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

The green belt as a nice backdrop…

I can’t count the times these letters have touched on or skirted environmental points over the years. It’s an important touch-point for me and one of the few hot button issues that I consistently push.

————–

March 11, 2013

Ellen/Reid: The trees out back are beginning to bud, a sure sign that before long we will be completely shut off from view of the units 75-100 yards away. Felicia nosed around at some other single floor condos and she couldn’t find any that had the appeal of ours. The green belt is a nice backdrop, and I suspect that of all the units here, we have the best in that respect. What

The green belt is safe refuge from marauding feral cats for the birds that visit our window feeder. We have a room with a view – and it’s all green.

we don’t have is the warmest unit around. That’s what got us looking around at potentials. Heat rises, and it rises quickly up and out of the room where we want to stay warmest. The fireplace has been on almost non-stop and Felicia vegs in front of it most evenings while I stay

A roomie and going berserk over some snow…

February 18, 2013

Ellen/Reid: Wow, what a weekend.  Naturally, Emma calls the shots of when to do what and how long we take to do it, but that’s just the scheme of things.  That’s what babies do.  She is a dear little one; so quick to smile, so vocal and good natured.  And she works her gramps like a bass drum.  She squawked and I came running.  Yeah, by the time Reid and I return, she’ll be walking up a storm and changing your family dynamics that much more, Ellen.  It is truly amazing how fast they change.

On a need-to-know basis…

The hot-shot diet I pontificated about last week isn’t going so well.  And I made such a big deal of it with Ellen and Reid.

Since then I’ve consumed: two hamburgers, fries, a breakfast sandwich with sausage and bacon, and sausage and pancakes for dinner.  That doesn’t include the wine, gin and tonics, beer, and fish & chips (with mo’ fries) I ate last week on a Florida vacation (all of which was dissected in the letter written and mailed today that will be published next week).  But I promise to do better.  Really.

I think parental diet is on the menu of what kids ought to know about.  They’re on a need-to-know basis and they ought to know.  They already know a lot of personal things anyway (see last week’s post) and that’s okay.  We’re all adults here (as they near their upper 20′s) so very little is off limits.  That’s probably the largest change to the letters over the years; as my two have grown, they get to read things now that were held a bit closer to the vest not so many years ago.

Today’s letter  to the kids (which you will read next week) deals with a trip to Florida where this beach vine inched its way closer to the ocean’s edge.

I told the kids that there is a marginal chance that I might-possibly-maybe-perhaps start to run again.  I need to compensate for a metabolism that has slowed to a snail’s pace while the adding of pounds is occurring with Usain Bolt-like speed.

Here is last week’s letter:

————

October 1, 2012

Ellen/Reid: It’s been more than 10 days since I’ve had any beef, but there hasn’t been any tofu during that span, either.  But one has to start somewhere.  We tried ‘beer can chicken’ on the grill Saturday night – until the grill ran out of gas and we transferred the whole caboodle to the oven.  It was okay but not great although we’re not sure how someone can manage to mess up such a simple meal.  I’ve also started to take the Omega 3 lozenges you recommended Ellen but am still somewhat uncertain what those are supposed to do.  I’d look it up but the new MacAir is in the shop while the files from the decrepit Acer are transferred over to the new machine.  I bought a series of one-on-one lessons at the Mac store and I’ll probably begin to step up to the counter in terms of attendance.  It’s a slick machine but I’m slow on the uptake so the classes will no doubt be helpful.  I’m tired of reveling in my technology stupidity.  Time to enter the new age.

There has been some thought given to resuming a schedule of running on a limited basis.  It’s a weight thing.  I’m not ready to return to the days of what it took to run a 2:24 marathon, but a light jog of a couple of miles a few days a week wouldn’t seem to hurt things.  The only reservation is what even a light dose of pavement pounding might do to the ankles.  Perhaps low impact exercise is the way to go.  At any rate I’ll keep trying to walk it off on the 2.5 mile circuit we take most every weeknight.  Felicia has to slow down to accommodate my lack of speed.

I head to Florida on Thursday to join Bob and the two Daves (Hemminger and Dahlquist).  This is our third such annual adventure, and I suppose we have Jane H. to thank for that.  She keeps pushing us down this path and we are all too eager to follow it.  We will be situated near Tampa but I don’t know the exact location.  I rent the car and the others ride along and tell me where to go.  It will mostly be golf, B.S.ing and a little fishing off the coast followed by more B.S.ing.  The fishing is what I’m really excited about.  The captain of the boat keeps saying what nice fish they’ve been catching but that is code for ‘You should’ve been here last week’ and we all know how most of those turn out.  There doesn’t appear to be any hurricanes in the forecast beyond the ones that have ice in a glass.  Really, we’re pretty much a wine group.  I’ll try to stick to the new diet although there are no guarantees given that surf & turf will likely be on our menu.

Ellen, here are the printed checks from the cleaning service.  I think they are trying to take you to the cleaners, no pun intended.  Their bookkeeping isn’t what it should probably be.  If for some reason we are shown to be wrong – but I don’t think so – then we will make them whole.

Reid, I promise to get your Christmas flight ticket this week.  Thanks for the dates you provided.  Since we won’t get a timeshare, we might drive over to Oak Island and stay at some seedy place on the beach.  But we will still have a good time for a couple of nights.  Oak Island must be about four hours or so.  It’s just this side of Wilmington, which we will probably get over to for one night.

Work is going okay aside from working with the &*%^$#@ attorneys.  They could clog up a culvert with all the legalisms they spew which I have to wade through and translate to useable English.  But monkeys and pigs will fly in formation before lawyers ever write something in plain terms.

It will be great to see you guys at Thanksgiving.  The free range, organic turkey sounds divine, Ellen.  Reid and I will volunteer (won’t we, Reid?) to do most if not all the cooking.  On my oath I will not forget sugar in the pies this year.  Get some of those good green apples and a couple of tins of pumpkin pie filling, and we’ll be in business.

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.

Mistress of all she surveys…

This time next week, Reid will be in London to begin his first international work venture.  He’s landed a short term assignment to oversee a digital something-or-other project.   His skills will indeed span an ocean.  Sure, he missed the queen’s 60th jubilee by a couple of weeks but in his spare moments he can wander over toward the Olympic venues.  I suppose there’s no bad time to be in Britain but this would seem a particularly great time.  The wheels are turning toward a short visit to the kid.  The letter written today will be the last he receives on paper for a while.  He’ll get his by email attachment while he’s across the pond.

I’m bored. Tend to my needs or feed me, one of the two.

Then there’s Emma.  The 24 hour all-Emma-all-the-time channel is still in the works, but the little wonder continues to elbow her way to the top of Ellen-Tim society.  She’s gaining weight, cementing her position as the mistress of all she surveys, and becoming accustomed to ruling the roost.  Gramps is all for that.  It didn’t take long for her photos to be displayed prominently throughout the house.

Fittingly, Reid and his niece highlight last week’s letter:

——————-

June 4, 2012

Ellen/Reid: The work week got off to a rocky start (as if starting at 6:15 Eastern every morning isn’t rocky enough) although things have smoothed out since the early pandemonium.  Still a few hours to go but the placid waters could change if someone else’s heartbeat quickens and their problem becomes my problem.  Actually, I do work with a capable bunch of good people.

I figured out why the little blue birds died.  They got drenched in cold water.  They adjusted the lawn sprinkler system, and two of the strong streams of water take a direct pass right over the hole in the bird house.  I didn’t notice that until this morning and that rankles me.  Water was literally running out the bottom of the box.  Blue birds were re-nesting, and they’ve gone away because the (^&%$@# sprinkler comes on twice a day.  I’ll take birds over a green lawn any day.

Man, Reid, you will be in London near the peak of Olympic festivities.  What an absolute madhouse that place is going to be for nearly your entire time there.  But I suppose that is half the fun, rubbing shoulders with the rest of the world.  I’ll send a note to Mike Hill to see if he’ll have time to have a cold one with you.  Not certain of my travel plans there but it would be a great short trip to take if you have a floor available for sleeping.  A couch with a pillow would be what I’m used to.  Still unclear is what the heck you will be doing over there by day.  I didn’t have my wits about me to ask you about that.  My bad to leave England off the list of countries you’ve visited.  No doubt it won’t be the last.

The photos of Emma should arrive any day now, and already I’m ruing the dull-headed lapse of no wallet size shots to foist on my friends who ask to see her.  What a dang oversight that was.  A lot of good 5×7 shots will do sitting in the house.  I’ll send the photographer a new order to ship some down this way.  That is certain to double the thickness of my wallet.  Nothing wrong with ample supplies of granddaughter photos.  According to informed sources (Felicia and others) it isn’t uncommon for babies to be cranky in the 5 – 8 p.m. timeframe.  She will get over that soon enough.  It’s just heartening to see she is gaining some weight and putting a little beef on herself.  This past weekend, one of the people who asked to see Emma’s photos said her daughter is expecting, but to break the news of the baby’s sex, the expectant couple will host a cake-type of unveiling party.  Their doctor gives the parents a sealed envelope containing the baby’s sex which the parents take to a bakery.  The baker makes a cake that is either pink or blue on the inside and covers it with white frosting.  The ‘sex’ is unveiled when the cake is cut.  Is there nothing that escapes the clutches of the wedding industry in its pursuit of making a fast buck?  It’s total insanity but I wish that was my idea.

The lettuce garden that has faithfully furnished lettuce every day for weeks is on its last legs.  That’s the way it goes.  It goes to bolt (seed) and that’s the end of it.  But the patio tomato plant is beginning to come on like gangbusters.  The fruit are about the size of a racquetball but that is a serious upgrade from the total, utter and abject failure of tomatoes in years gone by.  It provides a little bit of hope that for once there will be delicious BLTs at some point this summer.  In a tip of the hat to my doctor, the bacon will be of the turkey variety.

Okay, the call of work is still loud and clear.  It must be answered.  I’ll be in touch again in short order.  Emma and London aren’t such bad topics to talk about.

Back to the old ways…

You were expecting a photo of Emma at the top of the page?  You’ll need to scroll down a bit.

Yes, she is a little sweetie (aren’t all grandchildren?).  That’s why there are no Grandchild USA contests (or at least I’m not aware of any).  No winner would ever be chosen because all the votes would be cast along family lines.

Still, Emma was the centerpiece of last week’s letter to new mom Ellen and her brother Reid. But you will note that the letter a couple of weeks ago truly wasn’t “official” since it was emailed as an attachment due to a printer ink malfunction.  But what the kids received over the weekend had a stamp on the envelope, therefore marking a return to official letter status.  I have gone back to the old ways, thanks to a new black ink cartridge.

Emma: the apple of her gramps’ eye.

As for the photo of Emma, here you go.

Here, too, is the paper letter.  Just say ‘no’ to email attachments.

—————–

May 14, 2012

Ellen/Reid: It’s just hard to believe that Emma is almost two weeks old.  It still is all a bit surreal.  She’s just a little peanut, and already her looks seem to be changing.  I can’t wait to see her again because that’s when her growth will really be apparent.  It looks as if the next trip will be the second weekend in July.  We would come on a Friday and leave on Sunday.  I assume Emma will get her first view of the lake July 6-7-8 but you tell me what works best for us to visit.  Felicia’s excited to see her.  It is still amazing that your upstairs renovation project was completed virtually the same day Emma was born.  Talk about fortuitous timing.  Wow.  You couldn’t have scripted it better.  It’s good I lost my April 24 bet.  What a mess that would’ve been.

I’m now paying attention to baby coupons in the Sunday paper so those will be tucked into the envelopes.  Everything about babies is really an industry into itself.  Most of the stuff they advertise in the back pages of the coupon section seems feasible enough but I don’t quite understand why people would buy porcelain statuary of babies and other baby knick-knacks.  Sounds like just another garage sale item to me.  You will not receive anything of the sort from Emma’s grandpa.  Next time I head to the store I’ll pay a little more attention to the baby aisle.  Before you know it, she’ll be walking and talking and all of that.  Just as we marveled at how quickly you two nuts grew, the same will be for your perception of her.  It all just happens in a blur.  Betsy thinks the photos of Emma are adorable and she’s been asking for regular updates so keep any information coming this way.  Your timing is also good, Ellen, in that you’ll be able to stay at home during the normal summer break for teachers.

It’s been raining outside this morning which makes for a good enough day to sit in the office.  Wish it would’ve rained this weekend so I could’ve skipped golf altogether.  I’m so tired of playing poorly.  I couldn’t think my way out of a paper bag on the course if my life depended on it.  It is just so humbling.  Reid, how did your little golf gig come about?  Don’t people camp overnight at the public courses in Chicago just so they can snag a tee time?  Good for you to get out and play.  If some kid came along and offered me $5 for my sticks, I might be tempted.  Felicia is working a lot of overtime, including the weekends, and that puts a crimp into any spontaneous plans to ride or get out of town.

The lettuce pot out front continues to pump out a bumper crop.  That’s been a good dietary diversion.  I’m sorry to report that the Swallowtail butterfly caterpillar that was munching on the sprigs of parsley apparently fell prey to some sort of predator because it was gone within a day or two of me thinking it would continue to grow and eat its way into a pupa or whatever they wrap themselves in before emerging and flitting away.  My little bluebirds, sadly, are gone, too.  When I got home from Minnesota I thought they would have fledged so I went out back to check out the nest.  But there they were, dead.  Not sure what happened.  Stories on the web show parasites are a fairly common cause of death in baby birds.  The parent bluebirds had worked so diligently to keep the little ones fed.  They are nowhere to be seen.  I’ve since cleaned out the nest and let it dry out.  Hopefully some other bird species will find it a good nesting site.   Must be that time of year for baby animals.  Saw a small copperhead the other evening, but it was dead, too, and for no apparent reason.  Must be the way of things.

Okay, over and out for this morning.  Keep sending photos of Emma, and Reid, let me know about your iPad situation.  Glad you are finding uses for yours, Ellen.  Let’s use that live video thingie at some point soon.  Ciao.

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:

—————–

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.

————

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.

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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.