Birthday Bliss

First of all, my faithful readers, thank you for your support as I abandoned this corner of the world to spend the day with my sisters. And thank you, Mr. Ginley, for filling in for me.

I did, indeed, have a fabulous time celebrating my birthday with Denise, Diane and my sister-in-law, Kay.

During our birding extravaganza in April, Diane had planted the idea that Yellow Springs might be a place I would enjoy. After reading up, I agreed, and Diane set the itinerary for our merry band of revelers.

I drove to Columbus and rode the rest of the way with my two sisters. We rendezvoused with Kay at Young's Dairy Farm. There, we played putt putt, and somehow, I managed to win with three (yes, you read it right) three holes-in-one. Then came lunch, an unexpected behemoth of a meal, which included my first experience with fried cheese curds, a specialty at the restaurant. I chose to order the all-day breakfast. My sisters thought a half sandwich and salad would be lighter fare, but the salad turned out to be the size of Montana. Also, it was de rigueur for each table to receive applesauce bread, a bowl of applesauce and cole slaw.

On the one hand, it was a lot of food. On the other, it prepared us for the longer-than-expected hike we were about to take.

Steps

Donning appropriate foot gear (cool, I got to use my hiking boots again), we went for a walk along the trails of Glen Helen Nature Preserve. We descended down into the park via many, many stairs, which fortunately were not slippery when wet. There is always the sinking feeling that what goes down must also go up, but I was game for adventure, so I put this thought aside. There was much loveliness, from the primitive feel of the deep woods and small caves to the waterfalls, large and small, that we came across. Quite heavenly, really. Until the downpour.

It happened when we got to the raptors. These birds, once wounded, were housed in oversized cages because they could not survive reentry into the wild. Owls, hawks, a falcon, an eagle, turkey vultures, all stared back at us, some preening, as we admired their plumage. At this point, the heavens opened up and torrential rain poured forth.

Up went the umbrellas. We stood by the raptor learning center (not open that day). There was just enough of an overhang to shelter us. We hooted at the owls and waited for the rain to cease.

"I think five more minutes will do it," declared Diane.

Eventually, we gave up and decided to venture forth. But which direction? There were no trail markers or signs anywhere.

After hoofing it for awhile, we pulled out our cells and asked the little angel in the phone to help us navigate. Heading back in the general direction of where we had just come, we got back onto the trails and found the way to our point of origin. (And yes, the end of the walk involved going up all those steps.)

Harry, if you are reading this, you will appreciate that I may have achieved some sort of record for shvitzing. Diane kept handing me napkins to mop the river of water that was pouring off my face and soaking my hair. I looked like the proverbial drowned rat, even though my umbrella protected me from the rain.

Our adventure had taken two hours rather than one, but all-in-all, it was a fun romp.

After sharing a well-earned cold drink at the Underdog Cafe, we did a little shopping, then settled in for dinner at a local hot spot. The food was good, but the company was much better.

The finale, of course, involved ice cream. Back to Young's Dairy Farm for a yummy hot fudge sundae.

Thanks to my sisters (I'm including Kay here) for making my birthday memorable. Can't wait to see what Diane has cooked up for her birthday!

Oh no, not this guy again!

Once again My Lovely Bride intends to abandon me for upwards of twenty-four hours!  

 I have been asked, to fill this space which you are so kind as to read but again without any financial remuneration from the usual author, whose work you usually find in this space.

She is spending the day with her sisters in a place named "Yellow Springs," which I understand is a real place somewhere around the City of Dayton, Ohio.  But as she has yet to show me, on an Ohio map, I have my doubts as to whether this is an actual town.

When I asked her what exactly this party of sisters intends to do in this mythological place, she replied, “Stuff.”  

To which I returned, “What kind of stuff?’ 

“You know, girl stuff.”  

You, dear reader may (Or may not) be surprised to learn that I was once a boy.  I do not know what this “Girl stuff” could possibly be.  When I tried to make My Lovely Bride aware of my concerns, she just turned to me, batted her kind, sweet eyes and said unto me, “Don’t you worry your pretty little head over it!”

More importantly, it was only through the kindness of a mutual relative that I was able to survive her last sister’s extravaganza!  How will I be expected to survive a similar trip?  When she asked me, what I will do for the time we spend apart.  I told her that I would just find a corner to roll myself in and cry until she would return unto me!

Of course, I had to travel through the five stages of grief:

1.     Denial:  I could not believe that My Lovely Bride would abandon me for 24 Hours.

2.     Anger:  I skipped this one.

3.     Bargaining:  I offered to go along with her, and be a “One of the Girls’ for the  trip.  I even offered to just sit in the trunk of the car and quietly read a book.  But she wasn’t interested in bargaining with me!

4.     Depression:  I think I’m going to skip this one.  But I will miss her.

5.     Acceptance:  I hope she has a wonderful time with her sisters.

You may ask yourself, as I did “What is the reason for this trip?” 

It is the occasion of My Lovely Bride’s 32^nd Birthday.  As I grow older by the second, my Sweetheart just keeps going along with a smile on her face and a song in her heart!  

 I am a truly fortunate guy to have married this doll.  I have enjoyed most every moment of our life-long journey together.

And I hope she will find good weather, warm companionship with her loving sisters and a day that she can look back at with great fondness.  

Enjoy your birthday.

It Never Gets Old

On June 7, 2018, the Washington Capitals won the Stanley Cup.

From that day to this, our house has become an homage to this achievement.

The goal, says Mr. Ginley, is to have something in every room that celebrates the event.

In the kitchen, which is largely my domain, I negotiated having just a refrigerator magnet. (After all, the refrigerator, loaded with hundreds of magnets, is Mr. Ginley's creation.)

In the office and in the living room are banners. There is a miniature Stanley Cup. Two Tervis tumblers with the official logo on them. A framed photo of the team on the ice with the Stanley Cup.

And then there are the t-shirts. The hat.

And, God and JoAnn Fabrics willing, there will be a blanket made out of material (yet to be created) of the the Capitals/Stanley Cup logo.

Mr. Ginley made a pledge to the Hockey Gods that if the Caps won, he would wear some item of Capitals clothing every day.

The hat has worked so far. But there are aspirations.

When the prices come down a little, there will be socks in our home, too. And, if someone decides to manufacture them, underwear will follow.

I do, however, draw the line at tattoos. (No worries there, Mr. Ginley hates needles.)

There will be trip to our second home town soon. A visit that will yield yet more memorabilia.

I don't mind. After all, I am a Caps fan, too. And while my passion may not match that of Mr. Ginley, I admit it's all been a wonderful distraction. A reason to celebrate something.

And, let's face it, the Great 8, Nicky Backstrom and all these guys are so easy to cheer for.

The Man Who Put the Beat in Beatles

It was always Ringo.

Not John. Not Paul. Not George.

Maybe it was his soulful blue eyes. His "aw gosh" smile. His short stature. Or perhaps, somewhere deep down in my bones, I knew I was going to spend most of my life in the jewelry industry.

Whatever the reason, I love Ringo. (Oh yes, I do.) There he'd sit behind the drums, mighty ringed and shaking that marvelous head of Beatle hair to the music, smiling away, and I was lost.

Mind you, I was never a screamer. I would just watch, rapt, and sigh. And dream of the day we would meet.

It wasn't by any means a romantic desire (I was far too young for that) but more of a puppy love. Ringo looked like he would be fun and sweet to be around. Plus, he always seemed like the underdog of the group, and I am a sucker for a guy who knows what it's like to have missed out on being the most popular. Although Ringo never seemed to mind. From my perspective, he was enjoying the ride, content not to be the one who wrote the most songs or got the most girls.

I think what sealed it for me was seeing the movie "Help." Twice. Between shows, my older siblings phoned my parents and asked if we could watch it again. A quiet afternoon without five kids, and only the baby* to watch? Sure, go for it.

In fact, I believe it's time to watch "Help" again. It really was Ringo's movie to Starr in.** And today is his birthday. So, Happy 78th Birthday, Richard Starkey! May you happily live many more.

Ya, Ya, Ya!

*Sorry to my little brother, Paul who missed seeing it. But thanks to the miracle of DVD and streaming video, you can watch it all you want. And being the youngest is now a very good thing, indeed.

**Let ye who would not have made this pun cast the first stone.

The Age of Driving

He washed the car, then sat behind the wheel, silently staring out the windshield.

It broke my mom's heart, but she knew it was the right thing to take away his keys.

My dad had blown through a stop sign because he got tired of waiting and almost had an accident. That's when my mom had the conversation with him.

"If we got into an crash and we were seriously injured, that would be one thing. But if I let you get behind the wheel, and you injured or killed someone else, I could never forgive myself."

This was in the early stages of my dad's Alzheimer's. It was difficult but necessary.

Years later, my mom would come to us and say she was having a hard time distinguishing between the red and green on the traffic signal. It was her way of telling us she knew it was time for her to become a permanent passenger.

I read in the news today that an 88-year-old woman killed a young girl who was walking along the road. There is a hue and cry on social media for getting all old people off the road. Lots of young people saying things like anyone over the age of 70 needs to hand in their keys.

Hold on there, Tonto.

I have long been an advocate of retesting people over, say, the age of 75. I believe there should be something more than an eye test, something that checks the reflexes of older drivers. And, if they can't pass the test, their license should be revoked. However, just because someone reaches an advanced age, it does not mean they are no longer able to drive. Doubtless, there are drivers of an advanced age who are still perfectly able to operate a motor vehicle. Age alone should not be the determining factor.

Conversely, I believe we need to do a better job with young drivers. This is a controversial idea, but I believe 18 should be the minimum age for operating a vehicle. And that we need to do a more comprehensive job of teaching young folks how to drive. Putting someone behind the wheel and telling them to "go" isn't enough. Practical on-the-road experience is vital, but defensive driving skills are also essential, and I definitely think we could do better.

Distracted driving is the primary cause in many accidents. The cell phone has certainly added another layer of opportunity for mayhem, but it's not the only contributing factor. Other passengers (friends, small children, dogs) can cause the driver to lose concentration. As can fiddling with the car's controls or audio system. Or eating. Or spilling hot coffee. Or applying makeup or brushing hair. I'm sure insurance adjusters have heard it all.

I don't ever get behind the wheel of a car without a little frisson of apprehension. The "what-ifs" volley through my brain like a bullet train. I remind myself that my car is built to take me where I need to go, but it is also a big, heavy object capable of inflicting injury. Also, I cannot control what other drivers do, so my life depends on them doing the right thing, too.

All in all, I'd rather be chauffeured.

But until I win the lottery, or until I'm no longer able to drive, I'll have my hands at the 10 and 2 position.

And, although I may be singing along with Patsy Cline or Carole King, my attention at all times, has gotta be on the road (again).

Pagans and Pterosaurs

I decided to take a day off so that Mr. Ginley and I could celebrate the summer solstice.

First off was a visit to the Cleveland Museum of Natural History to visit the pterosaurs.

I'm not overly into dinosaurs in general, but Mr. wanted to see the exhibit, and I'm always up for something different, so off we went. The collection is only going to be at the museum for another few weeks, so it was time.

Pterosaurs (also/formerly known as pterodactyls) had a pretty good run -- 150 million years. I can't get my head around this, particularly since modern humans have only been around 200,000 years or so.

Until their extinction 66 million years ago, there were over 150 species of pterosaurs, some small enough to sit on your hand, others large enough to dominate the skies. They had membrane-like wings that spread out from their ring fingers, walked on four legs and could take off from a standing position. Neither bird nor bat nor dinosaur, these amazing reptiles were nonetheless a little of each. They evolved to be the first creatures that could fly.

After looking at a collection of fossils and pterosaur models, and interacting with the interactive stuff, we visited the museum store, a requisite for us at museums, where we bought a magnet for Mr. Ginley and a plush owl for me (apropos of nothing, except both owls and pterosaurs fly).

We headed home and rested up for an evening of pagan rituals -- although, technically, the solstice had occurred at 6:07 a.m. While a visit to Stonehenge would have been totally awesome, we had to settle for Lakewood Park's festivities. The idea was to party hardy and watch the sun set. We enjoyed vittles from the age-old tradition of food trucks. There was a drum circle and yoga and lots of people-watching (our go-to activity for the evening). We chomped, strolled and sat by the lake, watching the waves crash on the breakers. Unfortunately, Mother Nature refused to cooperate, and the clouds obscured the sunset. So we left the party before what we suspected would be a disappointing climax.

All in all, it was an enjoyable day off the hacienda. And a swell way to greet summer.

Welcome to ice cream season!

Grad Tidings

June 10th was the 41st anniversary of the day I graduated from Normandy High School.

I remember riding a yellow school bus with my fellow graduates to Blossom Music Center, which is in the back of beyond. It was a long ride, but I was pretty sure it was still in Ohio. I vaguely recall thinking about my future. My career path at that point was aimed toward being a secretary. My lifelong objective had been to slog my way through school and graduate so I could get on with life. Well, there I was, on the bus, ready to do just that. With little clue as to the "what's next?"

Once we got to Blossom, we went through the rehearsal. It was hot and boring. My parents arrived later, and at some point, I changed into my dress. And yes, I wore platform shoes for the occasion. They were white and had criss-cross straps, and wasn't I the little fashion maven?

Clumping my way across the stage, I shook hands with someone, probably the school principal, who told me to smile. I wanted to tell him to bite my ass. But I needed to graduate without fanfare, so I kept it to myself, ignored the camera and accepted my diploma as the shutter clicked.

The rest is a blur. My parents gave me a watch, which I had picked out at Kogler Jewelry & Appliance store, an all-purpose emporium that offered shoppers a little bit of everything. The bracelet watch I chose was a slim model with a box clasp, and the case was tagged with a tiny diamond. My celebration also involved a cake that my mom baked. But parties weren't a thing, at least in our house. So the event came and went without much of a blip on the radar.

My mother ensured that sunbathing my summer away was not going to be an option, so I started reading through the want ads for secretarial positions. I don't remember going to a lot of different interviews before I was hired at USF&G (United States Fidelity & Guarantee), an insurance company in downtown Cleveland. I took the bus every day and got off at 30th and Euclid. The offices hadn't been redecorated since the 1950's, and sported linoleum floors and old metal desks that were built like tanks. The building had a musty air about it. But there was a decent lunchroom for breaks and the midday meal, which I brought with me a brown paper bag, as there weren't any fast food places nearby.

My job was to operate a dictaphone machine and transcribe recorded conversations between the persons who had been in an accident and the claims adjuster. Both parties involved in the accident were interviewed. Then the adjuster had to determine who was telling the truth. It was really pretty interesting. As I typed, I'd take in not just the words but the tone of the speaker and tried to decide, if I was the adjuster, whom I would believe.

It was a good first out-of-school job, but by the end of the summer, I was getting restless and a little bored. And in the fall, my friend, Judy, offered me a job at the place where she worked.

Looking back, it's hard to believe I had no plan at all. I just sort of drifted into things. These days, we expect our children to know what they want to do with their lives. Who they want to be. And how they're going to get there. I suppose if I had been that way, I wouldn't have ended up where I am. There are days when I wonder where I would have been, if I hadn't been open to jumping onto whatever train was passing by.

But, on the whole, I think I'm okay with how it all worked out.

Choo-choo!