Tag Archives: English Premier League

To quit or not to quit? ‘Dad, get over it’ …

I’ve probably plunked down a smooth 4 G’s for the privilege to flail the water with lures and baits at disinterested fish.

In the expense column are Miss Emma, rods, rubber waders, a Yakima rack system, a tackle box jammed to the gills with untold hooks-weights-lures, a GoPro, dry bags, top dollar coolers, et al.

Better make that 5 big ones. The cost of fish per pound? Gold is cheaper.

Surely Ellen and Reid roll their eyes when their old man is in the dumps. As is her custom, Ellen isn’t afraid to tell her dad to ‘get over it.’

Good point.

February 23, 2016

Ellen/Reid: Reid, I really appreciated your “Don’t quit!” response to my self-pity text about my latest fishing failure near Charleston. You need to come down here so we can validate our abilities. It was just so deflating to get up at 0-dark thirty, jet out of the house at 3:45 a.m. and drive 225 miles at breakneck pace to release one little speckled trout. I went to a new place on the Wando River on the Mt. Pleasant side of Charleston and once there, at the highest of the high tide, I wondered aloud ‘How the hell am I going to fish this?’


Miss Emma surveys the scene along the expansive Wando River. We met our match and paddled back empty handed. But really, as the carnival barker might yell, “You pays your money and you takes your chances.” Hell yes. Emma and I ought to heed Reid’s sage advice: “Get back out there.” And we will – next week.

There were no visible creeks, just an endless expanse of grass alongside wide, wide water. The prevailing thinking holds that the reds venture into the grass at high tide to feed on small crabs so I paddled in, but saw no fish tailing, no disturbances to tip off their positions, no nothing. We retreated to the more familiar structure of some docks where the one little speck took a plastic bait. The prevailing thinking also says speckled trout mass together, and where you find one, you’ll find more. But nothing else came to the surface. There were three rods on Miss Emma and I alternated from a popping cork and fake shrimp to cut mullet on a Carolina rig with the final rod rigged with a lightweight copper colored something-or-other. A couple of strikes and that was it. I tucked my tail and headed back to the ramp a few hours earlier than might have been otherwise. What was really debilitating was a small flat boat of young guys seen and heard just a creek or so away from us reached the ramp the same time as we did. They had boated multiple reds on virtually the same bait I’d been flinging around and about. I do think it’s the fisherman rather than the fish. But damn it, Continue reading


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Miss Emma heads to Florida but she won’t go to Liverpool …

By now you’re tiring of all my retirement blather. Alas, Ellen and Reid get the full dose of it so you’ll have to endure the same narrative they read in the weekly letters.

Such as when you take a look at a lot of retiree bucket lists. Travel seems at or near the top of a lot of wish lists but globehopping is not so much for me. Still, there’s a little bit of domestic / foreign travel in the foreseeable future.

As you might surmise, the events in France last week have complicated the decision somewhat. As of now I’ll plow ahead with the planning but my kids know I’ll keep an eye on developments. There is a silver lining to staying put; if I don’t go over there it gives Miss Emma and I more time to spend over here.


November 9, 2015

Ellen/Reid: Trying to wean myself of the work time/old habits. Still waking up about 5:00 a.m. but am trying to force the issue with mixed results about nodding back to sleep. I guess you have to start somewhere. I used to turn on the office lamps before I clomped downstairs to start the coffee. That habit has now gone by the wayside. I find myself sitting at the breakfast table while it’s dark outside trying to figure out what to do on that given day. The Charlotte Observer got a check from me for $446 last week to keep my subscription alive to the physical newspaper for the next year. That’s one thing that won’t be going away anytime soon. It wouldn’t hurt either of you to start a subscription to the Chicago Tribune or the St. Paul Pioneer Press, and not of the online variety. Your grandfather would be smiling at the thought of you guys reading a real newspaper.

Dave H. called this morning to invite me down to Ft. Lauderdale to spend the first week of December at his place. Actually, I get the run of the house to myself while he’s out of town for the bulk of the week. That’s awfully nice of him. The thought is to fly down but the kayak has made the 10 hour drive before and it would be fun to lug it over to the open ocean at

Miss Emma fits like a glove atop the Camry. She knows the way to Charleston (like a down-and-back trip Wed., Nov. 18) and pretty soon she'll learn of the open ocean off Pompano Beach.

Miss Emma fits like a glove atop the Camry. She knows the way to Charleston (like another down-and-back trip Wed., Nov. 18) and pretty soon she’ll learn of the open ocean off Pompano Beach. Reid, at the wheel last year, will also get a shot at redfish over Thanksgiving in Hilton Head.

Pompano Beach to see if the wahoo or dolphin are biting. I’d need to paddle about a mile offshore but if the waves/ocean surge isn’t too bad it would be a lot of fun for a change to give it a whirl. But it is nice of him. Not entirely sure how that will impact my trips to see you both of north but I suspect I’ll head that way sometime before Christmas. Gotta stop in Des Moines, too.

Still trying to process all of the closure materials for Bank of America. The bank is not extraordinarily helpful Continue reading

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My golf and our better weather…

It’s been tough sledding weather-wise for Ellen and Reid all winter long. I have to rub in our somewhat milder winters at every opportunity even though the 24 hour forecast calls for 5-10″ of snow in Charlotte. But that’s another story for next week because the locals are all loony about the impending storm.


Feb. 3, 2014

Ellen/Reid: Reid, you really know how to make my day. I mean, taking that birthday call yesterday on the golf course just made me laugh out loud. Listening to your short voicemail was so fun. My playing companions thought you were just a scream. It’s the thought that counts – even if the best wishes were a week early. In your defense I always had a tough time with your grandparent’s birthdays. Never could get those quite right so you and I share that same bond. At least you had the right month.

Yesterday was as I’ve hit the ball since I’ve been down here – nearly 8 years. My swing was shorter and that just brings me so much happiness so hopefully there won’t be a return of the too-tense swing. I’ve just got to relax and let it happen. I’m tired of my game going to hell in a handbasket.

I was coerced - forced, really - to have my photo taken with some of the women in my golf group. We have an incredibly strong group of women golfers.

I was coerced – forced, really – to have my photo taken with some of the women in my Golf for One  group on Meetup.com. We have an incredibly strong core of very, very good women golfers.

Emma looks adorable – and stylish – in her new swimsuit. Let’s hope the temps cooperate so she can romp in the surf with her dad. Ellen, I likely won’t get the answers you seek until he returns sometime later this week. Even if we don’t we can always go with the flow – buy what we need and go from there. I wouldn’t sweat that small stuff. Just being down there will be good enough. If gramps has to sleep on the floor, gramps will sleep on the floor. I’ve got a shirttail friend down there and will ask her for restaurant recommendations and other spots worth seeing. I’d like to get over to the Everglades to maybe see a gator or two. But you and Tim can call the shots. I’m just along for the ride. Maybe Emma and I can hand out one night while you and TP head out.

We had snow paralysis earlier last week. We got all of a half inch. Right after making coffee I went into the garage, dusted off the plastic shovel and it took all of 10 minutes to clear the back driveway and the front walk so the newspaper woman would beat a path to my door. It reminded me of the countless times Continue reading

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