Best Christmas Ever!

I 'm sure I said that last year too.  What makes for a good Christmas?  Well, presents are cool, but they lose some of their luster as we grow older.  I'm partial to presence.  So good to spend quality time with all of my daughters.  This year's Christmas was enhanced by an additional son-in-law.  I can only ruminate over what addition will enhance next year's holiday season.

What else makes for a good Christmas?  There is nothing better than kids who revel in the magic.
Enter Miles and Landon; the spirit of Christmas lives in the hearts, souls, and minds of little boys.

Naturally, they got tons of presents.  (Geeg & Pop scored with an air hockey game.)  Their effervescent enthusiasm spilled out with every ripped package. The hand held DS games were somewhat anticlimactic; apparently they felt they earned them.  No euphoric Kodak moment there.  Still, they were thrilled by all the packages; thrilled also by the joy of giving.  I love my yellow and orange pot holder.

The Kodak moment, missed, I think, by all the photographers, was Miles' reaction to Santa's foot prints in the kitchen.
"Whoa.......," he said reverently.

Yes, Miles and Landon, there is a Santa Claus.

Best Christmas ever.  Until next year.

HAPPY THANKSGIVING

Plenty to be thankful for this year; plenty to be thankful for every year, but this one was extraordinary.

Let's recap.



I won a freakin' tv! Nice, but it only ranks fifth on my list of cool doings for the year.



The GIANTS win the freakin' World Series! OMG, practically a once in a life time event! It was incredibly special; shear euphoria, with a complete absence of the agony that usually controls a season's end. It was thrilling to enjoy the suspense and the success with Amy; she in "Frisco, calling daily.



Top three:



My pal, Landon - soccer player! Little brother has a tough act to follow, and I think that intimidates him sometimes. He hemmed and hawed about playing soccer, but eventually overcame his fears and attacked the field. Attaboy, Landon! Seeing you play soccer made Pop very proud. You da man!



Sara's wedding; John's wedding too. So nice to share the joy of young love. For some, the commitment of marriage is old fashioned; I guess I'm old fashioned. This particular wedding was special, primarily because of the participants, but also because of the understated elegance that Sara choreographed. Amy's toast was a show stopper as well.



Buddy Miles, Little League Baseball Player! True, I wasn't waiting for this as long as I was waiting for a Giants championship, but the waiting was intense and filled with angst.

Seeing Miles on the field, seemingly feeling the joy I have always felt from baseball; heartwarming.

I love baseball. Combine baseball and family; there are no words.





Special occasions indeed, but it is the ordinary days for which I am most thankful for. Truth is, there are no ordinary days. Each one is a blessing, thanks to my family, my bride.

An embarrassment of riches.

From the comforts of a sandy beach to the comforts of a reclining chair, smothered by grandchildren.



Happy Thanksgiving, from me and Lou Gehrig, the luckiest guys on the face of the earth.

October 1962............

Maybe it was late September; I'm not sure.

I'm sitting in the back seat of a Lincoln Continental. (Nice.) My father's second best friend, Dutch, is driving, my Dad in the passenger front seat. We are in a traffic jam outside of Yankee Stadium.

World Series; Giants versus Yankees! I'm not sure how we got tickets, but I suspect Dutch's wife, Ginny, a big wig with White Castle, may have provided them. (I'm quite sure she provided the Continental.)

Alas, I am not happy.

Thrilled with the opportunity to attend a world series game featuring my beloved Giants, and equally thrilled that my parents have allowed me to miss a day of school, I am deflated because the game has been rained out. Woe is me. I am somewhat despondent.



As we sit silently in traffic, my attention is drawn to an elegant black man on the street.



"There he is! Mr. America. Mr America!"

Willie Mays, in his street clothes, is walking the sidewalks of the Harlem. I am the first to recognize him. He is, after all, my god.

Our car, being stuck in traffic, is stopped. I leap out, continuing to shout, "Mr. America, Mr. America!"

A police officer on horseback, clears a path for me, but Willie is ignoring my pleas.

My dad, the consummate gentleman, exits the car and offers his efforts. "Mr. Mays?"



Mr. Mays responds. I rush to him, shake his hand, and get his autograph.



Thanks, Dad.



I went to the game the next day; my parents understood priorities and let me take yet another day off from school. ( I can only imagine the negotiation between Mom and Dad.)

Giants lost. Crap.



Fast forward a few days to the last game of the series in San Francisco.

The Giants are losing 1-0 in the bottom of the ninth inning.

Matty Alou gets a bunt single for my Giants. Mays doubles. Roger Maris makes a nice play for the Yankees, and holds Alou at third.

Two out, McCovey at bat.



My recollection is that I'm watching this in my grandmother' s room in our apartment.



McCovey lines out to Bobby Richardson. I die just a little bit, and head out the door to escape as much of the world that a twelve year old can, or wants to.

We'll get 'em next year.



Forty eight years later, we (Giants) have yet to get 'em. Maybe this year. That would be nice.



But there is so much more to this story, more than I have recognized until now.



My recollection is watching the end of the series in my grandmother's room? If this is true, she gave up her stories, her soaps, so I could watch the game.

Nice.

But, what is really nice, is that my grandmother was living with us.



My parents, my sister, my grandmother, and me. Two bedroom, one bath apartment.

I can't explain it, but we made it work. I have to assume it was largely because of my mother's love for her mother, and my father's devotion to my mother.

Lessons learned.



Fast forward again; mid '80's. My parents are in need of assistance.

I loved my mother and father. My wife's willingness to have them live with us is......humbling.

A debt I can never repay..................



And here we are. It all happened for a reason, and I consider myself the biggest benefactor. My parents' in law apartment is now my in law apartment, as I chase the endless summer. Very nice.



I must admit, if the Giants win the series, that would be very, very nice.

But is it necessary? Absolutely not. I'm good.

But, it would be nice. I wish I could watch the series with my father; my first best friend. Or my mother, because, well, I would like to do anything once more with my mother.

Among the living, my first choice to watch the series with is........................the ol' ball and chain.
My bride, my better half.
She has witnessed, endured, tolerated numerous sophomoric episodes of inane behavior because of my unnatural devotion to the men of Orange & Black. It's embarrassing. Geeg has provided me with a life of unbridled joy. I'd like her to witness the only joyous conquest that has eluded me; a world series triumph for my San Francisco Giants!

But is it necessary? Absolutely not. I'm good.

Game 1 starts in 40 minutes.

New Library Privileges!

As many of you know, I took extreme advantage of various Connecticut libraries to enhance my personal music library; primarily Dave Matthews, but Leonard Cohen, Randy Newman, Elvis Costello and others as well.

Good news! The Indian Rocks Beach library now has sharing agreements with all other libraries in this county. I'm tellin' ya, life keeps getting better.

So, of course, my first choice was a further expansion into the world of DMB. Nice.
But I also went for something a little more obscure; The Blnd Boys of Alabama.

One song in particular has struck me; "I Shall Not Walk Alone." Spiritual, soulful, moving.

When I'm tired and weary
And a long, long way from home
I reach for Mother Mary
And I shall not walk alone.

I'm thinkin' this is a good song to hold on to and remember for the inevitable times when life stops keep getting better, like maybe tomorrow if the Giants baseball season comes to an abrupt end.

Yes, I determined that The Blind Boys of Alabama will not let me walk alone.
But then I realize the song was written by Ben Harper.

I don't know much about him, but I do know that he is fairly popular, mainstream, and relevant.
Now I'm concerned.
What's he talkin' 'bout in this song?

At first, I assumed this traditional gospel group was referring to Mother Mary, "Mother of God."

Or is it marijuana?
Is ol' Ben have a little fun with our sight depraved friends from the south?
And, isn't marijuana used to treat glaucoma? What's goin' on?

Also, Stevie Wonder's "Higher Ground" is on the album!

Am I reading too much into this?

I'm so confused. Let's hope I am in no particular need of solace over the next few days.

Go Giants!

End of an Era

I sold my Lionel trains a few weeks ago, a collection that started Christmas 1957. They were just taking up space; the last time I set them up was 1978. Now the only space they consume is in my memory. On the floor, in front of the faux fireplace, next to the piano with the Christmas village on top. Mesmorized by a motorized toy train.

Over the years, the set was expanded and moved to the kitchen. This was before the kitchen became my bedroom. (Don't get me started.) But interest naturally waned; the trains were long ignored. It was primarily a solitary activity; most of my friends weren't interesed.

So I sold them to a New Yorker from the Bronx; he really railroaded me. Played me like a freakin' fiddle, but that's okay. I easily let go of the trains. I hold on to the memories.

So............what's left?

Well, I've still got sports. Baseball has been a constant in my life, since even before the trains.

Amaysingly, (and to the chagrin of my wife and landlord) I still hold on to Giants memorabilia; even addded to the collection this year.

Even baseball, though, I could probably let go; the finances of the game (Yankees) have taken away much of the joy. If I can ever add a Giants World Series victory to my memory bank, (hopefully before dimentia, when I begin to imagine this victory) I may just walk away from the game.

(Nah, I'll probably always root for the laundry.)

Football? I've already started to slowly disengage. I can't get most of the games in Florida; I've chosen the beach over a sports bar. Plus, I've got my Giants Super Bowl memories.

As a fan, I thought football was life, As a grandfather, I see football as a brutal and barbaric activity for thugs, punks, and a couple of Mannings. Maybe I'll embrace soccer.

So.......what's left?

Music. This is a keeper. Even before baseball, there was music. Hair slicked back, Mickey Mouse guitar in hand, wriggling my hips to the songs of Elvis Presley, for the amusement of family and friends.

Admittedly, the music died, or least went into a coma for about 10 years. Then in the summer of 1966, I broke my wrist. Sports activities curtailed, I rediscovered music. Embarrassingly, the first album I ever bought was "A Taste of Honey" by Herb Alpert and the Tijuanna Brass. (This purchase continued an odd family history of first album selections - my sisters' first was "Broadway Songs" by Jerry Lewis. Not Jerry Lee Lewis of rock 'n' roll fame, Jerry Lewis of "Martin and Lewis, and oh, by the way, I can't sing," fame.)

Luckily, I soon discovered Motown, but it was a "Young Rascals" album that really opened my ears. By this time, the kitchen was my bedroom. (It's complicated.) I remember closing the shade that was my door and listening to lead singer Felix Cavaliere sing "Midnight Hour." He wailed. He moaned. I moved. "I wanna hold you, squeeze you, tease you , I need you, love me, Baby........ahhhh! Have mercy! Take it home now!" Raw. Gutteral. Tawdry. At sixteen I was severely wondering what I was missing.

Music still does it for me; insert requisite Dave Matthews reference. The instrumental interlude in the live version of "Lie in Our Graves" blows me away. I'm listening to it now, and .......................(I'm over here now.

Music is a keeper. I can't sing, can't play, but I can feel. Yeah, I got the music in me.

So........what else is left?

What always was, always is, always will be.

Mi famila. (It is so appropriate that "family' is feminine in the language of romance.)Returning south, to my other home, to my never ending summer, I bring my family with me. Literally in one case, unfortunately only figuratively in all other cases.

I bring memories, prayers, hopes.

A family to nurture and be nurtured by. To comfort and be comforted by. To share laughter, secrets, dreams.

We will return north just before Thanksgiving, but I don't need a holiday or a turkey to know how much I have to be thankful for.

Family tops the list. Always did. Always will.

OY VEY

So suppose, you are on your way to Florida, and, despite the fact that you have a GPS and a detailed trip guide provided by AAA, you find yourself on the wrong highway, going in the wrong direction. And, because you are on the wrong highway, going in the wrong direction, you find yourself in a parking lot like traffic jam.

Oy vey.



And suppose, since you are in this parking lot jam on this wrong highway going in the wrong direction, you make an ill advised, poorly calculated attempt to exit said highway. During this poor attempt to exit, you manage to clip the rear end of a van with a license plate that identifies the driver as handicapped.

Suppose also the handicapped person is only the passenger; the grandmother of the driver, a mother of 2 year old twins, not so patiently sitting in the back seat.
As long as you are supposing, suppose said mother of 2 year old twins has been carrying a baby brother in her belly for said twins for over 8 months.

Suppose you are less than 5 and a half feet tall, but feel like you are less than 2 feet tall, when, after telling pregnant driver that you are headed to Florida, she tells you she is taking her beloved Grandma to her new home; the nursing variety.

Oy vey. Could it get any worse?

How about if, when questioned by a police officer, you are sweating profusely, not because of guilt, but because you are barely winning a battle agains the dreaded "Big D," - diarrhea.

Could it get any worse? I suppose. I mean, there were no fatalities.

Wait! I hope I haven't led you to believe any of this happened to me!

Don't be ridiculous; I lead a charmed life. We have arrived in Florida; the endless summer continues. Sure, there were some complications during our trip; extremely slow service at McDonald's for breakfast. And, it turns out there aren't many places to eat dinner on a Wednesday night in Yamasee, South Carolina. Still, we found a swell Chinese woman who makes a tasty Shrimp with lobster sauce.

All is well. I do lead a charmed life, but don't think I've made a deal with the devil. I point to my agonizing devotion to the San Francisco Giants. Surely any deal made with Lucifer would have included at least one championship in the last 55 years.

August 23rd

August 23rd, 1961 - My first boy-girl party. Tami Peterson's birthday. my first crush. I think she was 8 feet tall. She didn't change my life.

August 23rd. 1964 - Giants vs Mets, double header at Shea Stadium. I'm there with my Dad. Giants win the first game easily; the second game, not so easy. A bunch of odd circumstances; a triple play, Mays plays shortstop, the game goes on for 23 innings! Memorable, but not life changing.

August 23rd, 1968 - I met Pat on a blind date.

Life changing.

Thank you God.

Thank you Pat.


................okay, I 'm probably completely wrong about the first 2 dates, but not the third one.
Absolutely, completely, satisfyingly............ memorable.

Interview with The Cryptic Comic

There's been such confusion and actual trepidation regarding the CC; I thought an in depth interview was appropriate. Unfortunately, Larry King was unavailable. Bob Costas did not return my call. Edward R. Murrow is dead. We settled for Bob.

CC: First, let me offer my sincerest condolences.
Bob: Thanks. As most of you know, my mother's,...my stepmother's aunt died 3 months ago.



CC: Were you close?
Bob: No, not at all.


CC: What was her name?
Bob: Louise.



CC: I worked with a Louise once; no, actually it was Louis. Can't be the same person. Or, at least, highly unlikely. Not close, huh?
Bob: No, not at all.
CC: Still, it must be a difficult time.

Bob: Let's move on. Your idols, your mentors, whose comic genius impacted you the most?
CC: What a great question. Certainly, Bob & Ray, Andy Kaufman, Jack Handey,and Pope Paul.
Bob: Pope Paul?
CC: Hugely under rated. His timing, impeccable; his sense of the absurd,...delicious.


Bob: Any current comics that make you laugh.
CC: Ernest Borgnine is a hoot!


Bob: Your critics say you're not funny. Your jokes have no punchline, your stories are pointless. They say you should call yourself the "Crappy Comic."
CC: I had an avocado for lunch today.
Bob: That's all?
CC: That's all. Ate it right out of its shell.


Bob: Why should I care?
CC: You asked.
Bob: When?
CC: Let's dispense with the symantics, Bob. You're better than that.


Bob: Actually, I'm not. Can we be done?
CC: Sure, Bob. This going nowhere, sort of like my act.


Bob: Well, at least can agree on that. Any last comments?
CC: Just one last word......


Bob: I hope it's "adios?"

CC: No...a. My friend; you are my friend, right? I'll be appearing on Facebook soon. Hope to see you there. You will be my friend, right? I mean, that's what friends are for. As Elton John said to Stevie Wonder, Dionne Warwick, and Gladys Knight; "mmh, yeah."

Happy Anniversary!

I guess my cards are in the mail. Two years ago today, I started entertaining, cajoling, irritating, annoying, boring, confusing you, with my blog. I made you laugh, I made you cry. Sometimes I made you throw up just a little bit in your mouth. (Sorry about that.)







Today I simply want to provide some sage advice from a 60 year old boy:















Dare to dream, but wake up in time to plan your retirement.





Also, avoid muggers, reptiles, and quicksand.

To Good Health

I'm making my semi-annual round of doctor visits, but who needs them? I've got all the evidence of my good health in my medicine cabinet - tons of little bottles and tubes with expiration dates long past. Sure, the Advil only expired this past March, but the Bayer expired over two years ago. We just don't take drugs; don't need 'em.



I did wake up with a cold Wednesday. It raged all day yesterday. I used a nasal spray, and that helped. Turns out I shouldn't have been using it since last August. The throat spray I used this morning has apparently been ineffective for the last 26 months.



I did more research: I have a perscription for Hydrochodone, a pain reliever, that expired 10 years ago. (I wonder what its street value is.) Benadryl, an anti-itch cream, was last effective in 1994! No problem with waste management. Ex Lax expired in 2003.



There is considerably more data, but you get the picture. My research does not include the effects of taking expired medicines, but I really think it's just a conspiracy to make us buy more products. I'm not fallin' for that old trick, If I feel the need to take Ex Lax, I'll take whatever is available, regardless of color, creed, or expiration date.



And, if I have a toothache, I'll take the Rexall drug in my medicine cabinet. Apparently, this product is so old, no expration date was required on the bottle. The instructions say "Taketh no more than thrice daily, lest ye succumb to the plague."

My Plans For the Rest of My Life

First, the mundane. Drive back north next week. Spend one restless night in Ashland, Virginia; anxious to get home. Dave Matthews will be my co-pilot. (The live versions of "Grey Street" and "Lie in my Grave" figuratively blow me away......)

Next, a labor of love. Pool Boy on the job; at your service.

And then, the sublime. Armed with my latest Thrift Shop treasures, a catcher's mitt and 8 slightly used Little League baseballs, we will charge the practice field. Play ball! Miles and Landon; I can't wait to see you!

That's the plan for the summer. The pool, the boys, the barbecue will compete for my time. Maybe I'll run a 5K race.



Long term, I plan to keep it simple; as simple as can be when you have two domiciles. When I'm in Florida, I'll continue to spend lots of time at the beach. In New Milford, I will enjoy the comforts of family.
Wherever I am, I'll continue to walk, exercise and take care of myself. Wherever we are, Geeg and I will take care of each other.


I hope to continue to enjoy new discoveries. This year, as previously recorded, I found Dave Matthews. I also developed an insatiable appetite for avocados. Mmm, so good, and good for you too!

What's next? Don't know. I would have never predicted avocados.
Maybe sardines.



Is it mind over matter, or am I simply out of my mind?

Here's my thinking on sunblock. Something is better than nothing, and nothing is probably enough at this stage of my game. So when I purchase said product at a Thrift Store with an SPF rating of 15, should I be ridiculed because the rating is so low it's useless? And if it is uesless because of the low rating, does it matter that said product had an expiration date of March, 2008?



It is with this type of logic and thought processes that I continue my journey.

I plan to celebrate many more birthdays; dance at many more weddings.


But.....decades from now, if I should ever find myself old and alone, I promise not to be a bother.
Please, just provide me with a small room with a window and a radio.

If the sun is shining, I will bask. If there is a ball game on, I will listen, and pray for all the wrong reasons. When the game is over, I will turn to music. Whatever moving parts I have left will dance.
And when the sun goes down, I will close my eyes, count my blessings, and reminisce.



And I will never grow old.
And I will never be alone.

WHAT IF?

When I was in my late teens, John, Rusty, and I would sometimes make believe we were reunitng 20, 30 years in the future. I had already met Pat by this time, so my scenarios were always pretty positive, though, truth be told, never as bright as reality turned out to be.

Now, I occassionally play the same mind game, but in reverse. I wonder what my life would be like if certain significant events were altered. I look back, never with regret, except when I think how easy my life would be if I had grown up a Yankee fan.

What if I had never met Pat? I try not to think about that. Too depressing.

What if I never had kids? I never think about that. Too scary. For one thing, Geeg would never have been a mother, a grandmother; and that would have been a terrible waste.

Okay, so there was a time my children were a source primarily of stress and deep angst, but that time lasted way less than a decade. Now, it's all lollipops and ice cream.

Pride. Joy.

When I see Julie parenting our grandsons, I see our influence. I like to think we set a good example, but I recognize that Julie learned from our mistakes as well. Still, I see Geeg's patience, her lessons, her nurturing. (I like to take credit for Julie's grocery shopping skills.)

When Sara deals with adults in both social and professional circumstances, admittedly I see a poise far beyond any level her parents ever possessed. But when I see her as "Aunt Sara," I see "Aunt Patty," playful, caring, always teaching. Respected and cherished. Loved.

When Amy tells us about her lifestyle, I'm not always sure where she came from. I know I'm something of a rube, but I consider someone who takes cabs weekly as "worldly." Yet, when Amy speaks of her mentoring of students, of her concern for the homeless, of her visists to the eldery...........she radiates her mother.

My children honor their mother thru the lives they lead, by the women they have become.

I couldn't be more proud.

Happy Mother's Day. Every day.

wedding day

So there was this wedding recently. The bride thought the day was all about her, because she was so beautiful. Perhaps she thought it was her day because of how well she planned, orchestrated, and choreographed the event. Or maybe she figured it was all about her because of the poise and grace she exhibited, the attention she demanded, simply by her presence.

Okay, so maybe it was alot about Sara, but not all about her, because Sara is not yet the proud parent of someone with all of her attributes.
Okay, so maybe it wasn't all about me, but it was alot about me, my bride, her sibs, and everyone else who cherishes Sara as a family member, as a friend.

True, Sara's glow lit up the room, but I do believe Mom and Dad could have warmed a small Alaskan village with the love and admiration in our hearts for her, and her equally charming and eloquent sisters.

May you stay forever young, and live happily ever after.

Love always - Dad

April 17, 2004

Saturday morning; we arrived in the middle of the night. Delayed flight; we, Geeg, Julie, a 4 month old Miles, Sara, and I were dragging, but holding it together. Aunt Fran, having arrived Friday, was there to greet us. Right to bed for all of us.

Many of our "life changing" moments initially go unnoticed. It takes a while for us to recognize their significance.
Not this one - I knew right away.


On Saturday morning, April 17, 2004, I first stepped foot on the beach of Indian Rocks.

Heaven, I'm in heaven. Reminded me of Magen's Bay; a beach we visited in St. Thomas. Warm, clean sand, just the slightest break of waves at the shore.







Early retirement had been a goal for several years, but no real plans had been formalized.
Now, my wheels were turning, my brain waves spinning.
This is where I wanted to enjoy my twilight years, except I wanted to enjoy them pre-twilight.


We enjoyed a spectacular vacation, made possible by the location and the company.
Geeg and I took some time to seek out a Real Estate Agent and check out some available properties. Expensive, but affordable.
We left with a plan. We were going to come back in July and check out the possibilities.

Now, this is where it got tricky. Three months to fester, ruminate, and talk ourselves out of any dreams we dared to dream.

But return we did. Got to tell you; Geeg and Pop are not generally people of action. We are usually chicken poop when it comes to action.


This time, we acted.
We've never looked back.
And we are living happily ever after.




So, as I head towards "home-north" this weekend for a short visit; one highlighted by daughter Sara's wedding, grandson Miles's Little League game, grandson Landon's soccer game, and a visit from daughter Amy and her new beau, I have no fear of the tedious drive becoming too boring. I'll simply reflect, count my blessings, and bask in the embarrassment of riches that is my life.

More Cryptic Comic

Edgar went to early mass every Sunday. He tried to go daily, but sometimes it was not possible, or, at least, not logistically feasible. Still, he never missed Sunday. Or Wednesday. His mid week ritual included staying in church after mass to say the rosary.

Father Ralph came to notice Edgar's alliterally literally religious routine. After each Wednesday mass, as Father Ralph retreated from the altar, he would acknowledge Edgar's devotion with a wan smile and the slightest nod of his head. He would often linger briefly in the back of the church, basking in the comfort of Edgar's faith. God is good.



One Wednesday, Edgar sat in the same general area he typically always sat in for mass, but at the end of mass, untypically,he got up to leave without saying the rosary. His typical serene smle was replaced by an untypical mild grimace.


Noticing this unusual turn of events, Father Ralph approached .
"Is everything all right, Edgar," he said. "I see your not stayng to say the rosary."


Slightly startled, Edgar responded, "Toothache, Father; I'm going to the dentist. I'll be back tomorrow to say the rosary and try to fill the gaping hole that is my soul."

"Fine," said Father Ralph. "I'm going to be a Monsignor someday. And, me brother is a horses arse."



Heh, heh, heh.

Pop, The Cryptic Comic

Many year's ago, Freddy started going to a local pub every Saturday afternoon.

"I'll have a draft and a pickle," he said.

As Nick, the bartender, professionally poured his beer, he responded "sorry, we don't have any pickles. Here's your beer."

Freddy accepted the beer, and the disappointment of not getting a pickle. He drank his beer,had another, paid his tab, and was on his way.

This Saturday afternoon ritual went on for several years.

"I'll have a draft and a pickle," Freddy said.

"Sorry, we don't have any pickles," Nick said. "Here's your beer.

Freddy drank his beer, had another, paid his tab, and was on his way.

Then, one Saturday afternoon, Freddy saw a sign in the Pub window; "Free buffet."

Excitedly, he entered the Pub. Nick was waiting for him, equally excited.

"After all these years," exclaimed Nick, " it occurred to me that I should do something nice for my loyal patrons. Look, cold cuts and condiments, including pickles."

So Freddy made himself a sandwich, drank his 2 beers, and had a pickle.

"That was great, Nick," he said. Do you have any pie?"

"Sorry," Nick said, "we don't have any pie."

(heh,heh,heh.)

I'm Pop, the Cryptic Comic.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY ANDY

Happy, happy birthday!

WRONG AGAIN

We now have caller ID all over the place; on the phone, and tv and computer, if they are on. A couple of week's ago, everything was on, and this very familiar phone number was identified all over the place from an incoming call. I ruminated for a moment, then realized the number was so familiar because it was exactly the same as ours, except the last digit was a four instead of a three. Since the numbers were so close, I assumed someone dialed it incorrectly, so I chose not to answer it.

Boy, was I wrong!



After a miniscule amount of deliberation, I realized my theory was ridiculous. (Think about it.)



Turns out it was somebody who wanted Pat to cover for her at the library. Amazing, huh?

Even more amazing, that's where Pat is right now; covering at the library for someone who's phone number is almost exactly the same as ours, except for the last digit.
(And some people say my life is boring!)



Makes you wonder....................

.

P.S. I just cancelled my phone land line in CT. Marie, the At&t service rep who processed my request, told me to call back any time I wanted my service renewed. She said I have been a very good customer.

There is so much happening in my life; I may have to open a Twitter account.

Hey, did anyone read Sunday's "For Better or For Worse" comic strip? Worth searching out and pondering, mis amigos. Search out and ponder.

JOYOUS

I've added a song to Sara's wedding request list, Dave Matthews' "You and Me." I heard it for the first time when it was performed at the Grammys; I was mesmerized. Luckily I dvr'd it, so I can see and listen over and over again, much to Geeg's chagrin. I was even motivated to hook up my tv to my home theatre system (such as it is.) The performance has everything I crave; raucus horns, soaring strings, gospel type back up, and a simple, positive message. Hallejuliah, hallejuliah; no cowbell required.



Forget the fact that Dave moves like Elaine Benes taught him how to dance, he seems like a real down to earth type of guy. I bet he's known love and loss, fame and perhaps infamy. Make some room on that pedestal, John Krasinski, Pop's got a new man crush!





UPDATE: I've got the grammy performance on my Ipod; music and video. My first freakin' Ipod video. Welcome, Pop, to the 21st century!


I've got a new anthem, Geeg; "You and Me together, we can do anything, anything!"

(And when the kids are old enough, we will teach them to fly...............)

Angels in the Sun

From the time that Miles ran into our arms in the airport 10 days ago, to the time he said he didn't want to leave last Thursday, Geeg and I shared the joy that only childish laughter can provide. We basked in the warmth that only familial love can deliver. We cherished the comforting, exhaustng bliss that can only be acquired from grandchildren. For 7 days, Miles and Landon were our angels in the sun, regardless of the weather.

True, the weather wasn't fully cooperative, but both Miles and Landon confirmed that they are truly kindred spirits of Pop. They tirelessly took advantage of whatever the beach had to offer; building sand castles with tunnels, playing tag, riding bikes, collecting shells. They marked their territory with every toy we had. No matter; we didn't have much company by the shore. Too bad; I'm sure anyone who dared to venture to the slightly chilly beach thoroughly enjoyed the "miles & Landon" extravaganza! (We were even treated to a dolphin sighting.) When there time comes, many, many years from now, they will no doubt easily adapt to retired life by the sea. Only sand storms and Landon's sudden urgent need to go poopy deterred them from living in Pop's world. And we supplemented our usual routine with day trips to an aquarium, a manatee

habitat, numerous parks, and several meals out.

Not to say there weren't moments of angst; that's where toddlers and little boys spend much of their time. But meltdowns were few and far between, even for Julie. We pretty much followed Landon's dictatorial rule, authorized primarily because it was his birthday week, but also because, well, ...he's Landon. (He did momentarily hugely disappoint me when, upon his arrival, he cheerfully announced that he didn't want to see us. Luckily, Miles was there to translate - Landon meant he couldn't wait to see us. Whew.......)

Thanks, Julie, for handling the stressful travel days to make this vacation possible.

Thanks, Kirk, for lending your family to us.

Thanks, Miles and Landon, for being Miles and Landon.

Seven days; where did they go? We will have to be content with memories; we will be comforted by numerous skype sessions.

P.S. I ws a little skeptical of Miles' Landonspeak translation until, upon Landon's departure, he cheerfully announced that he didn't want to see Daddy, and Daddy didn't wan't to see him.

Translation: He couldn't wait to see Daddy, and Daddy couldn't wait to see him.

Makes perfect sense.

MELANCHOLY

Are you sad? If you are, that's not surprising, and certainly nothing to be ashamed of. Post holiday blues and dreary, difficult weather can perpetuate and multiply the angst of every day living. Broken New Year's resolutions gnaw at the ego. Then there's the ridiculous Conan O'Brien debacle. It's okay to be sad. Embrace your melancholy, struggle with it, defeat it, then let it go.

Find someone or something to blame (perhaps Jay Leno), then replace your sorrow with forgiveness, even if it is yourself who you blame and must forgive.

To help you enjoy (but not wallow in) your sadness, I propose the following songs to nurture your good/bad feelings:

Ask the Lonely - The Four Tops

Hello in There - Bette Midler

I Hurt Myself - Johnny Cash

Goodbye My Friend - Linda Rondstat

Didn't We - Richard Harris

Philadelphia - Bruce Springsteen

I Dreamed a Dream - Susan Boyle

There are millions of great sad songs, sung with gut wrenching emotion. Everybody hurts, some times, even Steve and Eydie.

I'm no doctor; I don't even play one in this blogsisphere, but I am a really special patient. However, if I were a doctor, I would encourage you to ease your personal sorrow by reflecting on a "feel good" story. One of my favorites from this past year is in fact related to the last sad song on my list above.

Susan Boyle, Marion Lorne look-a-like, stunned herself and the musical world with her unsuspected talent. Rags to riches; freakin' inspirational.

How's this: Don't worry, be happy. And if you can't be happy, make, make someone happy.

And you will be happy too.

"So if you're walking down the street sometime And spot some hollow ancient eyes, Please don't just pass 'em by and stare As if you didn't care, say, 'Hello in there, hello.'"

I SHOULD HAVE KNOWN........

During our trip down here, we stopped at a McDonald's that had no hamburgers. We stopped at a Mexican restaurant that had Margarhitas, but couldn't make me a martini. I should have known.........Our hotel had no list of local restaurants, and no list of shows on the available HBO.

When we arrived in Florida, I stopped at a gas station that had no gas. I should have known, something is different about this visit to the state of our legal residence. It's cold. It's not supposed to be cold.

We went to a thrift store and found the exact little wicker table and chair set we've been looking for. The table had a tag on it that said "not for sale." I should have known. Alas, the thrift store provided us with a free loaf of hard french bread. What the.........?

It's bizarre, I tell ya, but there are signs that the world as we know it is returning.
The grocery stores have food, the beaches have sand, and the churches are filled with sinners.
And...........the sun is shining today. Mid 70's.
Sit back, relax, and welcome to my world.