Birds in flight…

Unashamedly, I’ll continue to try to foist environmental issues on Ellen and Reid. Same as my dad did to me; I just hope the lessons sink in a little quicker than they did with their old man.

——————

May 21, 2013

Ellen/Reid: The little blue birds are testing their wings for flight. I could see them flitting around in their nesting box this morning. Their maiden voyage can’t be but a few days away. I wish I would have put a small dowel just below the entrance hole as a safety net of sorts since the nearest limb would be a 3 – 4 yard stretch for a little one. The parent birds are flying themselves ragged

The blue birds are gone. We didn’t get to see their grand entrance into their brave new world, but we wish the fledglings well.

trying to feed however many voracious nestlings are in the box. I hope I get to see them as they try to fly for the first time. It makes putting up the nest worthwhile if it contributes a bird or two to the population. We placed a second box about 40 yards away but it doesn’t have any activity.

It looks as if I’m going to retire at 65. There’s no particular rhyme or reason to it, it just feels right. The health scare a couple of years ago figures into it a bit – live now while you can. A friend of mine was saying last week that the average life span of men is about 78 years. We can do that math. I want to spend time writing and blogging and riding the bike, golfing if I must, and, of course, seeing you two dweebs a lot more. There would be nothing wrong with working 20 hours a week at a store or golf shop to fill some idle time. I have to talk to John about the specifics but that’s sort of where things rest at this point. Your uncle seems on board with it although

Off the deep end…

I wonder if Ellen and Reid think their dad has gone off the deep end on issues of nature and the environment. Could be. Hey, we’ve all got to commit to something.

—————-

May 13, 2013

Ellen/Reid: I’m up in my office, occasionally sneaking a peak out the window to watch the pair of bluebirds flit in and out of their nesting box to feed what must be at least a couple of young, hungry birds. People persistently want to open the box to take a look and we have to shoo them away. One of the old biddies who sticks

The nesting box is occupied by blue birds about this time of year. I may electrify the perimeter to keep prying hands from opening the door.

her nose in everything around here objected to those instructions, and Felicia set her straight that we paid for and put up the box. Serves the old gal right. Leave the birds alone, lady.

It’s cool here this morning and it feels good. We’ve had the sort of May you’d expect; relatively pleasant with nice temperatures. But that comfort is fleeting. Heat and humidity will have their way with us soon enough.

It was so great to see you guys for Emma’s birthday. Three generations under one roof. She is a little controller at this point and there’s a sense that she knows she runs the show – at least for now. That was a nice gesture, Reid, with the surprise shave. Liz must’ve liked that. It makes you look younger

Emma sneaks a peek…

Maybe there’s something to the adage ‘one picture is worth a thousand words’.

The shot of Emma pretty much sums up the week that was (there was no letter written) when I was in St. Paul with Ellen and Reid for Emma’s first birthday; i.e. we were

Emma sneaks a peek as her uncle Reid goes beardless.

all together in the same place, Emma is plenty old enough to be inquisitive as she watched her uncle Reid shear off his three year beard for Liz, his girlfriend, and it was good to play that old family game of ‘catch up’.

But the letter that will be posted next week went in the mail this morning.

On with life…

A dichotomy was at work within the family in the last week.  It turns out both are celebrations of differing times of life.

My uncle, Henry Andersen, a renown Presbyterian minister and one of those uncles that you could really get to like, passed away on Labor Day.  This coming weekend his children and other relatives, admirers and past congregants gather in Portland, Oregon to celebrate Hank and all that he meant to whole generations of people.

Then there’s Emma.  The celebration around this little wonder started in May and shows no signs of stopping yet.

Emma is ready and rarin’ to go the Minnesota State Fair with mom and dad.

She giggles at peek-a-boo, tries ever so hard to talk, and is a jolt of household energy (even if she insists on playtime during Ellen’s supposed off-hours between midnight and 5 a.m.).

One dedicated, fruitful life of service draws to a close while another enters the fifth month of her new adventure.  Getting on with life, it seems.

———————-

Ellen and Reid probably opened envelopes with this letter over the weekend:

———————-

September 4, 2012

Ellen/Reid: It’s tough deal with my uncle Henry but in other ways a good thing in that whatever suffering he experienced was over.  He was just a plain and simple good guy.  Lived his life as he preached it.  You would suppose that might make things easier for his family but it never is.  He was always fair and decent and we always seemed to get along pretty well.  It is amazing how fast things can turn; healthy and vibrant one moment, then the precipitous fall.  But Tom said things were peaceful at the end.  Henry had been under hospice care for only four days, and in some ways that is a blessing.  Even in his state, Henry was insistent on coming down to see both your grandparents in their failing moments.  Your uncle and I will go to Portland.  I will head out Thursday the 13^th.  Not sure when Ralph will make it.  Probably about that time, too.  Mary was an absolute rock through all of this.  She handled it very gracefully and was a pillar of strength.  I’m glad you both had a chance to experience Henry in the last couple of years.

The Democratic convention is in town.  As much as I’d like to get downtown (or Uptown as the locals call it) for some of the action I will more than likely stay at home and watch on TV and read the paper.  That’s a little too much activity for this guy not to mention all the security.  We walked the golf course yesterday and saw the big military grade helicopters doing their thing very close to the course.  Some sort of dress rehearsal.  I like that the convention is here; good for the city and state although the GOP’s self-described “attack” troops are in town, too.  It’s a good thing they don’t call them “Truth Squads” since that would be stretching it a bit.

Reid, I’d go with your mom’s Calphalon.  That is pretty good cookware and will more than get you and Liz by in your squeezed little space.  You have to be able to cook and every meal in will save you money and increase your together time by that much more.  Food prep is a fairly social time and there’s nothing wrong with that.  We rode to breakfast yesterday morning to a little dive across the border in South Carolina, and there was a table of adults and kids a few feet away.  Three of the adults and two of the kids were on their mobile devices.  It’s whack if you ask me.  The art of conversation takes a nose dive when you see that happening – but Felicia and I both check our ‘smart’ phones when we’re out.

I’m going in tonight to an after-hours orthopedic place to get my right elbow checked out.  It just hasn’t been right since it got smacked in Wyoming and continues to be puffy and very sore.  They may have to drain it.  It’s hard to place my elbow on a table, it is that sore.  I don’t know what the hell happened.  I didn’t realize backpacking was such a contact sport.  We went to a post-Bridger reunion the other night with Tom and Richard and it was great seeing all the photos and reliving the perilous moments (i.e. eating overcooked or distinctly non-flavorful food, blisters and other assorted ow-ies, etc.).

Ellen, I love how Emma is displaying her personality.  She is going to be a handful.  She is working so hard to talk.  Once she finds her vocabulary, her babbling will be non-stop so watch out.  Nothing wrong with that, however.  I’ll have to change my screensaver with one of the new updated shots of her smiling and trying to talk.  Wish I could see the little charmer more often.

Okay, enough already.  Keep the text messages coming, and the photos, too.  Reid, send me some solid dates for Christmas, and I will get your ticket.  Just don’t’ expect it to be First Class.

The ‘F-bomb’ goes big time

Not that you will ever see it dropped in this space, but the F-bomb has entered the language mainstream.    It is now a defined term although the full spelling is still some years away from acceptance and regular use in polite print media.

That it makes it in the abridged version is a commentary on the state of civil discourse.  In some ways, I’d rather see/hear it than the much more vile tone of this season’s political discourse.  Forgive me, but I have stooped to a couple of F-bombs uttered aloud (and a few WTFs too) over my morning coffee as I read what passes for facts these days.  Both sides fudge, but the award for the most consistently skewed effort goes to the Karl Rove-inspired 25-years-in-the-making attack at any cost right side.  For crying out loud, if your veep choice can’t (or at worst, won’t) get his facts straight on any number of economic and environmental issues, well, my WTFs have some merit.

On a softer side, and after being pilloried for holding Emma like a football, Reid recently displayed a deft touch with his niece.  Nice job, kid.

—————

The U.S. Postal Service delivered this letter to Ellen and Reid last week.

—————

August 27, 2012

Ellen/Reid: Once again, I cannot close the deal on the golf course.  A hopeful opening nine of 39 followed by a fingernails-on-blackboard 45 on the inward 9.  It is just so totally deflating.  There is no one single problem; there are lots of problems.  Since I distain practice, perhaps 84 is the best that can be hoped for.  But the ‘what if…’ mode of thinking keeps creeping into the picture.  I hope Emma never picks up the game.  No, it would be fine if she did.  Gramps will need someone to play with since I will have scared off all the others by then.

I’m on board to teach another college class in mid-September.  I fumble a bit with the class on blogging but this time it’s on straight news/content writing which will be a little closer to my skill sets.  So far the enrollment is a bit spotty but folks tend to sign up at the last minute so we’ll see.  As long as the college will continue to have me, I’ll teach.  Ellen, I could use some of your classroom organizational prowess.

The ‘F-bomb’ has made it into the lexicon.  Merriam-Webster’s dictionary has added it to the list of dictionary-able terms.  Never thought I’d live to see the day.  You can expect that any day now Fox News will begin to use it to attract a hipper, yet still news-dense, audience.  I sent a note to Norm Goldstein, late of the AP Stylebook, about this unfortunate incident but he hasn’t said anything as of yet.  We continue to lower our language civility threshold one bad word at a time, although I must confess I am a shameless abuser.  Hope my glass house can withstand all the tossed stones.

About the time you get this, Hurricane Isaac, or tropical storm Isaac by the time it gets here, will be dumping a lot of water on the Southeast.  We need the rain but not quite as badly as you guys need it in the Midwest.  There have been a ton of photos that show stunted, runty and kernel-less corn cobs in your neck of the woods.  I’m afraid it is a feast-or-famine twist on global warming.  You have a lot of water one day and almost no moisture the next.  There’s so much hot political air swirling around in these parts you’d think the huffing and puffing would shove the storm up your way.  That would be a highest-and-best use of that unfortunately renewable resource.

Just read on CNN that a hiker was killed by a grizzly in Alaska.  That will be fuel to the fire for next year’s hiking extravaganza no matter where we go.  Makers of bear spray can’t buy this sort of advertising.  What is really sad is the poor guy was taking photos up until the very last second before the attack.  Now that is wild.

It exhausts me just to hear about all the traveling you guys have been doing.  Jeez, that’s a lot of road time.  Ah, but you might as well do it while you’re young and have boundless energy.  Reid, you looked entirely more comfortable holding your niece that you did when you visited Emma in Minnesota.  She was even sacked out in one of the shots.  My theory, however, is that every minute she sleeps during day translates to five (maybe 10?) minutes of awake (“I’m ready to play!”) time at night.  Ellen, you will have to confirm that mathematical formula for me.

This is a short week for me in that, unless Isaac pounds us on Thursday and Friday, I’ll tee it up on Friday with my friend Mike from the bank.  There will be no end of trash talk and finger pointing with him while we play.  He has steadfastly held the upper hand because he gets two strokes a side, although it’s time I knocked him off his pedestal.

Emma’s Garden…

So, Emma has tomatoes.

On May 5, the day after she was born, her Gramps used a spade to turn over the good, dark Minnesota earth to form Emma’s Garden, a smallish 10′ x 6′ plot of very black dirt.  Into the ground went cilatro, romaine lettuce, peppers, basil, flowers, and red raspberries.  And a single tomato plant.

Emma’s mom shows off State Fair-quality tomatoes on her kitchen counter. A garden is a good thing. Such good soil in Minnesota would be a terrible thing to waste.

A few months later, and thanks to a corker of a Midwestern heat wave, Emma’s plant is producing in quantities I can only dream about.

The rush to build a garden actually springs from Emma’s great grandfatherwho cultivated a garden well into his 80s.   Toward the end as his tillable plot grew smaller and smaller, tomatoes and raspberries were about all he had the energy to tend to.  But he loved the soil and his deep forest-green thumb rubbed off on me, although mine more closely resembles a pale lime green.  Maybe the deeper shade will take hold again in Emma’s mom.

My tomatoes are dwarfed by Emma’s. When I equate them to golf balls, I’m not kidding. I’ve seen bigger hailstones.

Perhaps one day in Reid, too.  Ellen even mentioned expanding the modest-sized chunk of dirt and edible plants next year.  When they were not much older than Emma is now, I vividly recall Ellen and Reid rooted at the Sugar Snap pea and Heritage raspberry plants in our garden.  Very little of those two items ever made it to the kitchen.  But there are far worse things than watching kids gobble up stringless peas and red raspberries.

I suppose a garden is something of an environmental statement which my letters have preached about on more than one occasion.  Ellen and Tim no doubt went more of an organic bend than my enduring reliance on Miracle-Gro.  The larger lesson might be that there’s nothing wrong with getting your hands dirty.  Hopefully, Emma will wash hers off, unlike her granddad.

Here’s what Ellen and Reid found in their mailboxes last week.

———————

August 20, 2012

Ellen/Reid: So I think we have the holiday situation kind of, sort of worked out.  Ellen, you and Tim are not opposed to coming down here for early T-Day, November 15-18?  That is great.  Reid, you will be here for Christmas, correct?  Your tickets are on me.  I’m still not sure of my plans for the official Thanksgiving and should know about that in short order.  St. Paul sounds doable.  You truly have something to be thankful for.  Maybe Thanksgiving should be May 4.

Last Wednesday the 15^th marked my sixth year in Charlotte.  Incredible.  It just does not seem at all possible.  It seems just yesterday I was in Des Moines, and then the upheaval.  If you would’ve asked me five or six years ago (and no one has) for my impressions of the new surroundings, it would’ve been tempting to say ‘send me home’ and that would’ve been that.  But time has a way of leveling the bumps out across the job and social spectrum and now this is home for all intents and purposes.  A little too politically conservative on a lot of fronts, but that is the price to be paid for accepting the role here as an intruder.  Felicia has made a big difference, too.  Since I can work anywhere, there would’ve been a possibility of bolting for the old pastures.  But this is it and its okay.  I would like to get back to Des Moines with more frequency, but it’s hard.

Don’t hold me to it, but I’m thinking of parting with the Harley.  For whatever reason, my balance very recently isn’t what it used to be, and to navigate with a heavy beast like that takes that ability.  Perhaps it is the ribs (which feel the torque on certain turns) but something is different about riding it right now.  Even as recently as a few months ago there was some thought given to a Road King, but that’s been tabled for the time being.  There is always the off chance the next pleasant ride on the next nice weekend day will change my mind.  I hope it does because there is nothing like cruising.

Mike Hill put his dog Buddy to sleep a couple of weeks ago.  Mike posted some poignant videos of Buddy’s last meal on his Facebook page, and you should look that up.  Reminded me of our last days with Scooter.  It’s a dose of reality.

My A/C wasn’t totally on the blink after all.  Apparently all it needed was a new “board” in the upstairs unit – I don’t totally get all the technical gymnastics about it – but the board was about the size of an iPad and cost just as much, too.  So now there is at least cool air circulating in place of the hot, humid air that kept me away at night.  Just another unexpected expense.

Reid, you could do worse than a cruise line as a new client.  That sounds like a lot of fun, and they advertise a fair amount.  I’ll have to start watching for their plugs on the web, which I am sure you will do a good job of promoting and tracking.  I’ll make an exception and declare right now that their Internet ads won’t be the invasive kind.  I’m glad your mom got to get to Chicago to survey the new living arrangements and such.  I’d like us to get up there in short order, too.  Keep me posted as to your availability.   FYI…even a group like Fish makes a stop in the boondocks every once in a while.  They visit here in the next couple of weeks or something like that.  I still remember hauling you and a vanload of your boys to KC to a summer concert and being sold a total bill of goods as to when the concert started and, more importantly, when it would end.

Speaking of ending, that’s it for today.  Let’s really nail down the holiday plans so I can get tickets while they are still getable.  It would be great to have you all down here.  I’ll notify the cleaning service to do their thing just before you arrive.

The line is drawn, however, on environmental issues…

Rarely is anything ever written on these pages with an overt political bend.  How the kids ultimately vote or who they side with is their business.

For the record, I am a centrist Democrat who does think Obama has gotten the wrong end of credit for the current economic lethargy.  My preference is to pay attention to Warren Buffett‘s economic opinions given that his brain power is considerably more than my own.  Considerably more as in light-years more.  (I’d love for him to answer the question “For each year in the economic doldrums, how many years does it take to recover?”  If he wants to, he can figure in the prior eight years of economic malfeasance of the then-in-power party.)

The line is drawn, however, on environmental issues.  The climate deniers and coal junkies and those who look the other way at environmental indiscretions (for the sake of “jobs”, don’t you know) are selling out the long term for no assurance of short term gains on any front – jobs, energy independence, etc.  When you have a spare moment, Google Pinedale, Wyoming and smog.  Case in point.

So it is that every so often I will remind Ellen and Reid that it is our collective responsibility to the Emma’s and the generations to come to be, to quote the venerable Successful Farming magazine from a couple of decades ago,  good “stewards of the land.”

While I care much about those things that have people out of work or fetter businesses, when it comes to preserving our chunk of space, there can be no compromise.  Protect it now or lose it.  Sure, I have only one vote, but those who run afoul of securing our earthly future won’t get it.

Here is last week’s letter to my two.

—————

August 13, 2012

Ellen/Reid: Reid, it’s great having you home on this side of the pond.  Not that your British hosts were not ever so gracious, but it’s always nice to be back in the friendly confines.  Now London can get back to its normal drab self with the Olympics gone and foreigners heading to the airports.  Their rain can return too.  You came back just in time for a mean-spirited and divisive political campaign.  Politics as usual.

The Observer ran a small editorial from me last week about while I agree with the GOP on certain issues there is steadfast reluctance to vote Republican as long as the polarizing nitwits continue backsliding on environmental issues, but so far there have been no rebuttals.  That means everyone agreed or they thought it was too mundane and inconsequential.  Probably the latter.  Mundane and inconsequential are my specialties.  Jeez, if we can’t protect what we have for the Emma’s and subsequent other grandchildren out there, what will we protect?  It only figures that since so many GOPers are science deniers as well as public school doubters, we’ll have to school ‘em all over again.  Oh, to be the teacher with a ruler in his/her hands to whack ‘em on the knuckles, or, better yet, upside the head.

Reid, I am okay with you and Liz cohabitating.  Some time ago there was an article about how the vast majority of couples test those waters, and that seems fine enough.  I can’t think of any particular doctrines you are violating.  Just be sure you keep up your end of the bathroom and kitchen cleaning and you’ll be all right.  Those are lines that can’t be crossed.  Liz’ standards will become your new standards.  It will be a wholly new experience but that’s what it’s all about, isn’t it?

My ribs are well on the road to recovery.  Sleeping is easier now.  Sitting for extended periods is a bit of an issue but my guess is another 10 days and things will be back to normal.  I walked 18 holes yesterday pushing my cart and am no worse for wear.  I milked the woe-is-me rib malady to the hilt with Felicia but she’s wising up to that ruse now.  It was good there for a little while when it came to fetching another cup of coffee or retrieving a beer.

I laughed out loud at the shot of Emma sacked out on your laps on the plane home from Michigan.  You have to hand it to the girl, she can sleep anywhere at any time.  It’s a gift.  We should all be so lucky.  Can’t wait to see her again.  On that point, what are holiday plans for you guys?  The door is always open here in NC – hint, hint – but will understand if you have other plans since there are forces other than me tugging at your shirttails, too.

If you do venture down here, it would give me enough time to replace the air conditioner.  It went down for the count on Friday, and there has been no call from the repair company.  I’m afraid a whole new unit is in order.  The old beast was a contractor grade unit, meaning it was not top-of-the-line, and it had likely reached the end of its useful life.  So the fans in the condo are on full trying to circulate the warm air.  Knock on wood, but to this point the temperatures haven’t been totally unbearable.  The units on either side of my place have some insulating value and I’ve keep the shades down.  Ellen, you and Tim added a bathroom, kitchen and master suite, and I’ll keep pace with a new air conditioner.  When it’s on, it will be cranked down all the way to mark its debut.

Okay, I’m outta time and outta here.  Glad you’re back Reid, and Ellen, keep the videos and photos of Emma coming this way.  Adds spice to my otherwise drab existence.

Back to normal…

This was a weekend for varying members of the clan to hit the skies.

Reid landed Friday in Chicago after his extended work trip to London.  He’s already back in the swing of things.

Emma had her parents accompany her to Michigan and back.

Emma easily claims the Gold Medal for her knack of sleeping anywhere and everywhere – including a comfy spot on her dad’s lap on the trip home from Michigan.

She displayed the inherited trait of being able to sack out on a noisy plane and wake just in time to announce her presence to other passengers within 2 -3 rows of her.

Moreover, now that Reid is back stateside, we will resume the practice of tossing his weekly letter into the mail.

This brings our world back to normal.

Here is last week’s letter to the kids.

——————

August 6, 2012

Ellen/Reid: The ribs are feeling better day by day although the couch remains the most comfortable place to sleep.  I still feel like a doofus for allowing the slips to happen at all.  Tom thinks a change from heavy boots to more of a running/cross training shoe would help.  Could be.  All in all it could’ve been much worse.  We did see one rescue helicopter venture into the high country, and the destination appeared to be in the direction of a group of 20-some kids we learned about from their adult leaders.  We also read in the Jackson Hole paper about a woman from New York who suffered a compound fracture of the femur – ouch, ouch, ouch – near Lake Lozier (which we sped by save but a few minutes of fishing time) just before we went up top, although there was no real news about how they got her out.  An online search found nothing.  Now that would be real, excruciating pain.  My aches would have been like so many insect bites by comparison.  My golf has taken a hit while the ribs mend but I haven’t missed it a whole lot.  There’s plenty of time to get back in the swing of things down here, like 12 months a year.

So it is back to the daily grind.  That’s okay, I like what I do.  My mid-year review was last week and it was good.  It prodded me again to think about when to pull the plug, and if they will have me until I’m 65, that would be close enough to call it a ‘career’ – if such things still exist.  If you’re counting, that’s about two and a half more years of toil.  Of course, you’re only as good as your most recent week so even the best laid plans can go awry.  But that seems relatively feasible.

Sorry to bother you both with my back-and-forth nonsense about the iPad and MacBook Air.  No sooner had I signed the iPad sales slip at Target when a serious case of buyer’s remorse set in.  The Air seems a relatively good choice.  I leaned on Bob F., too, for his advice, and to sum up he said why get an iPad when the hand-held iPhone is so closely akin to it.  I like the way the Air handles and feels, and the operating system is probably a little more stabile.  Yet to be bought are the equivalents to MS Word.  I’ve got to keep the clunky Acer around for the church newsletter but that is probably the highest and best use for that contraption.  Ellen, the Air comes with Facetime, so keep little Emma within arm’s reach in case Gramps calls.

Reid, you have travel in your veins.  Barcelona?  How the heck does one get from London to Barcelona in the face of all that Olympic zaniness?  Good for you.  I’m envious that you just pull up stakes and go.  It takes some nards to do that when you’re by your lonesome.  What is the total count of nations you’ve visited?  11 by my rough tally, and that may be off a few.  Hey, when you are back stateside, look at the first opportunity to A) get your carcass down to Charlotte or, B) tell me when we should get up to Chicago so you can meet Felicia and vice versa.

Keep the Emma videos flowing to the Southeast, Ellen.  She looked so unhappy, but cute, on the way back from Cass Lake.  She’s a good sport to be in her car seat all the time, especially when she wants to stretch her legs and kick out the jams.  One thing about that sort of trip; you know you’re not childless anymore.  It probably seems as if you had to pack enough gear for a round-the-world-cruise.  Get used to it.

The Olympics have taken up some of the evening tube time although by confession, it seems pretty formulaic; gymnastics, swimming, basketball and the track events.  It gets pretty boring sometimes.  I’m a shoo-in for gold if/when it comes to lazing around on the couch while the rest of me mends.   Too bad I don’t get to go to London to collect my medal.

That’s a lot of letters from a dad to his children…

This thing of writing to Ellen in St. Paul and Reid in London is taking some getting used to.

It’s strange to not affix a stamp to each of two envelopes.  The idea of emailing attachments to the Reidster runs counter to everything I’ve practiced in the past 11 years of knocking out the Monday letters.  The U.S. Postal Service is probably planning for the budget shortfall.  A rudimentary computation a couple of years ago uncovered that I’d already popped for several hundred dollars in postage alone, and in today’s dollars the out-of-pocket expense has zoomed past $500.  That’s a lot of letters from a dad to his children.

Emma holds on for dear life to her gramps as she catches another nap. She’s nearly doubled in weight, and quadrupled in cuteness.

The build up these last few weeks before the pilgrimage to see Emma in St. Paul has come and gone.  Felicia and I returned last night none the worst for grandparental wear.  The little cutie pie is doing well (despite her bumbling gramp’s awkward efforts to hold her).  Unlike riding a bike, at least this guy needed to learn Baby Holding 101 all over again.  I did, however, escape changing any diapers, as I was always a moment too late.  Darn.  Felicia stepped up big-time in that role.  I pledge to move quicker next time.

This time next week I’ll be huffing and puffing at 10,000 feet, trying to keep up with my boys Tom and Richard.  Excitement isn’t the right word for this trek as I have transcended excitement.  But like most things long anticipated, what has been too long in the planning will too soon be over.  Already, son-in-law Tim has decreed another – and newer – route in 2013 through this part of the Wind River range in his pursuit of trophy size Golden Trout.  If he will have me among his troupe of youthful hikers, I am game, game, game for it.

No news from Reid this week.  Such is the way of his world.  I’d love to hear from the lad before shoving off for Wyoming and the Bridger.  If I don’t hear from him, at least he will hear from me.

Here is last week’s letter.

——————

July 9, 2012

Ellen/Reid: About the only thing that benefitted from the near-record heat here was our tomatoes which have come on like gangbusters.  Grass, trees and flowers took a pounding with or without water.  Nothing can flourish in nature’s oven.  And if it weren’t for the heat, it would be the humidity.  Reid, you were just the opposite over in London, what with rain, rain, and still more rain.  I suppose that’s good in some respects given Briton’s love for gardening.  It does get old sweating all the time.  You can’t even walk to the postbox without working up a good drenching.  Its good your mom got you guys a spare AC unit, Ellen.  That’ll help the three of you immensely.

I’ve been doing my daily walk in the midst of all of it, and am thankful for the workout although the pounds aren’t shedding quite as quickly as they used to do in yesteryear.  A cold Nalgene has made the treks around the block a little bit more palatable.  For some reason I was reminded this weekend of what it felt like to run long distance in the heat, and am glad those days are long, long ago.  My old gang of Ironman, Joe, Rand, Beamer, Bob O. and Jetz used to run 20 miles on Saturday mornings at 7 o’clock, and by the time mid morning rolled around as we finished, you could’ve poked us with a fork because we were done.  Those were the days, and good riddance.  I watch some of the runners around here hobble their way on the pavement, and I just want to pull them aside and tell them to find something else to stay fit.  It is tempting to tell them to bicycle except bikers are getting run over by cars all the time.  You’re damned if you do, damned if you don’t.

We’re excited to head up to Minneapolis this weekend.  It will be great to see how little Emma has grown – from the photos, she’s becoming a chunk-ette.  But I say that with all good intentions.  She is just such a little sweet pea.  Felicia keeps telling me we have to be considerate of your family time so we’ll tastefully bow out and retreat back to the B&B at the appropriate time.  ‘Gramps’ is available to do any chores around the house that you and Tim see fit.  Betsy has strongly suggested that we take Felicia over to the Big Mall so she can see how Midwesterners spend their idle time, and it would be a good way to get your b-day gift, Ellen.  Gramps calls first dibs on pushing Emma in her Rolls Royce of strollers.

Everything is all packed for Wyoming.  The excitement is really beginning to build.  I’ll be toting much less in the Bridger Wilderness than was done in previous years.  I’m gonna guess about 35 lbs.  At least two pounds of that is gorp.  Food is pretty much pasta and dried sauces, cheese grits and oatmeal for breakfasts, power bars for lunch (plus tin foil for any hapless trout that mistake our store-bought flies for real food).  Looks like no fires – too dry out there – so we’ll lug two big bottles of white gas.  The only cause for concern is my shoulders.  For some reason, both have gone to pot at once over the past few months, and there will be hell to pay to put my pack on.  Once it’s on my shoulders, no problem-o but it’s the getting it on my shoulders that will hurt.  I literally cannot touch my back or reach up to my shoulders.  Not sure why they would both go kaplooey at the same time.  This is a reminder to me to call the doc to get his two cents on things.  All in all, it’s hell getting old.

Nothing much else to report.  Same old, same old.  Reid, it was great to get your call.  You sound good, and I’m glad the Brits like your work.  They are also models of civility and you should fit right in culturally.  Let me know of your plans for continental travels.  Might as well make travel-hay while the sun shines, as they say.  Adieu.

It’s almost time twice…

It’s almost time.  In fact, it’s almost time twice.

Almost time #1: Until Saturday, and in true guy fashion, the lower living room was strewn with every imaginable do-dad and gizmo for the trip to Wyoming; a new (and lighter) tent and new (and lighter) sleeping bag,

To answer your question, yes, everything fit into the pack (okay, maybe with some pushing and shoving). I’m ready to get this show on the road and hit the dusty trail.

minimal clothing, food, fuel and MSR stove and cookpots, collapsible plate and coffee cup, mosquito net, maps, boots, Tevas, and a few other sundry, lightweight items.  We shove off for Jackson, WY on Friday, July 20.

Almost time #2: Felicia and I head northwest to Minnesota to check in on Emma’s progress at 2+ months and see her folks.  She’s rapidly asserting her personality and no doubt she’ll find her grandpa all too pliable in her tiny hands.

This grandpa thing is still all too new and I’m not sure how to grandparent from afar.  Perhaps this week’s junket will help me figure it out.

From the look of Emma, she still has only two rules: #1) “What I say goes, and #2) See rule #1.” What’s also clear is she is firmly in the driver’s seat.  Perhaps this junket will help me figure that out.

Here is last week’s letter.  Reid is still in the U.K., so his copy went electronic late in the week.

————–

July 2, 2012

Ellen/Reid: We’ve been hammered by 100F+ heat the past few days.  Reminds you of what summer is really like in the Carolinas which is code for ‘not very enjoyable’.  The humidity is off the charts, too.  It’s just less than hospitable for humans.  My golf group slogged through a round on Saturday with people dropping like flies all over the place.  We had poor one guy taken off by ambulance for heat stroke.  The cart girl came up to us and asked if we knew this guy named Bill, because he needed help and was passed out on the next tee box.  He had crashed his cart and stumbled to the grass.  By the time we got there, the course superintendent had called 911 and help was on the way.  Not a very pretty sight.  It’s all about continued hydration.  I consumed nothing but water and got through in good shape.

Felicia’s daughter Suefan got in Saturday.  She’s a good kid and is about your age, Ellen.  She lives in Baltimore but she and her boyfriend, Ben, are moving back to Charlotte, hence her trip to look at something to rent.  We went to a sushi place Saturday night where, for the first time ever, I knowingly ate some tofu.  It wasn’t as bad as I assumed it to be.  It’s like a bean curd thing.  If you doctor it up (ours was fried) it is palatable.  The raw octopus was really good and so was the eel.  I would never seek out eel at the market let alone fish for them, but in a sushi place after a couple of cold ones and enough wasabi, and it’s not half bad.

Reid, I’ve been wondering how London is going.  What a time to be there: Wimbledon, Olympics, etc.  That is fortuitous in that regard.  There’s no way to get over there in time to see you, what with vacation semi-maxxed out and ticket prices being what they are in an Olympic year.  But there’s always Chicago when you return.  I tried to get Google Plus up and working but it was nothing short of a disaster on my iPhone.  I created the wrong email, couldn’t get the account deleted, etc.  So it’s still not working like it should.  And Ellen, someone told me you can’t do FaceTime from an iPhone to an iPad.  You both have to have to have the same device.  But to confirm that, I will go over to the Apple store tonight to hear that factoid straight from the horse’s mouth.

My trip to California was okay.  Incredible weather and the meetings were fine.  It’s just the return trip that set me back.  To save the bank a few hundred bucks, I took the red-eye back on Wednesday night/Thursday morning, and there is a reason those flights are mostly for younger people.  I hardly slept for lack of a comfortable position.  Left L.A. at midnight and got home about 10:30 a.m.  Was just fried the rest of the day.  Totally gassed, and that lingered into Friday.  No way will that ever be done again.  Traveling just isn’t as much fun as it used to be.

Enjoyed real, honest-to-goodness BLTs the past couple of days.  The little patio tomato plant on the front stoop has come through like a champ.  Its producing tennis ball sized fruit, and they’ve been mighty tasty.  There was an article in the paper about how taste has been bred out of store-bought plants (in the zeal to have eye-appealing red fruit with a long shelf life, most of the tasty sugars have been cut out by the plant chemists).  The commercial varieties are red, sure enough, but with the flavor and texture of cardboard.  It’ll be fun to see how Emma’s little garden is progressing, Ellen.  Can’t wait to get up there to see the little wonder (and you and Tim, too).

The Bridger group came over Friday night.  We didn’t plan much, just hung around and ate burgers and gabbed.  All my gear is laying out in the front room.  Trying to figure out how to take the pack as carry-on luggage since I’ve got two stops with a short layover between each.  Don’t want to risk the darn thing being lost.  In three weeks we’re on the trail, whether we’re ready or not.