East To The Sun.

 

I spent the best year of my High School life in this building although nobody goes to school there any longer.  Whenever I see a photo of that grand old building I see her face.

Every morning when I would walk into those doors as a freshman student I felt special to be there.  There was so much tradition there, so many grand ghosts about.  Ghosts from formals held 100 years before, of sports teams, of concert bands.  More than that though, I felt special because of her.  She was a Senior and she looked like a movie star.  Pretty face.  Thick honey-blond hair.  The way she carried her books about was ladylike as was the way she dressed.  In 1973 nobody schlepped their books around in a backpack.  In 1973 you would often see lady students in blouses or sweaters and skirts.  She had a few sweaters and blouses I remember still.

I noticed her immediately when I first saw her in the hallway on my way into the building.  I saw her walking the same way the next day too.  She looked at me and smiled.  That smile astounded me.  I do not remember if I smiled back.  I probably didn't.  I was lucky just to continue walking.

I attended that school for 270 days.  Every day I saw her she gave me that dazzling smile. Even though I was a ski racer then  I never worked up the nerve to speak to her but I did eventually smile back. I have no idea what happened in her life after May of 1974 when my family moved to sunnier climes.  Except for one thing.

In a very roundabout way I heard last week that she passed a few years ago.  I hope the report is wrong.  Somebody deserves to be the ongoing recipient of that amazing smile. For the better part of 270 days it meant the world to me.  If the report is true then she is a lovely addition to the ghosts that roam my old school.  As I will be also, one day.  And on that day I will have the courage to chat with her.  And we can walk the halls together.

Super

 

The Irish Readhead was a diehard Steelers fan.  I have blood that is Packers green.  This morning I saw something from Packers.com saying that on February 6, 2011 the Packers won the Super Bowl against the Steelers.

I remember that day very well.  She and I always watched the Super Bowl together and that Sunday was no exception.  Except that she had been in the hospital in Miami for a month and had experienced a nine hour surgery the day before.  

I was with her in her room watching the pre-game show and generally talking to her about what might happen.  The usual good natured banter of football fans when their teams are playing.  At least the good natured banter that occurs when the fans happen to love each other.  The hospital cafeteria had a "tailgate" set up that day with burgers, hot dogs, pizza and all the fixings.  She told me I had better get something to eat before the game so I went downstairs to the tailgate party.  The food was actually great and I pondered having a piece of apple pie with ice cream before returning to her room.  For some reason I chose against my nature and skipped one of my favorite desserts.

When I walked back into her room someone was giving her some pain medicine.  For a fleeting moment I thought this was odd because she had an extraordinary pain threshold [albeit being in a lot of visible pain from the surgery] and because she was already getting pain medication from a patch on her body.  We then watched the final pre-game predictions right before kickoff and I made some snarky comment about the Steelers.  Which elicited no reply.  Which was very out of character for the Irish Redhead.  I looked over at her and her face was blue.  And her eyes were rolled up in her pretty face.  And she wasn't breathing. 

Elsewhere in these chronicles I have mentioned that one thing which will surely get attention in a big hospital is walking out of a room yelling that your wife isn't breathing.  All hell breaks loose.  They throw you out of the room.  They throw everything else out of the room.  They bring in all this equipment.  They make the spouse wait in some other room down the hall.  Then you wait to hear whether you are a widower or not.  

Ultimately the Packers won the game.  I don't remember anything about it.  The Irish Redhead won another six years of life.  Another of her many thrashings of the medical odds.  Not much comparison there.

Memorial Day

From the First Five at Boston Common:

Crispus Attucks

Samuel Gray

James Caldwell

Samuel Maverick

Patrick Carr

To three of the most recent:

Humberto Sanchez

Dylan Merola

Ryan Knauss

From the rest of us.  Sleeping under the warm security you provided. Thank you so very much. Today, and always.

Little Miracles

 

Readers of The Epic will know that one of my core principles is the existence of miracles and joyous things all around us.  If we keep our eyes open we will discover many of these gems which will greatly enhance our lives.

This little bush is pretty ragged.  Just a group of sticks really trying to stay alive behind my mailbox. It has been there many years now and I haven't seen it bloom in a long time.  I am sure that some people would have wanted me to remove it long ago but I cannot do that.  You see, my wife the Irish Redhead loved to plant things in the yard and this is the only thing I can recall that remains from her annual efforts to redecorate outdoors. 

So, on Easter Sunday, I walked outside and saw these beautiful little flowers adorning the group of sticks.  I'm pretty sure that she was thinking of me.  I had a wonderful day Sunday and I hope you did as well.

I have not attended to The Epic or to my readers in a long time.  I will do better this year.  Thank you so much for still coming by.

Armistice

Vonnegut said that men who were on the battlefield at eleven that morning reported silence so deafening they were convinced it was the voice of God.  A voice that said "enough".

Enough of what Siegfried Sassoon described as "faces trodden deeper in the mud".  Enough of the new war machines...

Enough of trenches...

Just, enough.  Time for parades on 5th Avenue and kisses and prayers and hugs...

War was made illegal in 1938.  A year later it started again.  Here, everything is fast and new.  We mainly forget or ignore the old things.  The old ways.  Armistice Day was created to make sure we never forgot the very first World Soldiers.  And the millions that died.  Now, we merge them into the honor of more recent veterans, living and dead.  And the old ones have faded in the effort.  Other countries whose boundaries encompass the bloody soil have longer memories...

Shock someone.  Wear a poppy today.  Or a red ribbon.  Be thankful for those first overseas veterans.  And all the others who sacrificed after war became illegal.  Try to  hear God's voice.

The Annual Angler

 

I love fishing for trout with a fly rod.  Every year I get one chance to do so which tests my admittedly modest skills.  My favorite venue for this event is the Au Sable River in Michigan.  There are numerous parts of the Au Sable and I stay at the fabled Gates Au Sable Lodge.  Little rooms where you can walk out the back door, put on your waders and step into one of the most famous trout streams in America.  I have been visiting Gates for years. 

 Last year I fell victim to the dreaded fishing skunk.....I caught nothing during my visit.

This year due to an unfortunate atmospheric event I was able to stay at Gates two weeks instead of the planned seven days.  The weather was glorious, cold and clear.  Trout here are very experienced prey and they are not easily fooled.  That said, I managed to fool more than ever before using the classic English method of casting downstream and pulling a wet fly across the burbling current.  Another treat was the presence of my great pally JP who usually comes up from southern Michigan to join the sport.  It's the least he can do since he introduced me to this obsession years ago after we stopped being roommates in law school. JP is an actual fisherman, I only rely on dumb luck and my ability to read the water to guess where a trout may be hiding. 

Before the shrieking starts I must declare that this water is highly regulated and it is illegal to possess trout.  All trout we catch must be returned to the stream in good condition.  On what is known as the Holy Waters they are VERY serious about such things.  As am I.  

Another thing I love about this area is the great food.  They have classics like Pastys, the Cornish meat and potato pies, that with brown gravy are an outdoorsman's staple.  They have other hearty dishes too and they use lots of local ingredients and LOTS of fresh fruit.  One example comes from the final evening of the trip when I dined at the wonderful Gates restaurant and had a slice of maple cream pie with poached local pears on top.  I can't describe how wonderful that dessert was.  It even topped the fresh blueberry pie.  And the multitude of doughnuts from the incredible local bakery.

I played golf one day to give the trout time to regroup and strategize how to make me a sporting failure the rest of my trip like last year. I played terribly on a really fine course called Forest Dunes but I had a superb steak dinner there to make up for it.

As is always the case, the last day of any adventure must arrive.  JP had been required to return to work and I fished a couple of days after he left with no success.  The day before my departure dawned bright clear and crisp.  An autumn day worthy of any of the legendary trout fishermen.  And me too.  I admit to being pretty tired and I almost didn't return to the stream that day.  But I wanted to catch just one more trout before returning to the workaday world of well.........work......and weather related damage.  I chose one of my very favorite streams.  A place where I have always caught at least one trout.  

This particular spot requires you to park on the shoulder of a two lane paved road and then walk down some rustic steps to the stream.  As I parked I groaned seeing that another vehicle was already parked there.  I did not want to share my last stream visit of the year with anyone.  In the event, the driver of the vehicle was a very nice fellow who was merely standing on the bridge looking at the water.  As often happens we struck up a conversation.  During which I found another sporting brother.  He told me he had been married many years and has lost his wife only four months ago.  Hearing this I glanced at him.  And I saw myself three and a half years ago.  By myself.  Adrift.  Trying to figure out who the hell I was supposed to be.  Two middle aged widowers standing on a bridge staring at one of the finest trout streams you will ever see.  Suddenly not knowing what to say.  He ventured "its amazing how a great wife is a.........well a........a rudder for your life...a balance."  Yes.  I was blessed that way too.  

It is not a shocking revelation that most men don't share feelings or intimate thoughts very well.   But in the freemasonry of lost love it becomes a bit easier.  I ventured the thought that I felt just as rudderless and cast adrift three years ago as he does now and that despite that feeling it was a time of exciting opportunity to try and find out who we are now.  In the time after that time. 

We swapped information and promised to keep in touch.  Then I made my way to the stream and tried my luck.  I worked carefully downstream and finally caught my one last trout of the trip.  But it was a little bit less than before.  Suddenly my legs felt all of their sixty-one years after two weeks in moving currents. After releasing the trout I sat on a big log in the stream.  And I stared at the running waters.  I heard some geese flying overhead calling for their leader to take them to Florida. I sat there and I thought of her.  A lot.  A lot more than in some time. And I smelled wood smoke.  And I looked upward and a torrent of red and gold leaves blew down over me.  She was happy about the trout.  I struggled up from the log and made my way back to the car.

Languid

It had been a very trying week.  At the start of it I was in full-on work mode, engaged in another of the competitive micro-elections for money in which I have been performing for the past thirty seven rather marvelous years. 

But then, through no fault of either mine nor my competitor, it all just ....stopped.  The proceedings halted and ultimately nullified.  Only to be replayed at some future date.  This sort of thing is deflating in the extreme.  You have nowhere to expend all of the build up energy and focus that were fueling you for the event.  Well, I suppose if one were a runner, or an exerciser, but I have sterling credentials as neither of those. 

What to do?  To quote one of my favorite characters from a movie long ago, "ROAD TRIP".  My favorite casino happens to be a modest drive away and I rapidly claimed a complimentary room, booked dinner at the excellent hotel restaurant, threw a small Italian leather bag into my trunk and drove west.  Feeling none the best for wear I might say.  I almost talked myself out of the trip.  But the dedicated Epic learns to follow his inner voice in such matters.

Upon arrival I got settled into my room and considered soaking in the large hot tub.  Apparently someone in the booking office was under the impression I was planning a much more complicated escapade that was the case.  Avoiding a bath that would have probably put me to sleep, I straightened my tie and headed downstairs to the caisse to exchange some money for chips. 

It should surprise no returning Epic that I was the only person on display on the casino floor wearing a coat and tie.  Nor should it surprise anyone that the feel of casino chips in my hand and the distinctive clacking noise they make when you riffle them against a green baize surface is a soothing influence to the my heart and soul. 

It had been some time since I last played Roulette but my weariness from the week's events and a three visit losing streak at Blackjack prompted me to a simple plan of action at the table of the spinning wheel based upon James Bond's system.  Which was based on John Scarne's system I believe.  A solid notion. With that firmly in mind I had a "half and half" martini in the cocktail lounge and headed to the steakhouse for dinner to further fortify myself for the evening ahead. 

I don't always have steak when I dine out but when I do I have steak au poivre.  It is another sad feature of the current era how difficult it is to find a great steak, crusted in peppercorns, with a brandy cream sauce.  A French bistro classic now relegated to the novelty list.  On one less than memorable occasion, I asked a waiter why the "steak au poivre" that had been perfectly cooked and delivered to my table had no flavor.  The horrifying answer was "People kept sending it back because it was peppery".  Good lord.  Why on earth would someone order steak AU POIVRE and object to it being steak au poivre?  I digress.  The casino steakhouse in question makes the dish perfectly.  I suspect that from the great beyond James Beard weeps with joy every time someone makes it there.  A large wonderful filet [I know, I know, the classic should be a strip steak but I occasionally allow myself a slight turn away from tradition] cooked medium rare, with a significant peppercorn crust and a perfect and silky pan sauce which served to slightly soften the heat of the pepper in the way the first chef to make the dish certainly planned.  Magnificent...

With a glass or two of a very good Pinot Noir the old life compass was slowly swinging to the proper course.  After that outstanding steak I celebrated the existence of at least a few chefs who can still prepare it properly by ordering what in that locale has come to be known as the M****** Sundae.  Simple but the perfect sequent to my entree....

Fully bucked for the remainder of the evening, I sauntered back to the main Roulette table where I whiled away several hours in the company of a couple of nice croupiers and a very attentive cocktail waitress.  I ended the evening happily ahead of the house.

Somewhat later, relaxing in that tub with a snifter of cognac, I considered the word "languid".  One of my favorite adjectives. I love the way the word sounds.  It is one of those words which immediately conjures up just the sort of evening I had experienced.  Or the look in the eyes of certain women at certain times.  It shouldn't surprise me that the primary definitions of languid are pejorative but I put this down to a cultural variant in the U.S. where the lack of "proper" [i.e. energy and goal driven] activities are usually looked at with a cocked eyebrow.  I prefer the alternative definition of languid which is "leisurely".  Sensual leisure.  The Epicurean definition of the word.  And of a superior evening.

I Wonder.....

"Sometimes I wonder...do you ever think of me?"---Gregg Allman

Just over the hurdle of my second anniversary of being single. 

I hope next January 25 is nicer.

ML

My Hero of The Street Corner

Every so often I come across someone who so exemplifies the Epic spirit that it stops me in my tracks.  Like the fellow on the corner.

I have certain work obligations which at times can only be described as tedious.  When these obligations call, I am required to sally forth from the friendly confines of my office to a nearby building. Which in turn requires me to walk right past him. 

The fellow on the corner is about my age, perhaps a bit older.  He is dressed nicely and doesn't appear in need of food or shelter.  He never asks for anything.  He just gives to others.  In every season, not just the Christmas season, he is on the corner wearing a yellow reflective vest that makes him look quasi-official.  The last week or two he has been sporting a Santa hat.

Every day I walk past him he gives a cheerful grin and says good morning or good afternoon.  Often he will give a compliment too.  "That is a nice looking suit you have on today!" "You are having a great day, I can tell by that smile!"

Think of the energy this fellow expends in this Epic venture.  He has made it his quest through this part of his life to give happiness and light to everyone he sees and he obviously loves what he does.  This year in particular I am in need of this sort of gift.  And he provides it to everyone, at no cost to themselves other than a return smile or greeting.  Which everyone I have seen gives.  Funny how a genuine pleasantry draws a pleasant response.

I would love to know his story but I don't really need to.  He exemplifies the Epic life.  Mining joy from the ordinary and letting others see it.  A Christmas gift indeed.

St. Augustine and Nouveau Day

It may be recorded elsewhere in these chronicles but St. Augustine was oft want to say that humility assures our salvation as it is the foundation of all the other virtues.  He also said that pride turned angels into devils.  As it turned out, this year I was the recipient of an Epic gift from the venerable Saint on, of all days, Nouveau Day.

To refresh, Nouveau Day, which has been described as one of the most important days of the French cultural calendar, is celebrated in France and in all other sentient places on the third Thursday of November when the new vintage of Beaujolais is released for public consumption.  The barrels are rolled out and tapped at midnight to the ringing of a bell and then something of a wine based Oktoberfest breaks out with partying and drinking [and appropriate dining of course] carrying on for at least three days.  The festival coincides nicely with our American Thanksgiving holiday. 

I adore Nouveau Day because it is so essentially French, it involves wine, and it is a festival of good cheer.  It is also a dandy way to kick off the American holiday season.  Critics, of course, abound.  The quality of this inexpensive and jovial wine is vociferously attacked by the vino-intellectual complex, and certain members of that complex turn their noses wayyy up upon the mere mention of Nouveau Day.  That Beaujolais in general, and Nouveau Day in particular is such a burr under the saddle of some wine folk only adds to my general satisfaction with the event.  I mean, in Japan they love  Nouveau Day so much that they drink Nouveau while collectively bathing in it.  Until hearing this report of wine filled tubs I hadn't thought much about Japan to be honest but now I have firmly placed the nation in the record as Just My Sort Of Place.

On the day in question, I left the office early in search of a couple of bottles of Beaujolais Nouveau.  As is my custom and my Francophillic privilege.  There is a nice small wine shop across the street from my office where I do regular, if modest, business.  I was, if I may say so, dressed up even more so than usual in anticipation of the event and of a date I had that evening.  Upon entering the place I sensed that dark forces were at work.  Instead of my usual sales clerk, behind the counter were two fellows I didn't recognize and they were in deep conversation with a very attractive lady who was a wine sales representative.  It turned out that the two fellows were the owners of the shop which made the ensuing horrid events even more sorry.

Not wanting to interrupt the conversation I made my way about looking for a case or two of Nouveau which I was certain had to be on display.  I didn't see any.  Finally one of the two owners asked me if he could help me find something.  I jovially replied "Yes! NOUVEAU"!  At which the two men looked at each other.  And burst out laughing. 

"We don't have THAT here"!  Ha HA Ha Ha Ha.

"God no, we had a couple of cases of Nouveau from 2016 around somewhere but I put them in the garbage"!  Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha

" I had a Nouveau tie once and I used it to tie my suitcase together so I could see it on the airport carousel"! HA HA HA HA HA

"He wants that THIN, AWFUL stuff!" HA HA HA HA HAAAAAAAAAAAA

I just stared at them.  I mean I know these are low times for manners and for civility in general but the nature of the comments and the tone in which they were said were widely out of bounds in my opinion.  My nice sales clerk manifested himself and seemed disturbed. 

"Um......ahhh......can I show you a very nice Beaujolais instead.......we have it at a good price..."

I politely replied that I appreciated the offer but that it was Nouveau Day and I was hunting for a bottle of Nouveau.  The logic of this seemingly escaped his bosses who upon hearing this broke out in a new round of raucous hooting.  This time joined by the lady wine salesperson.

My adorable and deeply missed wife, The Irish Redhead, used to say that at certain times I was way too tolerant of people.  Her corollary was that I should handle situations such as this the way she would handle them.  Fire. Brimstone. Going to guns as the first option.  The Irish Redhead way.  Alas, some of us lack that gift, usually those of us with Norwegian fathers.  As a result, I gave them what could only be described as a fishy look and I strode out the door never to return.  And when I say I strode I do not employ the term loosely.  If there was ever a time for fishy looks and striding, that was the time.

I am happy to report that upon entering a competing shop they were more than happy, excited even, to point me in the direction of a nice bottle of Beaujolais Nouveau.  I bought two. 

Where does St. Augustine factor into this you may fairly ask.  Well as I was striding out of the shop I felt pretty low.  I mean they had made abject fun of me.  In public.  In front of a lady.  In less allegedly civilized times I would have had no choice but to demand satisfaction on the field of honor under the Code Duello.

Now THERE would be a place where a boy with Viking blood in his veins might capture the day.  Especially against an obnoxious wine merchant or two.  In the event, it finally occurred to me that being humbled in this fashion ultimately stoked my humility rating a notch or two up the scale.  And that as a result I have that much a better shot at salvation and a place at the heavenly table when they celebrate Beaujolais Nouveau each year.  I have it on good authority that Nouveau Day is a pretty big deal in heaven.  I hear that they allow bathing in it too.

Lots of Livin'.....Glory Days

I have recently remembered two of my favorite songs and realized in the process that they are so very applicable to my life now.  In the New Era.  SDJ sings the truth in "I've Got A Lot of Livin' To Do" from 1963.  I do.  And I'm doing my best.

Then, The Boss singing Glory Days....

Every man relates to this song.  When we get together most fellows go deep into memory mode and talk about high school or college days and all the tremendous times they had then.  The wine.  The women.  The song.  I realized just yesterday that I have received an Epic gift of the highest order.  When I am [God willing] 80 years old, I will look back over a pretty outstanding life experience and THESE will be my Glory Days.  My Halcyon.  I doubt that many people will be able to do that.  Of course, Epic philosophy holds that this should be the case in every time of your life.  We just don't often reach out and take what life holds out for us at every turn.

I'm so glad my Epics are still out there.  I'll be more in touch from now on.

ML

After The Last Post's Meal

Calvados from my balcony after the dinner shown in yesterday's post.  Not too shabby...

Lost Photos From My Phone

Throughout my travels over the years, I have taken lots of photos of places, meals, wine, and other random things that for whatever reason remain in my phone rather than becoming posts on The Epic.  As a result, I am starting a new series here taking photos from oldest to newest out my phone gallery and sharing them with you. 

This first set comes from a marvelous dinner I had in Sandestin, Florida a summer or two ago.  The restaurant is called Seagar's...

A gorgeous restaurant with a wonderful Epic-style lounge....they have a piano player too who will play Last Date by Floyd Cramer perfectly if you ask for it.  An Epic all time favorite.

Course one was an outstanding tuna and avocado stack....sushi grade tuna and so fresh.....

....accompanied by a very fine Pouilly Fuisse.....

Then the main course.  This dish was so tremendous it was my favorite meal of that summer.  Perfectly cooked Grouper with a lemon butter sauce accompanied by an amazing pasta with herbs and lemon zest.  This was perfect summer fine dining along the Gulf Coast of the U.S....

Dessert was a classic apple tart with a little bit of house made vanilla ice cream and just a touch of house made cinnamon whipped cream....and coffee....and, of course, Calvados...

Mining these photos, and the grand memories of this outstanding meal, and sharing them with you are what Epic dining is ALL about.  Enjoy!!

Tequila Day....Revisited

When you are writing for the blogosphere it is amazing which posts are the most read.  For years my most read post was Tequila Day.  An ode to a cement block hideout bar with outstanding food.  Then road construction claimed the place and another hideout went dark.  Rumors whispered that Tony's would re-open in a new, swanky location.  Years passed.

I am pleased to report that, under a slightly new name, my Tequila Day joint lives.  It is very pretty, very new, very clean...and without the attached ten unit motel which was an ultra hideout if ever there was one.  But.....

The same home-made chips and salsa....

and...the main event......the BEST carne asada steak ANYYYWHERRREEEE

with a home made Tamale on the side.  As it should be.  Add an ice cold draft Dos Equis Amber and a shot [or two?] of

my all time favorite Tequila........and I can confidently report that although the hideout nature of the place is gone.......the food REIGNS SUPREME.

And....if, as the shadows lengthen, a one-handed man who  just drove into town from Nevada in a 1976 white Cadillac Eldorado convertible walks in with a mysterious message just for you...ignore it at your peril.  I have warned you twice about this.

Ribbons In The Sky

She was always a bit embarrassed when I would post this on Valentine's Day.  I always posted it.  And I always will.

Please hold the one you love closely if you can.  Or text.  Or call.  Just let them know.  Send a Valentine in some fashion.  When you do, know that your gesture will be my Valentine too.

P.S. I apologize for the ad in the video.  The Epic and I do not endorse the ad but I couldn't figure out how to get rid of it.  ML

I Have Dreamed.....

365

Three hundred and sixty five days ago she needed to go to the hospital for a routine bug or something.  The hundredth such visit.  No worries.

Sometime tonight I was reading to her as I always did at bed time.  It was a bit later in the night than usual.  She smiled at me and rolled onto her side.

Three hundred and sixty five days from tomorrow morning I walked out of that building.  A dazed expressing on my face.  Carrying her pillow.  It was all I had left.

A blink of an eye and one of the brightest candles ever.  Just. Went. Out.

I don't think that tomorrow is going to be a very good day.

Signs of the New Age

I figured it was time.  My ring was there for 30 years.  That mark will probably never go away.  And I hope it doesn't.

First Christmas

Hello to all Epics everywhere with my best wishes for a Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays.

I suppose a lot of you are wondering how this first Christmas of the New Era has been for me and for the Future Rock Star.  The truth is, it was rougher leading up to Christmas Eve and today than I imagined it would be.  The Irish Redhead and I just adored Christmas and our entire family was always swept along in her enthusiasm as was usually the case.  The returning reader may recall my post about driving all the way back to Florida from Wisconsin just so I would not miss our tradition of attending evening services on Christmas Eve.  I had hoped that the heartache of the other special days this year which have come and gone would be cumulative and would in some way insulate my feelings on the greatest day of our spiritual year.  I was wrong.  The week or two leading up to today were filled with special challenges and trepidation, at least for me.

The first thing of course was to resist the temptation to bury my head in the emotional sand and skip Christmas altogether.  As on a roller-coaster [if I were to ever ride one] to close my eyes and just hold on until New Year's Eve brings the turbulent ride which has been 2017 to a merciful close. It would have been pretty easy to opt for that approach.

But Christmas remains.  It is and always will be my favorite holiday of the year. And, despite the cool exterior obtained over twenty years of life, the Future Rock Star loves it too.  So I decided to put up our tree, and decorate the house.  A bit.  I admit that I did not have it in me to get out all of my wife's favorite decorations for the tree.  I'm not sure that I will ever use them again.  But Christmas remains.  I bought gifts, wrapped them [horridly, I admit] and did my best. 

Part of the problem is that I so vividly recall what we were doing a year ago.  The IR was discharged from the hospital on Christmas Eve after an awful three week admission.  After getting her home and properly installed in our bed for some real rest, I faced the daunting task of trying to get a particular time-released pain medication that, even with her very high pain threshold, she absolutely had to have to stay out of the hospital for Christmas.  For all the charms of small city living, access to medication the evening before Christmas is not one of them.  I drove to every pharmacy in our county that was open without success.  Then, on a tip from a benevolent pharmacist, I drove to the adjoining county where, at midnight, I got the medicine.  Amazingly, we had a very fine Christmas with gifts, a great dinner prepared by me and the Future Rock Star, the works.  The Irish Redhead was in her full Christmas mode, delighting in every moment.  The spirit continued unabated [with usual post-hospital recuperation time each day of course] through New Year's Day.  Three weeks later, she was gone.  Along with half my cell structure as I have previously mentioned.

Santa can do a lot of things but he can't give you that cell structure back.  Santa can, however, give you the restorative gift of a lovely day.  I am so pleased to report that that is exactly what I have received for the past twenty-four hours.  Yesterday I had a nice breakfast and then went to see a special new friend who's company I have enjoyed on a few recent dates.  I gave her a gift that I bought for her in New York a couple of weeks ago and she was as delighted with it as I had hoped she would be.  I seem at the very least not to have lost my gift for paying attention to the nature of a lady.  We chatted for a couple of hours and had a lovely time.  Then I went to pay my mom a visit at her Assisted Care place as I do every Sunday afternoon.  We had takeout food and gabbed about nothing in particular. After leaving my mom's I was invited over to the home of a pally where I used to perform Christmas standards with him at the piano.  It was a gasser [as Frank would have said] to re-start that tradition.  My singing was not quite up to par but after a couple of cocktails nobody much noticed. Then I went to church for the late service and back home to enjoy a great baked ziti prepared by the Future Rock Star.

By the time we finished eating it was already into the wee small hours of Christmas morning and the FRS said "can I play the eight year old card and open my presents"? I balked initially because I was YAWNING but I eventually gave in.  It is the New Era after all.  All of the presents were his anyhow, and he had specifically asked for most of them in the weeks leading up to Christmas.  That said, there was one gift he requested that was whimsical even by his standards.  An Irish Penny Whistle.  He seems to have developed the notion that he should learn to play pub songs on it.  I am very happy to report two things.  First, that he was just as happy when he unwrapped that whistle as he was by any present I have ever seen him receive on Christmas.  It revealed a boyishness that I haven't seen much from him this year.

Second, I can say that the finest Christmas present I have ever received was the distant sound of random tootling on an Irish whistle from the living room while I drifted off to a very contented sleep around 2:30 this morning.  I know his mother was smiling.

A very happy New Year to each and every one of you!! 

Armistice Day, Far in the Mist

At 11:11 a.m. on this day in 1918 the worst blood letting the world had ever seen came to an end.  There were a lot of people killed that morning although nobody really knew why.  All over the world the mothers and fathers, wives, children, sisters and brothers wept in thanksgiving or in bitter loss. There was one good thing though.  Laws were passed outlawing war forever.  The laws only lasted twenty years. 

On this day, now devoted in the U.S. to all of the military veterans who fortify our liberty with their lives, please thank someone.  Pray for someone.  Shake someone's hand.  Remember someone who died over 100 years ago to save the world.  The memorials are still there all over the globe.  We mostly pass them by nowadays without a thought.  Stop by one today and look...and remember...

To all Veterans.  Thank you so very much.