One final marathon

Okay, this is the last marathon photo you’ll see. I promise.

That’s because there are no more marathon photos. This shot was on the front of the sports page of the Des Moines Register in April 1982. You can see the photo editor’s crop marks. The race was the Drake Marathon, and

My last hurrah as a marathoner. Drake was a fun race because I got to run alongside my good friend Shane Dooley (a sure fire sub-2:20 guy if not for his crushing work schedule). We got beat like a bass drum but it was a good way to go out even if the 2:20 mark remained elusive – again. It was my last competitive race.

it was mercifully my last marathon since my ankles were rapidly losing their enthusiasm for running at any distance. That’s me, #628. My good buddy Shane Dooley is 664. The guy who won the race, Pat McGuire, is in the bandana to my left. Pat tossed in a 4:50 mile from 16 to 17 and that broke Shane and I like twigs. Shane was 4th in 2:24 and I hobbled home in 5th in 2:25.

——————–

April 22, 2013

Ellen/Reid: It was bizarre writing last week’s letter about the Boston Marathon, and no sooner were things in the mailbox than the news hit about the explosions. I don’t suppose that I would have started over if the letters hadn’t been sent. It’s just the way it works sometimes. Two women from Charlotte were there to watch their mother finish the race and were in the wrong place

Holiday decorations in August…

November 13, 2012

Ellen/Reid: This time next week we will all be gathered under one roof, and I will be that much further away from the ice cream aisle at the local market.  Curses to ice cream.  Trying to kick the vile habit but not doing very well.  My waistline is the worse for it.

But, I cannot wait to board the plan and land in the Twin Cities.  Reid, you and I will do virtually all the cooking, and Ellen, consider this not as acknowledgment of your request for me to be a stay-at-home gramps to sit up with Emma on Black Friday.  It will be a race to see who goes to sleep first, her or me.  The odds are that gramps will be the first to wilt by nodding off.  Emma is too young to say ‘stay with me, gramps’ but we will have a good time.  Baby sitting will be a first for me.  Can’t wait although the diaper thing makes me shudder.  You’ll have to leave good instructions or a pictorial revue of how to do it.

The seasonal thing is already out of hand.  How is it that Santa sets up shop in the mall the first week of November?  Whatever happened to waiting for a few days after Thanksgiving?  If merchants have their way and at this rate, they would begin to put out holiday decorations in August.  That would be one way to gauge that gifts have outpaced the truer meanings of Christmas.  Nordstrom’s is putting out a welcome message that they will not join the commercial crowd and will instead not be adorning the store until after T-Day.  That’s where we should all do our shopping although the store here might be a budget-buster for me.  Speaking of that, you would make things a hell of a lot easier for me if you assembled your wish lists in priority order.  Also, I have no earthly idea what to give Emma other than a kiss on the forehead.  Totally clueless about what babies need or want.  Maybe that is a good thing.  As for me, the list is similar to last year: nothing.  There is nothing I need or want other than to curb my ice cream habit.

This weekend we head to Hilton Head for a couple of days.  The weather will be similar to what we had in Myrtle Beach when Sandy blew through: cool and rainy.  Our cool, however, is not as cold as your cool.  A light fleece and a rain jacket will all that is needed.  It might cause a zip line adventure for Felicia and her daughter to be curtailed.  My plan was to hit the golf course while they slid down the wire.  We also hope to kayak the backwaters which would be an interesting bit of the outdoors that I have never done.  But mostly it will be walking on the beach and finding a decent place to eat.

My Caldwell newsletter is nearly in the can.  By my count, this is about 48 straight months of a church newsletter.  This better buy me some clout when the time comes although I continue to burn the edges, if you know what I mean.

A mouse has taken up residence in the garage.  When I pull in, he is usually illuminated in the headlamp of the car.  This means war.  With peanut butter as bait, there is hope the vile vermin will be exterminated in a few hours, but as of this morning nothing had happened overnight.  Perhaps the rodent prefers smooth over chunky peanut butter.  A web site says when you see one, there are usually others.  But I am in this for the long haul.  Where’s a feral cat when you need one?

Okay, I am set to make pie(s) next weekend, and this time, Ellen, I assure you that sugar will be included in the apple pie.  I will buy all the fixin’s while there.  Rest assured ice cream will not be on the dessert list.  Heaven forbid.

Road hunting and coffee with Ray…

Back in the day, I hunted birds.  In my early years it was about the killing but as I aged, it became about the seeing.  There was greater reward in watching pheasants and quail scurry through brush and thickets as they rushed to escape me.  (If they knew of my shooting prowess they could’ve taken flight or moseyed at a leisurely pace or simply stayed put.)  My gun, a fine 20 gauge Beretta, was ideal for the ‘sport’ yet it has resided with my son-in-law, Tim, for half a decade.  I won’t need it again.

Many of my hunting sojourns were with my buddy, Ray.  For a long while he was my boss but was more friend than boss.  Invariably, he’d pick me up before dawn in his forest green Ford Explorer, we’d hit the nearest convenience store for donuts and coffee and off we’d go for the morning’s hunt (if you could call it that).  We’d walk the fields when we could but were perfectly content to cruise the roads ever vigilant for the stray bird that might cross our path or poke his head up from a weedy patch.  If we saw the “prey”, great, if not, it was still a good morning.  It was about road hunting with Ray and a cup of coffee.

I hadn’t seen Ray in a while until I returned to Des Moines a few weeks ago.  I followed up with him on my return to North Carolina.

—————–

May 12, 2011

Ray: It was incredibly great to see you at Hemminger’s on Friday night.  Ironically, if you’d not been there I was planning to stop by your place sometime on Saturday and take my chances that you’d be home.  No doubt that would have taken the new owners of your old home – and me, too – by complete surprise.  Everyone really looked the same, it’s just me that feels the aging process has taken a toll.

I’m glad we had a chance to catch up and go back to the old days.  Jeez, are we really aging that fast?  It would be wonderful to get in the shotgun seat of your Ford Explorer and cruise the back roads toward Winterset sipping coffee and looking for stray birds along the roadside.  Those were the days, they really were.  Glad to hear that you still get down that way.  It’s been an easy 6-7 years since I’ve hunted pheasants.  My Beretta is in the safe hands of my son-in-law in the Twin Cities and it’s never even crossed my mind to go quail hunting down in these parts.  You really don’t see much of that kind of news item in the paper down here.  It’s either fishing or maybe the stray story about killing the small deer they have down in these parts.  But nothing on birds.

It’s been five years down in Charlotte, and most of it has been fine enough.  The job is what it is and I do like most of it.  I’m ensconced in a 3 BR condo that masquerades as a three story townhome (I am starting to rue the multiple flights of stairs.  Better purchase decisions have been made).  I bought for convenience which means my commute to the downtown area is about 20 minutes vs. the smooth 45-60 minutes it would be elsewhere.  Just this week I’ve started to work at home as something of a telecommuter although it is my option to go to the home office when I am so moved.  The bank has several satellite offices around the outskirts of the city and those are options, too.  We have 15,000 employees here, which is actually down a fair number from even a couple of years ago.  I miss those days at Meredith.  I can’t believe what a job the city has done in the formerly ragged stretch from the airport to the downtown.  It is incredible.  Charlotte could learn from that.  It’s very impressive.

The kids are faring just fine.  Ellen is teaching up in St. Paul, and Reid is toiling at some digital ad agency in Chicago and although he tries to explain precisely what he does, all he sees is the dazed look in my eyes.  He gets it and I don’t.  I don’t know when Ellen and her hubby Tim will join the parenting brigade but my guess is it won’t be too far off.  The peer pressure from her friends with babies must be enormous.  I’m not sure I’m ready to be a grandpa or whatever it is the kids would call me.

Still have the Harley, and last year was the first year I’ve put some serious miles on it.  I have a delightful girlfriend, and she and I put about 8,000 miles on the rig.  Great roads down here.  Great.  County road crews don’t have much practice in paving straight lines.  Everything is a curve.  The paths aren’t as maintained as they are in Iowa but it’s been a lot of fun to hit the different ‘bergs down here.  You haven’t seen the South until you get out in the boonies, and believe me, it doesn’t take much to reach the boonies.  Good for you to head back to Sturgis.  Wish I could go.  I’m playing a little golf but my swing is sooo bad that it’s ceased to be as much fun.

Well, listen buddy, it was great to see you.  Say hi to Jan, keep me posted on the lurid days in Sturgis, and maybe I can borrow that stray gun you mentioned when I come back in October.

14F in St. Paul…

Henry sits - momentarily - before our first walk on 11/23. He's a good dog.

I’m camped this morning in a funky coffee shop across from Macalester College in St. Paul, Mn.  If you wonder how far my stake is in the ground in Charlotte, look no further than the thermometer this morning.  The low was a frosty 14F.  On top of that I walked a frigid mile to find coffee (a six on the one-to-10 scale). The walk and the low temp both hammered the stake a bit further into the ground.  I am surrounded by winter-hardy Minnesotans who think nothing of venturing out in such weather. 

Since I’m near to a strong outpost of academia, here is a bit of revisionist history: an older letter to Ellen and Reid (FYI…both are still snoozing this morning, but good for them).  Henry insisted on a walk at 6:00 a.m.  Who was I not to oblige?

————————-

Nov. 20, 2006

EB/Reid: You know, lots of odd things have happened to me in life; breaking a collarbone, eating dog food (just once), having two children, etc.  But yesterday was about the weirdest thing that has happened to me in a long time, and certainly the weirdest since I became a Southerner.  Someone took off with my loaded, filled-to-the-rim shopping cart.  The local grocery store here is Harris Teeter, very nice, chic, see-and-be-seen type of Yuppie/Gen Xer place.  So yesterday morning, I take my list to H-T and, starting in the produce section, go aisle by aisle, always looking for the deal.  You know, 2-for-1 cans of soup, that sort of thing.

So now, I am virtually all the way through the store, roughly the same size as Hy-Vee but much higher class.  Sort of a cross between Dahl’s and Hy-Vee, with a little Palmer’s Deli feel.  One of the final items on the list is bagels, so I momentarily park my cart and begin comparison shopping among shelves of wheat, plain and foo-foo options.  When I find the half dozen on sale, I turn to my cart – it can’t be 10 feet away – and voom, it’s gone.  The store is packed, and I know I let out some sort of expletive – “screw this” – or something equally foul because a little old lady squints at me and kind of turns her nose up although I don’t consciously remember saying “screw this” out loud.  Who knows, maybe it came out worse.  But my cart is gone and 45 minutes worth of analyzing a 12 oz. package of pasta on sale vs. the 16 oz package that is roughly the same price but not on sale has gone to waste.  I’m not angry, just miffed, so off I go in search of the stolen cart.  I go next door to the deli section, then wines, then foo-foo organic stuff.  No cart.  I mean, here it is loaded to the gills with stuff no one else could possibly want but me; cereal, apples, chicken, fresh basil, a fresh copy of Martha Stewart (no, wait, a copy of Martha Stewart Living will never touch any of my possessions), etc.  So I head to the check out lines, hoping to bust the culprit when there it is, sitting there alone.  Some poor schmuck had inadvertently taken it, tossed in a head of lettuce and some Miller Lite (I did replace those back on the shelves) and thought “What the hell did I just do.”  So they abandoned it.  I know I was muttering to myself the entire time, and that’s why people gave me a wide berth.  Maybe some people find salty language offensive but not me.  So the check out guy says ‘did you find everything all right?’  Oh yeah, pal, I sure found everything all right.

Baked some of those round Italian loaves yesterday and went for a short ride in the 50F temps to deliver the goods to my boss (he just adopted twin girls from Guatemala) and my best friends Betsy and Bob.  Of course, neither were home at the time so that ruined the effect of hauling in on the Harley.  There aren’t a lot of bikers down here, just a few people who ride Harleys if you catch my drift.  It’s odd not seeing more bikers tooling around.  You can spot the faux Harley guys from a mile away – they all wear lace up boots.  There’s no lace up boots in motorcycling.  Sissies.

Looking forward to T-Day.  The paper said this morning 38 million people will travel this weekend, and 36 million of them will all try to board my particular plane at the same time.  But I am looking forward to the Big Red routing the hapless Buffs.  Big Corn beats Big Buffalo.  Be good.

The potential for change…

Ellen and a spooky friend. Ellen and Tim live in a St. Paul neighborhood of young families. And with young families come lots of kids.

In a few minutes I’ll take Betsy’s admonition to heart and take the first cautious steps in an effort to craft a new way, after nearly 10 years of the same old-same old, of writing to Ellen and Reid.  There will be a ripple effect in that whatever amendments are made in print will ultimately reshape this space.

To be honest about it, I am anxious about how this might go down.  But with anxiety comes the potential for change so you’re about to see if I’m up to the challenge.  Today’s letter will surface next Monday.

Last week’s letter might be the final installment of the old regime.  I’m still up in the air about how to treat Wednesdays (older letters to the kids) and Fridays (letters to my mother) but let’s just take one step at a time.

———————

October 24, 2010

Ellen/Reid: Rainy here for the first time in a while and it’s supposed to be for the next few days.  It won’t be enough to help my long-suffering tomato plant and the dwindling temperatures mean the little fruits will likely stay little.  But when you compare the 12 to 15 edible orbs this year vs. the single paltry fruit from ’09, I’d do it all over again, which I’ll do next year but probably with a larger pot and more, more, more Miracle Gro.  The container garden might grow too with the addition of cilantro and other herbs for cooking.

Henry and his posse of goblins. Unable to find a dog costume large enough to fit the beast, Ellen and Tim (and Henry) settled on a t-shirt to get Henry in the festive spirit.

Things are moving very, very rapidly at work.  I’ve been put in charge of a group of about 17 or so volunteers for the letter writing process, and the latest fire this morning is getting them all systems access so they can actually begin writing the letters.  Probably should have asked others to help earlier but training for the volunteers was on the front burner.  But I am glad to be in the mix of things for a change and will keep you both posted on what transpires (or has yet to transpire).  If nothing else it’s an interesting project.  It may throw something of a kink in my Thanksgiving plans in that I might have to tote my laptop up to the Twin Cities to be available for my volunteers.  I’ll keep you posted on that, too.

Your grandmother is sounding a little better these days.  She seems to be on a different course of medication and it appears to calm her down somewhat.  I’ve been calling her now every few days and it is good to hear her voice.  She always seems interested to hear what you both have been up to although she is uncertain where both of you live.  On the whole I’m glad she is in Grand Island and close to Ralph and Gayle.  It’s hard for them, too, to be on the ball with her nearly every day but it is better than her living in Omaha without family very nearby.  Somehow I’ve got to get to Omaha to retrieve some of those items that are in storage for you guys.  I’ll give my friend Pete a jingle to let him know of our plans, such as they are.

Played golf on Saturday with my singles group for the first time in many months.  It was fun and good to see the people again, although there were quite a few new faces I’d never met before.  On Sunday, Felicia and I rode to Myrtle Beach to check out a store and just get some wind in our faces.  Myrtle Beach seems a very hurried, fully-developed place where every other store offers three t-shirts for $10.  I doubt it would be the kind of place for either of you.  The only allure is really the water and the golf courses.  That is unless you like small theme parks and would-be zoos that let you look at captive alligators.  The beach is pretty nice although for miles and miles and miles in either direction the only thing you see is hotels and stores and condos.  Kind of depressing. They say during the high season the traffic is hell.  I believe it.

The local paper the Observer ran the article.  I’ve photocopied it from both of you.  The editor asked me this morning if I’d heard anything from any readers and the answer is: zilch.  But that’s how it goes for some of the more mundane topics like mine.  Now, if I’d called Obama a Muslim or Bill O’Reilly an honest journalist, those might have gotten some people’s dander up.  Still, the paper wants me to write another column in a few weeks.

Glad you both got away for the weekend.  Give me a call sometime so you can debrief me on what you did and who you did it with.  Ellen, I’m sure Afton was a hoot, and Reid the Bay area had to be just a riot with some of your friends there.  If you took pictures at the birthday party for Andy and Steph’s baby, send those to me.  I’d like to see her.

Well, this pretty much wraps it up this week.  Not much else is going on.  You’d know if there was.

One down, one to go…

Ellen celebrates her new teaching gig with mojito, whatever that is.

In more evidence that the cream rises to the top and patience does not go unrewarded, Ellen has at last landed a coveted elementary teaching job in the hyper-competitive Twin Cities job market.  For nearly three years she has sought the right job.  Now she has one.  Her attitude might have waivered a tad but it never crumbled.  Norman Vincent Peale had nothing on her positive thinking.

One down, one to go.   Now it’s her old mans turn to grab the brass ring.  There are some possibilities on the horizon but nothing to write home about (or to the kids for that matter).  Hopefully there will be news sooner than later.

But Ellen’s joyous hiring is something of a rarity; both she and her hubby Tim now have their dream jobs.  Not many of us can live the dream.  It was worth a congratulatory note (below) from her dad, don’t you think?

———————

August 10, 2010

Ellen: There is timing and then there is timing.  Your phone call this morning made my day, and my tomorrow, too.  Your mom and I had nothing short of a giddy conversation about how your patience and professionalism finally paid off with a job you were probably destined for.  And to think both you and Mr. T now have the jobs you both really wanted.  Not many people, let along young couples, can make that claim.  Now you guys can really have a blowout celebration in Northern Minnesota.  Tim can fish, you and your mom can chat things away.  Tim may be on to something by excusing himself from that gabfest.

You made the right choice.  You went with your heart.  Just think about how long you have applied, interviewed, and came oh-so-close only to be turned away at the last second.  When you think about all the teachers the University of Minnesota pumps out year after year – all of whom want to stay in the Twin Cities – as well as the imports from other cities also looking for classroom work, well, you have finally won out.  And deservedly so.

Sure, you could have made more money at the other job, but it would have been just another job.  You must have some higher calling with kids.  That was a bell you needed to answer.  Teaching was what you wanted to do and now you get to do it again.  You’ll be great, just as you were in Indianapolis.  If you had turned the job down and stayed with the money, you would have second guessed yourself for a long time to come.  (Make sure you send ‘thank you’ notes to everyone who helped you network.)  Now, you have a real chance to make a difference for little ones.

So we’re glad you stuck in there and stayed true to your ideals even when things looked darkest.  That should give you that much more satisfaction.  We’re always immensely proud of you but no more so than right now.  Good going, kid.