom accomplished in about a half day last year.  I can’t wait to fish again.  Which reminds me, time to hit the gym if I hope to be in reasonable condition.

Reid, be sure to send me some shots from Bangalore, and point me in the right direction online to see what you have posted.  I’d love to rustle a few and plunk them on my blog page.  Speaking of which, I have a known blog expert coming to my class this week to answer student technical questions which are over my head.  I can get the folks writing, but a huge chunk of it is the technological frontier.

Perhaps the one dream that will come true is getting an iPhone.  I pledge to have something new in relatively short order so I can see pix of my new granddaughter and the pilgrimage to India.  I know I’m a late adopter – by a couple of years – but that’s just the way it goes.

Two weeks of experiential sightseeing…

After a few weeks of Ellen-only letters, Reid has been added again to the salutation line.  Welcome back, kid.

As was noted here previously, he jetted off to India (the Bangalore area, mostly) for two weeks of experiential sightseeing, aka just plain enlightenment.  He relayed much in a 45 minute phone call but has been slack on sharing images (I wanted to post some of shots here) although the blame could just as well lie with me as Reid simply doesn’t email photos to tech-dunces like me.  Instead he posts pictures and I’m supposed to find them.  Do they make an app for that?

But I’m glad the boy is back on home turf.  Always good to know they got there and back.

Here is last week’s letter to my dynamic duo.

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March 5, 2012

Ellen/Reid: We’re all glad you got back safe and sound, Reid, and the trip sounds beyond incredible.  Can’t wait to see the photos, and it’s cool you took the vintage Nikkormat with you for the trip.  Good for you to have the nerve to go.  A lot of us, me included, wouldn’t have the nards to make such a journey, especially going solo the second half.  I’m glad Liz was there for the first week.  Glad, too, that you could hook up several times with your friend in Bangalore.  Nice to have a local host who could show you around.  Your reflection last night about the pollution, the people and your overall impressions was nice to hear.  It can do nothing but broaden you wider horizons to have gone over there at all.  I’m serious about something to Vietnam or Thailand.  That would be a real gas.  I’m open to any and all suggestions.

Man, Ellen, you’re entering the home stretch.  Sorry about the insensitive nature of the weight question.  Felicia sided with you and kind of harped on me about it, too.   It’s just that you look so good in your photos.  You’ve taken good care of yourself and your baby.  Leave it to a dad to trip over himself.  I’m sorry.  Let’s hope the rocking chair arrives ahead of time so you can take it for a test rock.

The weather is really looking chipper around here.  The trees are beginning to leaf out and the daffodils and tulips are long gone.  The winter here, as was yours, was unseasonable in its warmth.  We’ve had a few raw days lately, but nothing that can’t be overcome.  We’ve only got another week of the so-called bad weather forecast on February 2 by that loathsome rodent in Pennsylvania.  I was a little behind the 8-ball on planting so on the 28^th I stuck some romaine and other lettuces in the pot on the front porch.  The seeds have already sprouted.  If we have a nice growing season we will be eating lettuce for weeks.  Given the new Atkins diet (no carbs) that Felicia has foisted on me, that will be a harvest worth having.  I erred in not planting spinach so that will go into the ground this week.  I’m down about seven pounds as of this writing and seem to have gotten over the ice cream and bread urgings.  My only concession is an apple a day.  A man has to eat some fruit.

Also noted this morning is that nutcase Rush Limbaugh has lost some advertisers.  The guy is a total moron.  And now his defenders simply call him an “entertainer.”  I’ll stick up for his constitutional right to speak his mind all day long, but that doesn’t make him right.  Here’s a guy who was hooked on Oxycontin, plays fast and loose with the facts, and has the unmitigated gall to call someone else out.  All he has is a nice voice.  That’s it.  He’s taking the Republicans with him, which isn’t all bad.  Illogical for a man to talk about women’s reproductive rights.

I played what could be one of my final rounds of golf yesterday with my friend Tom.  He’s about to leave Charlotte for a big association job in Washington, D.C.  It’s hard for him to leave Charlotte but he’ll like D.C. soon enough.  My golf was miserable, and the progress in keeping my swing short and compact has all but evaporated.  The Charles Barkley stop-start-and-lunge swing is back with a vengeance worse than before.  Makes me sick.  I need a sports shrink.  But the weather will be nice enough for riding soon enough, so Felicia and I will get back to cruising so that will take up some of the non-golf slack.

Otherwise, not much else is going on.  Same old, same old.  Work is what it is.  But as May 1 draws nearer, I’ll get plenty more excited.  Love you both.

The prodigal son returns…

Reid has returned, no worse for the wear, from his sojourn to India.  We talked at length last night on a dad-initiated call.  The kids sounds great.  He spent the last half of his trip by his lonesome.  That takes some nerve to pack up and head to the other side of the world when you don’t know but a single soul.  But Reid has a daring side that I admire and encourage (within limits, of course).

If nothing else, his trip affirms he can make his own decisions, spend his own money and be his own man.

Nevertheless, last week’s letter went solo to Ellen.  It was like the old days when she was at Butler U. before her ‘bro arrived.  But Reid’s name is plastered on the salutation line of this week’s letter – which is already in the mail.

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Here’s what I wrote to Ellen last week:

February 27, 2012

Ellen: Betsy and I just got done pinging back and forth about your expected due date.  I told her late April or early May.  That sounds about right, doesn’t it?  She’s always so good to ask how you guys are doing.  She asked about the pecking order of visitation once the little girl arrives.  Your photo is good.  You’ve taken very good card of yourself physically and dietary-wise and you’ve hardly gained any weight.  That is a good thing.  Your mom didn’t gain all that much weight with you or Reid, either.

Speaking of Reid, as you say, typical Reid.  He takes the one trip that you want to hear about and we don’t get squat from him.  I hope things are okay.  How did Tim manage to get that one video of Reid and Liz in the cab?  I wish I had her phone because I’d check in to see how the trip went and how Reid is doing.  From all indications, Bangalore is the tech center of India.  Incredibly, my post from last week, which mentioned Bangalore once, gets picked up by a blogger in India who tells me Bangalore is considered a garden spot.  So that was pretty cool.  That made me feel a little better about things.  Hopefully Reid’s having a great time and getting his fill of exploration.  Once a Razzmatazz, always a Razzmatazz.  Hard to sit back and wait to hear about his worldly exploits.  In a major coincidence, Bob Furstenau traveled to Ghana the same day Reid left for India.  Bob was seeing one of the twins, Tori, I think, and he took Adrian with him.  He texted a little bit the first day about how different things were but no word since.

Tim texted me from the Charlotte airport just a few moments ago.  He must be on U.S. Air as this would be their hub.  He says they caught a few red fish but the conditions were awful.  For a fly fisherman that must’ve meant heavy wind because he’s not about to toss any other line in the water.  Once the baby situation settles in, you three ought to come down here and we’ll trek over toward the ocean, down by Charleston or Hilton Head so your little one can anoint her toes in the Atlantic and Tim and I can try our hand at the coastal fish there.  That would be a lot of fun.  I think your bro’ is planning on Thanksgiving down here but we have yet to make any solid plans.  Who knows, he might want to head to M-SP to spend some time with Liz.  We’ll just have to wait and see how all that unfolds.  Depending on your schedule and energy level, I could always trundle up there, too.  I don’t need to bunk with you guys and create unnecessary turmoil.  There have to be motels nearby.  No biggie.  I can go either way.

Another reorganization at work.  But my name still shows on the chart, so that is a good thing.  One of my best friends, Tom, is pulling up stakes and moving his family to Washington, D.C. where he will take a position with a big association.  It’s not a bad move for him other than the price of real estate and uprooting his seventh grader to a new school system.  But that’s the way of the banking world.  There’s just so much uncertainty.  We are still going to contract size-wise down here so he was being pretty prudent in his planning.  Hard to lose friends, though, when you don’t have very many to start with.  We had golfed a far amount and now that’s done.

I’m getting kind of burned out on my church newsletter.  It’s been more than three years of 12 pages month in and month out, and it’s just taken a mental toll.  Hard to keep the creative juices flowing issue after issue.  More and more photos are taking the place of copy.  That’s not all bad from the reader’s perspective if you believe ‘a picture is worth 1,000 words’.  I don’t get much editorial help about news although I’ve not really recruited people to step in.  Some have volunteered but their idea of a contribution is to submit a poem or some other creative reflection.  I need people who can write on events and such and stick to deadlines.  But enough moaning.  Another issue is due March 11.