Getting down with NASCAR

It’s almost seven years down this way, but I’m not heavily invested in NASCAR. Give me another half decade and we’ll see.

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May 28, 2013

Ellen/Reid: It was nice to have a long weekend. I needed one. Ellen, Michigan looked fun, and the airport videos of Emma walking the concourse were so much fun. Reid, I’m not sure what you and Liz did but no doubt it was a good time, too. I’m not sure why there isn’t more of a grassroots outcry for a national four day workweek. If I were running for president, that would be a major plank of my candidacy. I would be swept in by acclamation.

This is how they do it at NASCAR races: put up the tent by the pickup and crack a few cold ones.

We rode around Friday night and finally landed in Uptown for what the racing crowd calls ‘Speed Street” which is where they shut off the main drag and let you walk around and gawk at race cars while you drink beer. It’s a NASCAR/red neck thing. We didn’t spend an inordinate amount of time there. You see one race car, you’ve seen them all. The same can’t be said for the ‘necks since the people watching is fabulous. We had dinner and scooted to Mac’s for a final cold one. We went back to Mac’s for wings last night. We are nothing if not predictable. A good chunk of my Saturday was spent

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.

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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

Renting a Harley in Portland, OR

Someone asked recently if I sign the letters  ‘Love, Dad.’ You bet, every single time, usually in blue ink. I’ll make such a notation on the blog from here on out.

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March 25, 2013

Ellen/Reid: I suppose this is the time in life (mine, not yours) when we begin to fixate on health and all that getting older stuff. I posted a ‘Live for today’ item last week and now it’s really starting to sink in. Dave Hemminger emailed me this morning along those lines. Mort just sent me an email about ‘taking this

The rest of life may be speeding up but this make-believe turtle is going nowhere fast. He/she has been on our sidewalk for the better part of two weeks. Origin of the slow poke is unknown.

all for granted.’ More and more of the news exchanged between me and my friends will probably reflect this reality of getting along in age. Hell, I don’t care. It is what you make of it. Bring on the Heritage Softail and golf. Why not? Seems to be a running

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.

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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 nice October Saturday in Greenville, SC…

October 15, 2012

Ellen/Reid: I was golfing yesterday with a friend who said this nice weather “is why we live down here,” and he was right.  It was just picture-perfect on Sunday, the golf notwithstanding.  When the skies are blue and the temperatures are mild, it really is a nice place to call home.

The weather was a little colder on Saturday morning when we set off on the Harley to ‘Fall for Greenville’, a street festival in Greenville, SC that the locals said would draw a few hundred thousand over three days.  I don’t care much for South Carolina’s politics, but Greenville and the terrain to get there sure is nice.

Felicia on the main drag in downtown Greenville, SC. during the ‘Fall for Greenville’ festival. South Carolina politics are a turn off for me, but Greenville is a good place to spend a nice Saturday in October. Great ride on S.C. Rte. 11 that skirts the mountains.

Our roundabout route on S.C. Rte. 11 was likely 150 miles to get there.  We rode through some cotton fields and peach orchards and got very close to the mountains, enough to see the leaves begin to turn.  It was chilly even in our leathers but when the sun broke through it was a joy to be on the bike.  The Heritage passed the 48,000 mile mark during the trip.  The festival itself is mostly a food-oriented event and we strolled up and down, mostly people watching, then hit a wine bar for a nice glass of cab and an appetizer.  Then it was on the road again for the 100 miles back to Charlotte.  We’ll return next year, if nothing more than to ride through the countryside.  Good thing we went when we did; the weather is rumbling and raining this morning.

Really starting to get jacked up about the trip to St. Paul for Thanksgiving, and for you, Reid, to get down here for what will be a long Christmas weekend.  I still haven’t planned out what and where we will go, but a good guess is we will probably head toward the ocean somewhere.  Oak Island is the likely landing spot.  There’s a seedy hotel right on the beach next to a fishing pier which will serve us just fine.  We ought to see what’s biting during that weekend, don’t you think?  I will make arrangements.  Who cares what we catch, as long as we catch something.  It would be great to bring home to CLT and Chicago a few filets of edible fish.

The cleaners are here this morning tending to the details I don’t tend to.  They do a nice job, a couple of Hispanic women who really work hard at it.  Betsy gave me their names.  Their monthly stop here is the best $100 I spend.  Not that I don’t keep up, but it’s nice to have their finishing touches, if you know what I mean.  Ellen, I still need to hear how the episode with your cleaners came out.  Bookkeeping is apparently not their thing.  Mine, either.

Watched the hairy video the guy free fall from 128,000 feet and break the sound barrier en route.  He must have noogies the size of basketballs.  That is one hell of a feat.  To get into a balloon let alone jump out of one at a height where you see the curvature of earth is absolutely amazing.  That wouldn’t be for me.

All the pork, sausage, steaks and other dietary stuff that should go off our diet was bagged up this past Sunday and toted over to Caldwell to go into the freezer for the Sunday breakfasts the church prepares for 50 or so homeless women who live in one of the church’s buildings.  It was a win-win for both sides.  It felt good to follow through on the threat to make a culinary change.

I find all the political news depressing.  Not much civility anymore in any of the races.  A woman at Caldwell, Jennifer Roberts, is running for Congress and I fear she’s going to get creamed.  She is a good person, honest and straightforward with the best interests of the people at heart.  The Observer endorsed her, but her opponent is kind of a Tea Party guy whose only mantra is business, anti-environment, etc.  I worry about guys like that who don’t care a hoot about the 47% or for the environment.  If we elect him, we will get what we deserve which won’t be much.

The little matter of a junket to Tybee Island…

Later today, Reid hops a plane out of Chicago to his temporary work assignment in London.  His first day of work is Wednesday.  As any of us would, he’s looking forward to it, although I’m not sure if he’s looking more at the work or at London.  Probably both.

If the summer schedule plays out as it is currently scripted, the chance of me getting over there to visit this new expat are slim and none.  It’s just not in the cards.  Reid is over there for roughly two months and if his stint stretched into October or November, then it might be a different matter.  But it’s not.  I’m already committed to the Twin Cities to check up on Emma and her domain plus the Bridger Wilderness is set in stone, too.

The morning after we rode across the isthmus from Tybee Island to Savannah, we stopped along the Savannah River long enough to stretch our legs. Felicia deserved a few hours away from her workday grind. Moments after this shot was taken, we saddled up again. This time, up to Hilton Head on back roads.

Then there was the little matter of a junket for Felicia and me to Tybee Island, Georgia this past weekend.  She has worked long, tedious hours and she deserved a 27 hour getaway to this tiny little stretch of sand that is a great spot.  As she tells it, it has what Myrtle Beach and some of the over-commercialized ocean front tourist traps do not: a coziness that comes with a community scarcely a mile or two long (at the most), some beach bars that serve cold drinks, and two greasy spoon breakfast nooks worth the trip alone.  The price of admission to any of the spots we happened upon were flip flops and shorts.  We rode the Harley this time, and no Chamber of Commerce could have ordered any better weather.  We took the back road from Savannah to Hilton Head where a couple of cold beers washed away any road dust and made our lunch along the ocean taste a little better.

Ellen sent this photo with a one word caption: Chillin’. Already Emma is changing day by day. I see her next on July 13.

For those expecting one more photo of Emma, here is the little wonder with one of her first discernable smiles.  Her mom sent this at precisely the right time as her gramps slogged through a Friday work day worth forgetting.

Here is last week’s letter.  The letter to be written today will be mailed to Ellen and emailed to Reid in London (as his will be for the next 7 or 8 weeks).

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June 11, 2012

Ellen/Reid: Well, one would suppose this will be the last letter on paper you’ll receive for a while, Reid.  While you’re ‘over there’ I’ll send the notes by email attachment.  It will sort of be like when you went to Finland.  I’m looking into a short visit while you’re there, but there may be some things working against it.  Certainly the Olympics and all that revolves around it (higher prices, price gouging, etc., and that includes airline tickets) but it would sure be great fun to figure out how to make a four or five day visit work.  My passport is still valid for another year.  But never say never because this would be a once-in-a-lifetime situation to get over there to see you.  It’s all so exciting.  There will be so much ado about the Olympics, Wimbledon, the royal family, et al.  The ‘biometric appointment’ took me a little off guard but that’s just the way security is these days.  Just make sure you send us a lot of photos.  It might be fun to keep a short term journal of your adventure.

And Ellen, the picture of you and Emma at Home Depot is just hilarious.  A family shopping trip to a hardware store.  I laughed out loud at those little appendages dangling outside her kiddie harness or whatever it is you call it.  It’s too early for her to make decisions about the décor of her room but that time will come.  I have sprinkled her new photos around the townhome and will send a framed one to you that appears to be a duplicate.  We can’t wait to get up there on the 13^th of July.  We plan to stay at a B&B down on Grand.  Felicia correctly advises that it would be good for us to stay out of your hair.  One less stressor for you guys to deal with.

We head down to Tybee Island, Georgia on Friday for one night at a cheap hotel plus a few nice walks on the beach.  We’ll take the bike and cruise on down because it’s not too bad a jaunt.  Tybee Island is a smallish place just outside of Savannah and it doesn’t have the size and noise and distractions of a Myrtle Beach or some of the other island hot spots.  The little burg features one of the all time great greasy spoon breakfast spots where, if you’re not wearing flip flops, you’re out of place and conspicuously out of style.  You can tell Tim that it appears to be a redfish paradise, what with all the little fingerling inlets and such that push way inland.  I’d love to cast a line but there just won’t be enough time for it.  Felicia has to be back on Sunday so she can go to Shelby for Father’s Day.  Tybee is kind of a fall-back position because I’m still trying to get the time share thing figured out.  I have totally squandered that resource.  Totally wasted it.

Betsy got a new job at the bank.  Her other position might have been drawing to a close but she has landed on her feet and in a better spot.  She’ll start to work from home which will be a new experience for her.  I’ve assured her she will love it.

The weather is beginning to warm up here and before you know it we’ll be up to our necks in heat and sweat.  But the spring has been great here and there are no real complaints.  The weather may warm up but my golf game remains cold.  I’ve completely lost touch with the sport.  It would be the one thing I’d discourage Emma from taking up.  But there is some signs of success around here.  Finally, after years of trying without success, there are some eating sized tomatoes forming on the vine just outside the front porch.  And I’ve cleaned out the garage of rickety old shelving and other what-not so that looks better at long last.  There is plenty more to do around here.

Reid, the parting words are: stay in touch.  Let us know how your world turns in London and it would be wonderful to see photos of where you live, where you work and where you visit.  This is a great opportunity for you.  Don’t be surprised if your old man knocks on the door looking for a place to sleep, even if it’s the floor.  Have fun over there, kid.

Set the bar low…

People ask what Ellen looks like, so here she is with hubby Tim up to their knees in Wisconsin trout waters.

No doubt some of you – maybe all of you – have rolled your eyes at some of the sub-trivial fluff I foist on the kids and other unwitting recipients.

I don’t hold myself in very high regard as a writer.  What comes out, comes out.

My dire self assessment aside, the goal has never been to set the bar high as high art.  Instead, my goal is really to stay out of my own way and just get the letters out the door on the appointed day.  To achieve “high art’ is not in my meager skill sets.   It would seem to imply that art supersedes the doing and that the writer’s sense of self-importance surpasses the expectation(s) of the recipient(s).  In neither case is that true.   High art also takes time, suitable inspiration and untold revisions, all of which further implies a pursuit of creative perfection which, if you’ve read my onslaught of letters, is in no danger of being eclipsed.

I’ve set the bar low and am pretty much content with such lowness.  Some days might be higher than others, but not by much.

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The Charlotte Observer ran my first column this weekend.  As my age will attest, my beat will be narrowly focused.

http://www.charlotteobserver.com/2010/10/23/1778133/having-the-talk-with-aging-parents.html

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Here is last Monday’s letter to Ellen and Reid.

October 18, 2010

Ellen/Reid: Ellen, what is this with your car windows being smashed?  I thought your little neighborhood was relatively immune to such nonsense.  What a way to start your Sunday morning.  Was the car in the garage or on the street (Tim’s new rig is likely in the garage, isn’t it?)?  Just make sure you keep stuff out of sight since that’s how most of these car-invading hooligans decide to break in to your car instead of others.

My weekend was far less adventuresome than yours.  Felicia and I rode to Maggie Valley, NC in search of the ‘Wheels Through Time’ museum of ancient Harleys.  It was wonderful, and I’d go again in a heartbeat, but the real star of the trip was the trek through the mountains.  The leaves and the scenery were incredible and the traffic was nil.  That’s quite a change from my last leaf-looking trip on the Blue Ridge Parkway a couple of years ago.  This went through canopied twisty roads alongside streams, and you can tell Tim we saw lots of fly fisherpeople all along the route, and secretly, I wish I’d been among them.  The route took us northwest out of picturesque Hendersonville, NC west on state road 64 and then a right turn onto state road 276.  One of the best roads ever for riding.  The museum was just a scream.  I’d guess the guy had 100+ old Harleys and Indians and other makes strewn all over the place.  But half the fun is looking at the old memorabilia such as newspaper clippings, posters, letters, and other assorted stuff.  It was just a lot of fun.  It was a cold ride in the morning but got nicer as the day went along.  Had BBQ in Maggie Valley at some place called Butts on the Creek.  It was pretty good, not the best, but just pretty good.

Reid, Nebraska choked in the Texas game.  The Big Red came in all hyped up but came out like Little Pink (a name from Bob F____________).  On the ride I was kicking myself for not recording the game but in hindsight it was a good thing.  Your uncle must’ve been a basket case at the game.  He would’ve been beside himself, and I pity the poor person sitting next to him, in front of him and behind him.  Your grandfather probably rotated in his grave.

My lengthy interview last week has gone for naught.  I made the second cut but not the third.  In most interviews you typically rue making comments you wish you wouldn’t have made and that was true in this case.  I had nosed around with people about their impressions of _______, and was trying to relate that their views didn’t necessarily mesh with what I’d learned about the firm.  I just didn’t communicate that very well to the person who mattered most.  I inadvertently irked the hiring manager and it was instantly apparent that I was out the door – and I still have five other people to talk to.  But that’s just the way it goes, although it was a firm I would’ve liked to get to know a little better.

But things are going along as well as could be expected here at the bank.  I like the new situation, and while it’s just a temporary layover to whatever is next, it’s a daunting task.  The technical aspect of legal letter writing is overwhelming.  You really have to be on point and organized to orchestrate a letter which alternately recognizes the customer’s problem but doesn’t do anything to further irritate them.  They’re likely irritated enough already.  But it’s a challenge and that’s okay.

No real word from the place where your grandmother is staying.  I’ve been a complete absentee in that I’ve not called her as much as she deserves.  My pre-New Year’s resolution is to begin, this week, to call her 2-3 times each week.  She may not remember the calls but I’ve just been a schmuck on that score.  You guys should write her a note now and then because the staff will read them to her.   Gotta run, but keep your phones on for further text messages.

Falling upward…

 

My friend Bob sent this photo of my letter to him, plus the $1 I grudgingly owed him for a lost bet.

 

It has been some time – a few months anyway – since I’ve written a letter to only one of the kids.

Now is the time for another.

Reid has done a better than admirable job at his gigantic ad agency in Chicago.  The advertising game is a harsh what-have-you-done-for-me-lately business.  He has persevered after his primary account was lost to a competitor.  He made himself valuable with his attitude and his intellect.  The account went down but he fell upward.  And that is a great thing.  This week he got a raise and a shift to other big accounts.  Maybe he didn’t get all he was after, but I am very proud of his stick-to-itiveness.  This is a kid who, early in his agency career, got axed along with a slew of line staff at another shop.  At a tender age he became a graduate, with honors, of the school of hard knocks.

I’m not sure when the letter to him will ultimately surface on this page.  I will ask but that will be his call.  Yet that is the prerogative of dads and moms: tell their children when they have done something that is good and, secondarily, pleases their parents.  That is the gist of the note to Reid.

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Bridger Wilderness update: Hey, I’m up to one companion for the July, 2011 trip.  My cousin Tom Andersen from Oregon, is on board.  Bring it on, Tom.  Hey, there’s room for plenty more wanderers.

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But it’s Wednesday, and we’ll reach a bit further into my bag of tricks for an older letter to the twosome.

July 9, 2007

Reid/Ellen: As weekends go on the old 1-10 scale, I’d have to give this one a 3.  This is Murphy’s Law as relates to weekends: whatever could go wrong did go wrong.  And once it goes wrong, it really never gets right.

It started when I took the hog in for its 30,000 service — 30,000 miles, can you believe it? – and since the Harley dealership (i.e. crooks) didn’t have loaner bikes, I rented a Dyna Wide Glide for the day at an alleged steep discount.  Anyway, the bike didn’t have a windshield, so it was nice to feel the wind, and bugs, in my face for a change.  I went home and laid around then thought ‘what the heck, I might as well get out and ride’.  So I went northeast of town to Lowe’s Motor Speedway, an absolutely enormous venue that can sit 200,000 for stockcar (i.e. NASCAR) races.

On the way back, it clouded up, and before I knew what hit me, the rain was coming down sideways.  If you’ve never been on a bike in the rain without a windshield, the best way to explain it is that raindrops feel like needles.  In the space of :30, my face was utterly exfoliated.  It was raining unbelievably hard, and by the time I got to shelter under the first Interstate bridge, I was completely soaked.  But it was very hot, in the mid-90s, although the shower cooled it down a fair amount.  Seems we had a microburst which shoved down trees and powerlines all over the city, and by the time I got back to the Harley dealership (i.e. crooks) I’d navigated through standing water and was mud from head to toe because of all the traffic ahead of my kicking up dirt and debris.  And if it’s not enough to catch raindrops, try some sand and stones at 70 mph.  That gets your attention.  Now I’ve been in rain before and really don’t mind it, but this was incredible.

And that was the high point of entire two days.  Against my better judgment, played golf yesterday, and it was more of the same you’ve heard me whine so often about: bad, bad, bad.  Shank, shank, shank.  It’s sickening.  Reid, I may give you my clubs when you and Rachel are down here.  I stink.

Am supposed — supposed — to go in today for a skin treatment called Levalan.  It’s where the dermatologist slathers your face in some gunk and, as he says, you sit in the lobby for an hour or so to “let the marinade work” (his words), then you sit under some blue light for 90 minutes.  It turns your skin bright red — they say absolutely no post-treatment sunlight for 48-72 hours — and in theory it’s supposed to rid your skin of pre-cancerous cells.  I’ve had what they call squamas cell carcinomas taken off in recent weeks and this is supposed to do the trick.  But when he uses words like marinade and sort of laughs off the treatment, it makes you wonder.  So, I’m getting a second opinion in the very near future.

Did bake some round Italian loaves Friday night and dropped them off to some folks around the office on Saturday morning before the deluge.  I dunno, Reid, these loaves are good but my gosh, it’s a three-riser and takes roughly 5 hours from start to finish and didn’t take things out of the oven until 11:30.  Hardly worth it.  But damn, it makes good toast.

Okay, here’s the skinny on Grandma’s birthday.  Uncle Ralph has made arrangements for photos on Friday at 2:00.  I don’t know why he didn’t get this figured out for Saturday, but that’s the way things are.  Can you guys make that?  If you need plane tickets, go ahead and make ‘em.   FYI…with Joe’s wedding in January, it seems plane tickets may be $1,100 according to Ralphie.  That may change our plans a bit.  Let’s reconsider making that trip.

Be good, be safe, have fun.