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.

The habit-practice-compulsion

Last week’s letter (we are the well into the 11th year of a weekly note to Ellen) never made it to a door side mailbox before it was read.  Reid opened his within minutes of the email attachment arriving at his London office, and Ellen read the post days before her letter arrived by postal delivery in St. Paul.

The habit-practice-compulsion (it is whatever you wish to call it) just keeps rolling along.  It has its own energy and sense of momentum.

But it consists of the energy of one.   Momentum-less is the original dream: prod non-letter writers (parents in particular) to adopt regular letters as a legitimate low-tech means to simply stay in touch with their kids.  The sense here is almost no progress has been made to move even a small number of people from Point A to Point L (letters).  That failure is a super-duper-sized elephant in the room.  Case in point: subscribership remains low.  I’m not reaching parents at the logical separation point when kids flee for college and the nest is suddenly empty.  That’s when writing a letter might seem to be a viable thing.  The dream, it turns out, is nothing more than a pipe dream.

Other factors may be at work.  My blog itself could be suspect or ill-created/managed/promoted or worse yet, just flat-out uninteresting.  Likely on those counts and others.  Maybe the forest is too close and I can’t see through all those infernal trees.  But I wouldn’t label this as a wholesale rant or whine.  Instead, it’s recognition that the formula isn’t working.  One thing for sure, I’ll keep trying.  Someday the light will come on and I’ll spring forward with an approach that is more viable.

So the blog remains essentially a running, public diary of correspondence between me and my two.  Maybe that is enough.

This morning’s letter to Ellen and Reid is freshly minted and won’t be posted until next week.  The same-week release of last week’s letter on the excursion to the Bridger Wilderness in Wyoming used up whatever free pass I had on that score.

Idiocy knows no borders in the Bridger Wilderness

Most adventurers to the Bridger Wilderness come away with memories and perhaps a few blisters.  Me, I stumbled out with two fractured ribs from a self-inflicted mishap that is enough proof that idiocy knows no borders.  It is highly transportable from North Carolina to Wyoming.

X-rays at an emergency orthopedic center Tuesday night confirmed the source of ache and soreness; ribs nos. 9 and 10 on the right side of my back were broken although not cleanly snapped through.  The kindly doctor took the chance to remind me of balance issues “as we age.”  Thanks.

This post marks two departures from standard practice involving the weekly letters.  This is the first time in the more than two years of this blog that I’ve released a letter before both kids have had a chance to read it; London-based Reid has already viewed it as an attachment (he responded within 10 minutes of receiving it).  Ellen’s snail mail copy should arrive tomorrow  in St. Paul.  Second, at one and a half pages, the letter below (including the sordid details of the oafish stream-side tumble) is well beyond the  single page norm.  Note: it was composed before last night’s excursion for x-rays.

—————–

July 30, 2012

Ellen/Reid: The Bridger Wilderness was as expected; wild, unpredictable, alternately cold and rainy or hot, full of fish, steep and hard and with views beyond my limited comprehension.  We had the time you would expect but it is clear to me that backpacking for extended periods is really a younger person’s game.  This seemed hard, hard work from the get-go.

There were interminable switchbacks to this point on a very tough day 2; but the view looking north just short of Lozier Lake were well worth the effort.

If this letter was based solely on our trek of Sunday, July 22, my hiking career might well be kaput.  It was the single toughest day on the trails in my long experience.  I had this note all written out in my head as I slogged onward and upward on what seemed like an endless string of inhumane switchbacks and false passes – just when you thought you’d reached the top, another long and steep incline lay ahead – on a 10 mile day.  It was sheer torture.  Emma’s cold seemed to come along for the ride and it was just a battle to suck in enough oxygen.  Tom, whom you met last year Ellen, and Richard left me in the proverbial dust.  The closest I would get to them was on the hated swtichbacks, and even then I’d be 100 – 200 yards back.  We motored on through heat, then finished in cold rain and wind the last few miles.  When we finally reached Clark Lake, I was completely spent.  My legs were muscle-less mush.  Felicia says I walk like a cowboy anyway, swinging my legs out and then forward, and that long day exacerbated that highly inefficient motion.  That night literally I got around camp like Festus on Gunsmoke.  A painless hobble would have been an improvement.

Tom was a true mountain man – he knew routes and landmarks by name, packed ultra-light, and was prepared in every conceivable way. He knew a thing or two, too, about using his Japanese inspired fly rod.

Contributing to that might be a weight thing, too.  Tom measures everything – food, fuel, rope, containers, socks, bags, his tent and ground clothe, etc. – to the gram, and he is totally focused on ultra-light gear.  So while Richard and I are weighed down with 45 pound packs, Tom is relatively light at 30.  It makes a difference.  My boots felt like cement overshoes sometimes; Tom and Richard wore light footwear that was a notch up from running shoes.  An ounce here and an ounce there, and pretty soon you’re talking real poundage.  I’d never approached backpacking in those precise terms.  If I do this again, and the jury is out, that will be the way to go.

Tom was the real ringleader on this enterprise once we got moving.  He’s hiked Nepal, the length of Spain, the entire 2,500 mile Appalachian Trail, and big chunks of other noted paths.  He looks at maps differently and makes on-map notes on waystops, mileage points, altitude, camp sites, etc.  Me, I look at the map and go.  He knew mountain and route names so in that regard his presence was good.

Richard’s first ford (but far from the last). He was a real trouper in this North Carolinian’s first foray into the real mountains.

It was Richard’s first go in the back country and he more than acquitted himself.  We all got along well and there was nothing that truly held us back.

Other than me.  I had a couple of sloppy mishaps, balance issues, really, one of which could’ve cost us the bulk of the trip but didn’t.  Our first night we camped at that rock-topped outcropping where we spend two nights last year, Ellen.  As you know, it is a long way down to the stream, and while trying to navigate upward to the campsite with a pan full of water, this klutz slipped and slammed the tip of my right elbow on a rock.  The water went flying and for a few seconds considered that my elbow was a goner.  In a flash a ping pong ball sized knot popped out that stayed ping pong ball size the entire way, and for the rest of the trek there was no way to sleep on my right side.  Episode two was after Sunday’s killer walk.  We took a rest day – mercifully – and I was working a steep stream when I tried to rock hop to reach a pool, only to slip on a big, wet slab of granite.  I went into a 4 – 5 foot free fall but was able to spin slightly so the meat of the right side of my back hit another big rock flush.  I heard a small crack, and literally had the wind knocked out of me.  I laid there for the better part of 10 or 15 minutes taking stock of what might be hurt.  It was difficult to breathe.  If either of my feet could’ve reached my butt, I might have kicked it hard.  The camp was 500 yards up the slope, and finally got to my feet, collected my rod, and literally inched my way back up the trail.  It was just awful.  From that night forward there was no comfortable way to turn in the cramped confines of the one person tent without major pain.  I couldn’t let out a groan for fear the guys would hear it and contemplate getting my sorry ass out of there via the nearest exit path.  Amazingly, I could sleep in relative comfort on my left side.  It was also amazing that once my pack was on, for some reason everything felt better and wasn’t too difficult to walk.  Things could’ve been much worse.  The incredible numbers of infernal mosquitoes – a real scourge that never seemed to relent in their attacks – preoccupied much of the time for the three of us.

From Clark we camped on successive nights at Summit Lake, then on to Borum Lake and finally Round Lake.

From my tent on Borum Lake. Six nights, six incredible campsites at about 10,500 ft. altitude each night.

We caught fish all along the way, although it was frustrating for Richard because he dropped two bills on rental fly fishing equipment, and the act of casting was vexing for him.  He simply needed more time to practice, and the cauldron of trying to catch fish for dinner really wasn’t the time to do that.  He caught his share, but Tom really brought home the proverbial bacon.  Since there was a ban on fires, we had to make-do by wrapping the Brookies in foil and cooking them in the pot over the MSR.  Not quite the same as broiling over smoky wood, but it worked out just fine.  It occurred to me at Round Lake that these might be the last mountain trout I’d ever catch in truly wild country.

Not that it was all bad.  Far from it.  We ran into the same group of genial cowboys from Utah twice over 5 days and who we talked to at length while admiring their beautiful horses, and for the first time ever elk could be heard bugling.

I happen to be a hiker that fishes. We knocked these Brookies down at Round Lake. Nothing wrong with a 10″ trout in the pan. We kept enough to eat but all the others were returned to the wild – alive.

There was no hint of grizzlies and after a while we stopped talking about bears.  We trudged out and down, down, down in a cold, steady rain on Friday morning and made it out in six hours in bright sunshine and heat.  We had one final ford to make, and afterward I left my Tevas on for the final two miles.  Those were the most comfortable two miles of the entire trip, so it goes to show what lightweight footwear can do.  The traditional post-hike beer and food in Pinedale reminded us of what we missed, as did Friday night’s meal in Jackson.  They say the feeling of pain is transient, and perhaps it is.  If there’s another trek out there next year, it will be earlier in July, and this time maybe to the unexplored Southern half of the Bridger.  But my back reminded me seconds ago that those mountains are probably best mastered by others who are younger and more balance-capable than your dad.

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.

Some people have all the luck…

Reid is in England for his short-term work stint.  Some people have all the luck.   Poor kid has a nice apartment smack in the middle of central London (hopefully with his own ‘loo’), Wimbledon is on not far from his temporary digs, England made it to the knock out round of the European soccer championship and, of course, the run-up for the Olympics is gaining steam.  Tough gig for a single guy.  I just wish he’d stay in touch with us on this side of the pond.

My living room is clogged with camping stuff in preparation for the trek in the Bridger Wilderness (note: we still have room for late comers, July 21-27) but there was no mention of it for the first time in a while in last week’s letter and there was scant mention of it in the letter that was mailed just this morning.  The tinder-dry conditions are some cause for concern; unlike last year, there will be no fires on which to char-broil trout.  Instead, we’ll make do with a white gas stove to heat water for pasta and beans and flash-fry brookies.  Alas, my ancient but trusty40 year old MSR model A stove was lost during the move six years ago so a newer WhisperLite will have to suffice.  I’ll no doubt get into the Bridger goings-on a little more in the note to the kids next week.

Here is what was deposited in last week’s mail (although Reid got his via email late in the week):

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June 18, 2012

Ellen/Reid: Monday has gotten off to a decent enough start but all that can crumble in the space of a few ‘do this…or ‘what do you think of this?…’ emails.  But none of those have come in so all things as of this moment are BAU (business as usual in bank parlance).

No sense mailing letters to your Chicago address until you return, Reid.  You’ll have to open your email to read them.  By the time this goes into the mail to Ellen, your plane will have already jetted east to London.  You get all the fun trips.  India.  England.  No doubt you will figure out a way to take the Chunnel beneath the channel to Paris or other mainland location.  Heck, I would too, if I were you.  Sad to say there is probably no chance for your old man to get over there for even a few days.  The schedule just won’t allow it.  I put on my blog this morning that if you were over there until, say, October or November then the odds of a visit would increase noticeably.  But not right now.  Too much going on.  The one thing you need to do is send us photos and whatnot of where you are and what you’re doing.  People ask and all I can say is “I dunno.”  So keep your mom and I posted on your comings and goings.

Ellen, your running cavalcade of photos of Emma has been just darling.  It’s just like being there.  Okay, not quite but it’s a great substitute for being hundreds of miles away.  She has just changed so much.  She’s putting on a nice amount of weight and her little smile is showing some personality.  Believe me, it’s hard to remember them (i.e. you and your brother) at this age once you guys reach the Terrible Teens.  I’ve got the framed ones here and there throughout the place.

We had a great 27 hours going down and back to Tybee Island, Georgia.  A ride that’s long but not too long.  The weather was incredible.  We didn’t do a whole hell of a lot.  A few drinks and some so-so seafood at a beach bistro, accompanied by a duo performing old standards on acoustic guitars.  That was a riot.  Some of the patrons really got into it.  We had breakfast at a classic old diner then did a couple of short walks on the beach, walked a little more once we rode back through Savannah (worth the visit) and then took a two lane road 40 miles into Hilton Head, where the traffic was just bonkers.  It was miles and miles of stop-and-go for most cars.  We really noticed the backup as we came out of HH Saturday afternoon on the return ride to Charlotte.  We stopped to check out the timeshare (no news there; I have squandered the resource but am trying to figure out how to use it) and had a nice meal and cool drinks over at the Westin.  That was fun.  I could have nodded off at the table but it was time to hit the road again.  We had a leisurely ride back to North Carolina.

We are looking forward to the trip to St. Paul in mid July.  Felicia has been through the airport but never really set foot on Minnesota ground.  We’ll be there just long enough to not seem overbearing.

Picked the first honest-to-goodness tomatoes we’ve ever had.  The secret must’ve been the patio variety because the Big and Better Boys really just never got going in the big pots.  There’s a bumper crop on the vine right now, believe you me.  They don’t get real big, not quite the size of a tennis ball, but that’s a far cry from the ping pong ball size the last few years.  Toss some of these tomatoes with a little basil and garlic, and you’ve got some nice pesto.  Glad to hear you had your first ripe raspberry.  Next year you should have oodles of the red rubies.  You might go online to see if you need to cut those canes back.  I’m guessing so but don’t quote me.

Well, over and out from North Carolina.  It’s getting warmer here, and warmth gives way sooner than later to boiler room heat.  We may have to start dunking ourselves into the pool.  The water level may rise, given my gain in weight.  Hope nobody harpoons me.

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.

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:

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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.

We will go back but not soon enough

After six years, the idea of camping in the North Carolina mountains has at long last taken hold.  There is scenery, there are fish (some big ones) and plenty of hiking.  Why it took more than half a decade to discover western North Carolina can only be attributed to me being a ‘late adopter’.  Very late.  I will lean on my fly-fisherman-to-end-all-fly-fisherman son in law, Tim, to tie me some Caddis and Adams, along with a few streamers (those drove the larger trout nuts).  (We will call it a trade: I sent some French roast coffee ahead of Emma’s birth and later built Emma’s garden while I was up there to celebrate her grand arrival.)

Felicia and our roomy tent. Camping was more fun than I expected. Everything about it was good. Asheville is close enough that if camp food doesn’t suffice, we can always hit Salsa’s – the best Mexican food I have ever had.

We will go back to the North Mill valley, but not soon enough.  This time, the MSR stove and our mildly loaded backpacks will make the trek with us.

Here is last week’s letter in its entirety.

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May 29, 2012

Ellen/Reid: I got a big smile out of that shot of you holding your niece, Reid.  One can only imagine the off-camera coaching you received.  That was so good.  She’s just a little bundle of joy, isn’t she?

Maybe by the time this arrives you will know about your plans for London.  That sounds so adventurous, especially if you have something waiting for you when you return.  That would be great.  I’ve looked into tickets to the U.K., pricey but doable.  I forgot this is an Olympic year and everything will be jacked up price-wise.  But you only go around once, and it would be marvelous to get over there to share your experience at least for a long Thurs.-Sun. weekend.  You’ve been quite the international traveler.  By my count – and I could be wrong – you’ve been to Mexico, Australia, New Zealand, Finland, Russia, Sweden, India.  What am I missing?

We had a great time in the “mountains” just southwest of Asheville.  We got one of the last camp sites in a state park, and oddly it was a secluded spot at the end of a road where we were really next to only one other couple and well away from the holiday zanies.  We only went for Sunday night.  After setting up the tent we went into Asheville and found an old time neighborhood bar for some of the best calamari I’ve ever had then went to the recovery house where Felicia’s son is staying, and that was a good, eye-opening experience.  The house is well away from Asheville and is filled with guys who are battling the same demons.  Addiction is just such an awful, insidious thing.  After their Sunday night meal, everyone, including visitors (which was really just Felicia and me), had to say what they were thankful for and that was interesting.  Everyone started with “I’m (insert name) and I’m an addict or alcoholic.”  On the way back to camp we bought a couple of bundles of oak firewood and had a great time sipping a little wine, watching the fire, telling stories and just laughing.  I went fishing twice, and caught trout both times, including a 2 pound brown trout of about 17-18 inches (Ellen, tell Tim that after the elation died down I downgraded the catch from 3 to 2 lbs.) plus a few plump rainbows, among the biggest I’ve ever caught, with one topping out in the 14” range.  It’s true that the farther up you walk from the trail head, the bigger the fish get.  Of course, I lost numerous flies due to poor casts but it was still great fun.  North Carolina is so beautiful.  If it just wasn’t for the reddest of redneck politics.

Ellen, we have our tickets for Friday, July 13.  We get in about 1:30 p.m. and will rent a car so you don’t have to fuss with traffic or bundling little Emma up for the trip.  We’ll also get a room to save you guys the hassle.  That’s fine with us.  We are excited to see the little one.  She will be more than two months old by that time.  Can’t wait to see you guys again.  We will get out of your hair early Sunday for our 9 a.m. flight.

Will change a couple of rooms around upstairs in the next week or so in order to configure my office a little bit more efficiently.  I want to be in the same room as the router and phone connections and reduce the number of wires snaking to and fro.  So the double bed and the twin beds will be swapped out.  It’s the behemoth desk that is the biggest challenge.  But all-in-all it will be a far better working arrangement.

My workouts for Wyoming have started in semi-earnest.  There’s got a long way to go and if I’d knock off the ice cream things would be that much easier on me.  But its allure is strong and I wilt way too often.  There are worse things.  At least the ice cream is carb-free.