Big Shrimp 55th Party: And Other Oxymorons

I do love my oxymorons.
    Jumbo Shrimp
    Military Intelligence
    English Cuisine
    My 55th Birthday Party

The wife asks me on Friday night, "So, what does 55 feel like?"
I say, "Man, I can't believe 30 was one quarter-century ago.  I feel a lot like 32, but dang - 65 is only 10 years away."
I say, "Man, being 55 beats the alternative you know!"

The wife tells me on Friday night, "I feel bad I could not come up with any thing for your birthday present."
I say, "Tomorrow's party with great friend, good food and maybe some wine and 55 years worth of stories, that sounds about my speed for now."

And so it came to pass, Mark Suneson decreed all should gather for a birthday party on the Saturday following Thanksgiving. They came, they laughed, they cried they ate and they drank.  And it was good.

We were expecting from 12 to 19 people at the house.  I was planning on cooking for all.  The question was, how much shrimp does one need to feed this many people?  [Answer at the end of this blog] I thought 14.5 lbs should be about right and so place an order at Central Market for deveined, raw, easy-peel jumbo shrimp.

We had 16 bring their party attitude to our door.  One couple was under the weather, but we did not receive that Facebook message with their regrets until after the party.  Another couple who had said they would be here, even though it involved a 100-mile drive (one-way) was phoned about 2 that afternoon and asked to bring a few more chairs.  My request to bring a few more chairs was met with akward bepuzzlement and stammering after a pregnant silence.  "What...?  Why...?  You want chairs? ...at your house?  When? ...tell me again - this for what?  After a brief explanation of the event, he said, let me check with Donna - hold on?  I hear, "Yikes!" (or something like that) over the phone.  I am told that they will be here, and they'll bring along a few chairs.

Sue was the pastry chef and was working on scratch lemon meringue pies (rather than cake) at the old man's request.  She turned the kitchen over to me at 3 PM - Dinner at 6 PM.

For the feast for the ancient of days, the table would be set with:
   Boiled shrimp
   Homemade remoulade (made the day before to let the favors blend)
   Grilled Italian sausages
   Dirty Rice
   Cream of Tartar Biscuits (scratch family recipe)
   Green Salad
   Lemon meringue & Key Lime pies
   (guests were asked to bring their favorite beverage to go with our lime rickies, ice water and soda)

Aaah. Waiter! Bring more wine, I feel like a kid again!

We had 14 lb 8 oz of shrimp on hand.
We cooked and served 10 lbs 12 oz.
AND after everybody had their fill, we had about 3-4 lbs cooked but unconsumed. AKA leftovers.
Total:  7-8 lbs for 16 people. 
The Wisdom I gained by turning 55; expect people at a party to eat about 8 oz of shrimp.  I treasure this knowledge but I am happy to share it with you. 
And, if you act now - we can share some shrimp with you too.  Drop on by and see my Jumbo Shrimp.
Let us Eat, Drink and be Merry!

Thanksgiving Home Coming

With darkness coming a short time after 6 PM and the Texas nights drifting into the 50's with a few mornings of fog, Autumnal activities can not be far behind.

For Grant, Thanksgiving means a full week off from classes at Mizzou.  He has been looking forward to getting away from classes for much of this semester.  One of his apartment mates was not going home until the weekend, so Grant asked Sean to take notes for him on their mutual late-Friday class, as he load his mound of dirty laundry into his car and headed south by southwest. arriving home after 7 PM Friday night after a 9 hour drive.

From what we could pry out of our sophomore, we learned that this semester is a rigorous cycle of classes for J-School, and many end up changing majors at this point.  He himself has entertained such thoughts, but knows he can not make a living as a Philosophy major, so it remains Journalism.  At this juncture, J-School students are asked to choose 1 of 5 emphasises:

   Broadcast (TV - Radio)
   Print/Digital (Writing)
   Strat Comm ('Strategic Communications' - Marketing)
   Magazine (Focus on design & lay-out)
   - and so other thing that I can't remember (must not have been important)

Grant was initially encourage by others to consider Broadcast because of his voice and easy of communication and conversational style.  He considered Broadcast, but was really interested in writing, specifically Sports Writing & Reporting, which falls under Print/Digital.  With this tract, he will be given a "beat" next year, where he will be writing for the Columbia Missourian, the local subscription paper.  He will likely start by covering area High School sports and work his way up to traveling with the University teams and interviewing the scholar-athletes on campus.  One step at a time I say.

Grant has now made enough money making and delivering sandwiches for Mr. Goodcents deli-shop that he can apply for in-state tuition as a working resident of the State of Missouri.  They Mizzou administration says, "Can you prove you have worked in the state and made enough to qualify for residnecy?"  Grant answers, "Yes I have."  They then say, "Show Me."  The papers for in-state tuition should be approved by the end of the year.

Also, he and his two apartment mates are planning on hosting a campus radio show covering sports, current events and pop culture - or something.  May be it'll be a show about nothing (?).  Should be good experience for his journalsim future anyway.  One of the trio, Carson, already has his own show on radio, so they already have a foot in the door.

While home, he did a lot of sleeping; or at least he did not get to see the crack of noon too often.  He spent a lot of time on his lap top, I don't ask.  Otherwise, he went out in the evening with a few old High School chums and some of the Mighty Owl Orchestra gang gathered for a meal and a movie.

While home, we replaced the front brakes and changed the oil in his machine.

Thursday, November 22 we had gladly accepted an invitation for a Thanksgiving Dinner at the Home of Bill & Susan Cook.  Their daughters Lisa and Sarah were there along with Sarah's two daughters, now grown into young ladies.

It was a fabulous feast as always, though the turkey was operating under dual instructions, one set from the turkey wrapper and the other set from the cook book.  The Cooks opted for the indigenous wrapper instructions, but that meant a bit more time past the appointed 2 PM scheduled feast as it turned out.  What is the rush anyway?  It is done when it is done.  Just more conversation before we all trip out on the tryptophan.  We brought along a couple of pies, pumpkin and Sue's speciality, pecan.  I enjoyed everything, including the tomato aspic (I married into this T-day gastronomical element, so I've never complained - nor should I).  We returned from Wichita Falls the same day, as we had a dog waiting for his turkey bones at home.



It was a day of rest on Friday as well as my birthday.  Grant was out with friends, and I asked to be taken out to have a dinner of seared scallops.

Come Saturday, I was throwing myself a party and cooking for 16 friends.  It is all worth Giving Thanks.

It Was a Good Run - Like, I Mean RUN FOR YOUR LIFE!

The 6-Foot spider web goes up in the corner of the front porch first.  Spider is attached to the web using his fuzzy brown, pipe cleaner legs.  Only, this year, only six of his legs could be found.  I was relieved that no precocious 7-year old trick-or-treater came and said, "Hey mister Goblin, your spider only has six legs.  You know spiders are not really insects, but are technically arachnids and they have 8 legs.  Did you know you got that wrong?  Can I get some candy now?"  So at least that Halloween fear of mine was averted.

I carved two jack-o-lanterns this year on the 30th, since if I carve too much earlier, the +80 degree days we often see in late October in Texas quickly rot the pumpkin.  I went to the closet a pulled out my old white sheets to add a scary affect (No, they are not those kind of white sheets) and draped them in the entry hall where I set up an axe on a bloody chopping block illuminated by a 5-candle silver candelabra.  On the porch was a brain (made by pouring peach Jello + evaporated milk in a brain mold) on a dinner plate, and under the brain plate was hidden a bowl of candy.

The shtick this year was that I was a rotting skeleton who had "lost my mind" and I could therefore not remember where I put the treats.  If only someone would help me find my "mind' [brain] I would see if I could deliver some treats.  If they have endured this charade and lasted up to this point, they will then help me and point out my plate of brains.  When I pretend that they want to eat brain-food and serve them the plate, they discover candy under the plate.  They invariably tell me that they would prefer the candy.

One of my first visitor was dressed as a ghoulish skeleton.  It was Jayden and his parents from directly behind us, across the alley.  Last year Jayden was an army guy.  Once Jayden had steeled himself to approach my visage and get his treat, Jayden's mother whispered to me that "this year Jayden insisted he had to be something scary, like Mr. Suneson."  Yes!  That just chills the cockles of my cruel Halloween Heart.  The power of fear is realized by some at an early age.  You gotta earn your Skittles at my house on Halloween.

The crowd was fairly constant from 7 to 9, and I can never keep count, but I figure I had 30-35 visitors this year.  That does not count the likes of the mother and little Dracula who paused on the sidewalk directly in front of the house, listening to my recorded sound effects, and saw the lit candles and my goblin-faced, black robed figure seated under the spider web; then I heard her say, "This house is way too weird.  Let's keep going."

Spider Man came pretty early in the evening, and maybe his "spider-sense" was tingling and he really knew better, but Mom assured him that guy in the chair was not real he had to go up and ring the doorbell.  Just after he rang the bell and peered trepidaciously into the dark entry hall; from my position behind him, I snarled.  He screamed and lept directly up to clutch Mom's throat.

Several young ladies, trick-or-treating in pairs usually come by toward the end.  Being girls, they are usually very verbal expressing their misgivings and thoughts to one another as they approach my scene.  I love this, because they usually address their companion by name, which I then note.  There is usually a debate as to whether I am real or a just a dummy (this debate does often extend beyond Halloween), and which of the two should be the first to approach.  As this conversation plays out, at some point I then use there names and call out "Lydia! Come closer.  I want to steal your soul."  This really freaks them out!  They then think that I am somebody they know from school, but can not connect as to who.  I tell Little Bo Peep, that I know all things and I even know where she can find her lost sheep.  I just play with their little minds.  Next year I think I need to be a "troll" [in the modern cyber context].  

One of the pair of late evening 9th Grade girls managed to get a few Butter Fingers and then moved on to the next house.  I then begin to limp and drag my haunting specter across the lawn where they are waiting for a neighbor Jane, a nice lady, to give them some treats.  They see me shuffling across the dead leaves and plead with Jane. "Trick-or-Treat.  Please Hurry! Please!  He is coming after us!!"  They run away screaming into the night as I bid them sweet nightmares.  I think we all had a TERRIBLY good time.

Find a Farmer



American Gothic
Painted by Grant Wood

In the second year in the J-School at the University of Missouri, the sophomores are required to take a weed-out course listed in the Catalogue as Cross Cultural Journalism.  The students derisively refer to it as a course in "white guilt".  Grant rolls his eyes (we could tell even over the phone) when relating that the professor spent an entire hour going over the proper way to describe a person from the New World who descended from Spanish heritage.  As I understand it now, this is multiple choice with only one (politically) correct answer:

   A.  Hispanic
   B.  Latino/Latina
   C. Chicano/Chicana
   D.  (nation of birth)-American; e.g. Mexican-American, Salvadoran-American
   E.  Undocumented-American
   F.  Illegal-American
  G.  Spanish-Speaking American
  H.  American

When I was growing up in California the Mexicans attending Junior High with me referred to themselves as Chicanos.  In College the Chicanos on campus had a separate newspaper called La Raza [The Race] - which always struck me as tilted toward heralding an exclusive ethno-centric worldview.  But, those were the times.  There was even a separate graduation ceremony for Hispanics sponsored at the public university, certainly not because there was a remnant of racism.  But a doctrine of "Separate but Distinctly Different Culture (that you Gringos just would not understand, so why try. No comprende)" was in force.  I visited my Friend Bob Lundahl, the Dean of Student Affairs, and enquired about signing up for the exclusive Nordic Heritage Graduation Ceremony.  He took a long draw on his ever-present cigarette and laughed.  Then he told me to go away.  --But I digress...

In the middle of the term, the students in Cross Cultural Journalism were given an assignment to personally interview a farmer and get their opinion on health care reform.
The entire class thought, assign me a chapter to read, give me a topic upon which to research and write, give me a pop-quiz; but where am I going to find a farmer? 

Grant called his mother with the news of the daunting task, adding that the TA had provided the caveat that "Don't be surprised if you find in really hard to get an interview, because there are so many J-School students crawling across Columbia, a relatively small town, and most of the locals are tired of dealing with student journalists like you.  They've all been interviewed before."  Well, Grant had a good source and he made the right call; his country born, bred and raised mother was not at all stymied.  One of her more promising suggestions was, "Go the the local farmer's market.  Of course after you make your purchase, you can then ask for an interview."  With his eye's opened, Grant tried the Columbia Farmer's Market the next day, Thursday.  There were no farmers there on Thursday.  But on Saturday, there would be farmers.  The Farmer Interview had to be turned in next Thursday.  Up and at 'em on Saturday morning, be selected a bag of Missouri apples and said to the the apple growing lady at the stand, "How about an interview on your views of health care reform?"  She said, "OK, how about next Wednesday?"

Arrangements were made for him to drive 30 miles to Booneville and meet his farmer at the old downtown hotel.  At the appointed time, with his iPhone in recording mode, he sat down with his source.  She had come, not only prepared to answer his questions, but she had brought a copy of the United States Constitution, marked up and illuminated and explained her ideas and opinions over the following 60 minutes.  Wednesday night he had a whole lot of transcribing to do, but he had finished the assignment where others in the class had yet to find a farmer.  How 'bout them apples?

Geckos Tell Tea Time

The accumulated wisdom of the ages is passed down through oral tradition, apprenticeships with the shaman and wisdom from the people-of-the-earth.  Some of these wise notations have been collected and recorded in the Farmer's Almanac.

Watch the Woolly-Bear Caterpillar to see if it will be a hard winter.
Plant corn by the phase of the moon.
Don't run with scissors.
Never wear ratty underwear - because what if you get in a horrible accident and you have to go to the hospital - and then what would the doctor think if he saw you wearing ratty underwear?

Now I have discovered a talisman for the urbanite:  How late into the year can you make solar tea by placing 2 tea bags in a 1 1/2 gallon glass jar on the back deck in the morning, coming home in the evening to find a jar of fresh brewed tea to be served over ice with dinner?

This conundrum has been baffling me for a few years.  But the answer is given by the geckos.  The answer is:
    Turn on your back porch light in the evening, this attracts insects, which then in turn attracts gecko lizards to eat the insects.  The geckos will show up as lithe little guests at your home from Spring until well into the summer.  But once they no longer gather around your porch light, the season for making solar tea has passed.

Knowledge is power. Use it wisely.



 Listen to the wisdom of the lizard!  And sip your tea with a mind at peace.

Movin' On Down & Out

The weekend following Labor Day, it was going the be the first coolish weekend in months - good timing.  My friend Jeff called and said the news is that "the house finally sold - I have to be out by Monday the 10th."  Of course I offered to be of any assistance I could, "Do you need some help in moving?"  I felt good about being able to actually act as a friend, and I felt good that he answered with resignation, "yeah - the would be appreciated."

Jeff's divorce had been final for several months, and part of the settlement was that he had to stay and repaint and clean the place and keep it ready for the occasional showings earning the skinny-end of the split of the sales proceeds.  We maintain friendship with both sides of the shattered couple, but this was a time that Jeff truly needed some help.  Sue, though not included on the original "helper list", quickly added herself once I told her the circumstance of how I was going to spend the coming weekend.  The ex-wife just happened to call Sue on Friday night and worked into the conversation a question as to whether she was going to be helping Jeff the next day?  For those keeping score - the answer was, "why, yes."

We set about the tasks Jeff directed us toward, mainly boxing up piles of household stuff to be delivered to the Salvation Army and boxing up lots of what remained in the kitchen cabinets for stowing in the U-Stor-It across town.  Two other work friends were man-handling the appliances and trucking them to storage while we worked on our corner of the glum circumstance.  James, the youngest of the 3 kids, was the only one of the siblings left in town, and he showed up dutifully later in the morning and helped sort through the flotsam of the shattered family without much enthusiasm.  James had helped move his mother to her apartment.  James had helped move his older brother to his new place once he landed a job 80 miles out of Dallas.  James had moved himself into an apartment he found on Craig's List once his bedroom was on the market.  Now James showed up to clean out the last of those familiar items of home, towels of a certain color, drinking glasses that were once of special significance, plates & bowls from mealtimes together.  James seemed to be tired of shoveling family members and family memories to far flung disparate localities.

In the end, the house was basically clean.  We had know the family before the 3 kids were born, and though Sue's job that day was to sort, box, sweep and discard, it was not with "ruthless efficiency" as there was obviously a lot of sentiment going out to the growing pile on the curb where it would wait for the scavengers to pick through old toys, lamps and odd furniture until Wednesday morning when the Garland City trucks with "Solid Waste Department" lettered on their doors would scoop up the wreckage of what was once a family and haul those mementos - now officially "trash" - off as landfill.  Among the curbside memories was a High School graduation gown, some photos and works of children's art.  If the all the hauling were not so physically exhausting, the emotional toll could really hit home.

Just me and Jeff on Sunday morning for the last odds and ends.  Mostly clothing and bottles of liquor that we moved to the travel trailer that Jeff had parked at the Holiday Village Travel Park, Jeff's new home on Highway 78, just across the road from the Pet Cemetery.  I asked Jeff if it was good that the house sale had now closed?  He looked for a silver lining; I can save some money without a mortgage, rent for the trailer space and power hook-up is pretty cheap - but I will miss living in a house.

Since the Facebook appeal brought no takers, Jeff's final duty on Monday morning was to gather up the cats and drop them off at the city animal shelter before work.

I was good to understand that being there was being a friend. 
Let's move on out. 
Let's move on up.

Moving on Down

While leaning against a log on the Mukilteo Beach on Puget Sound this past August, I was enjoying the salty sea-breeze and conversation when I get a message from LamCim Building Management, who is - putting this mildly, "a hands-off manager" of the building in which Sunstone Exploration leases office space.  Some may choose to use the term "slum lord".  Anyway, LamCim wanted immediate actions from all of the tenants on the 3rd & 4th floors, to either relocate to the 2nd floor or vacate their office.  The reason is that the building is minimally maintained that there are very few of us left in the building and management was tired of the cost of upkeep for a/c and other items for those of us above the 2nd floor.  I returned the message to LamCim indicating I would like to relocate to the 2nd floor - once I return from vacation.  No response from LamCim.   

My reasons for staying in the building were: it is only 3 miles from home, I like the convenience of banking with the bank branch that occupies the 1st floor, where I am on first name basis with the tellers, as well as the small town ambiance of downtown Garland and the lunch options within walking distance, not to mention the disruption and hassle involved in finding a new location and arranging for internet service and moving files, desks etc. and printing new business cards.

Once I reluctantly got up and moved away from the gentle lapping of the tide upon the Mukilteo beach gravel and flew back to Texas, I called LamCim and asked them to provide a few details for this "immediate" relocation.  Amy Airhead, the titular building manager, called one morning shortly thereafter and said she happened to be in the building to meet with another tenant, and wondered if I would like to meet with her regarding the move - now?  Sure - thanks for the returned call and for the courtesy of scheduling an appointment.  I left my suite #305 and met Amy Airhead on the second floor.  I looked at the available space (all of it on the 2nd floor) with Amy Airhead and said I'd like to have the office in the northwest corner of the building.  It was a single room with a few square feet more than my current 2 room office, but an equitable trade off.  Though I had adjusted to my space being split between a working room and a file & junk room, now I would have to deal more judiciously with my junk.  Amy said she would now consider my request.

About 1 week later, the last week of August, the A/C completely failed.  I called Amy Airhead (she does not take calls, but one can leave a message).  Via email, I am told that management was about to replace the compressors.  I email back, "better hurry, it is awfully warm in here."  No action over the next few days.  My emails go to Amy, inquiring on any solutions for a/c or the planned move?  The North Texas heat wave takes hold for the first week of September with triple digit temperatures.  I bring my thermometer from the house and put it on my desk.  It is 89 when I walk into my office in the morning and by 1:30 it is reading 100 degees (F)!  I take a photo of the thermometer.  I do not stay too long in my office for the next few days.

I go see the Civil Engineers in Suite 316, and I see that they have portable a/c units throughout there office space.  I tell them it is 100 degrees inside my office and acknowledge that they at least have a solution with the portable a/c.  He tells me, "My attorney got those for us."  I get his attorney's number.  I email Amy Airhead, and she sends back email with the lie that they will see what they can do for me about a portable a/c and the new a/c compressors are about to be installed - and she might as well have added that "the check is in the mail and it will be delivered by the Easter Bunny."  When I tell the engineers what the building management told me about replacing the units, he laughs and says, "they are not going to replace those units" [sucker]. 

Next I call city council member representing the downtown district.  She gets right back to me and sends the building inspector over the next day.  I meet with the city inspector, but he says there is not a lot they can do for slum lords of commercial property, and says he knew a guy whu used to office in this building "but the management was so @#%%! up that he moved out - that is probably your best option also."

The attorney for the engineers is in court so I contact another attorney, show him my lease agreement and he says I have a case because 3 weeks of no a/c is not beyond there control and as a rent-paying tenant, I have a right under Texas law to expect the premises to be habitable. 

I call LamCim. No response.  I send an email relaying what I learned from the my lawyer.  and ask for 1 month free rent (3 weeks without a/c and loss of work time + attorney fees).  A week later, just before rent is due, I get a letter via email that asks, "Why are you threatening me? We gave you a bigger office (+24 sq ft) and besides we are not liable."  Offering to reduce 1 month's rent by 50%.  I call.  No response.  Still waiting for several messages left with slum lord be returned.

After 3 weeks I did get help in moving down to Suite 210 (I believe I share this number with Sherlock Holmes on Baker Street) and I have a/c and walls painted with a color that screams Hot Dog Stand Yellow.  Any hope in getting a response?  All I want is a discussion of what is fair and why others were provide a/c while I was lied to.

My Slum Lord Tony C., deserves to live in hell, but I will bet he and Satan share air conditioning and Tony would be the first to invoke Satan himself if he was without a/c for even a single day. 

Do Y'all Have Any Questions?

Inga, a Senior at the University of Oregon has landed a job as a tour guide for the Clarke Honors College.  This will bring in about $64 per month - but oh, the experience.  Having come from the Lone Star State herself, I believe Inga is as well prepared as Tina to be hospitable and congenial, using all of her verve and zeal as she conducts tours and answers questions (only at the end of the tour of course) for those prospective students and their parents who have been admitted to the Honors College in the University of Oregon.  There is a basement to the Clarke Honors College, but it is not part of this tour.

When Inga is not leading tours, she is finishing up her classes and writing the required thesis as the last requirement for completing her matriculation through the Honors College.  The subject of her thesis is studying the efficacy of smoking cessation programs, as part of her emphasis on public health policy and intentions of working in the field of non-profit health organizations.

She will be graduating in half-a-year, so stay tuned to The Economy vs The Honors Student.

Take it from Tina, y'all have been just one of the greatest groups! I mean it.

Total Depravity & The Wheels of Justice

They seem to arrive every 8 months or so. 
The black Dallas County Official Business logo in the return address corner is what I first notice, then my eyes do a quick to check to see who is in luck this time -- The envelope please!  This time the envelope once again had Sues name on it.  A morning date at the Dallas County Crowley Court Building for jury duty -- but wait!, that's not all!  It comes with an all- Public-Transit-expenses-paid to for a day pass on any bus or light rail of your choosing!  Truth be told, I usually find the proceedings somewhat interesting, but then again if I had my drothers, I could be more productive arranging my own schedule.

Sue was selected with about 40 other citizens to wait inside Criminal Court Room and listen to the lawyers lay out the qualifications for service to the pool of prospective jurors.  It was a child sex abuse case.  Sue knew one of the other prospective jurors, a teacher at the church pre-school.  This elderly pre-school teacher confided that she just did not think she could be impartial in such a circumstance.  Sue, while not relishing the opportunity to serve on such a jury did believe she could do what the justice system required.  If anything, Sue is equitable to a fault, always ready to hear the other side.  However, this day she was assigned a seat near the back of court, which experience tells me that the 12 member jury is usually selected from the first 2 or 3 rows.  The jury was selected and she and she was free to use her DART Rail pass to ride back home by mid-afternoon, assigning her $6 check for time and service rendered to Dallas County over to a charity fund for children.

Of course my unintentional escape from Jury Duty last year was using the ploy of showing up on Monday, a day ahead of when I was summoned.  Out of a thousands souls waiting in the Common Jury Room that day, the County Courts Lady called my very name over the PA to report to Clerks Office.  I was told to take my $6 and leave, since I was supposed to be a juror tomorrow! I hear them thinking, "Beat it dufus!"  Cha-Ching, baby $6 bucks easy money!

A former boss once told me that he was waiting as a prospective juror when the prosecuting attorney asked a woman next to him if she could convict a man if the evidence warranted?  She assured him she could, because, while he was talking to the pool of prospective jurors, she had asked God for a sign as to whether the accused was truly guilty, and God had answered immediately. She noticed right then that the court room fluorescent lights flickered, indicating divine judgment had been revealed.  In fact, she stated she would be glad to take a seat on the jury and do God's faithful bidding.  But Devil take all, go figure; she was not chosen as a juror.

****************************************************************
The next week, on my way to work in the morning I drove past a house about a block away from mine and noticed a police car and an unmarked car on the curb with two plain clothes detectives and a uniformed officer going through the contents of a red car.

On Thursday evening coming home NBC Channel 5 had a news truck at the same spot, while Fox Channel 4 had their lead reporter and camera man interviewing a neighbor.  I pulled slowly by, drove home then walked out the front door to go see what the story was.  I saw my neighbor, Max out front smoking his cigar and told him two TV news crews were filming down the street.  He invited himself along to go see.

Channel 5 had just left, but Fox was still there, so we inquired as to the nature of local story; identify ourselves as long-time neighborhood dwellers.  At first the news team was tight lipped, but Max and I began to speculate that it might be related to an ICE (Immigration & Customs Enforcement) round up we had heard about earlier.  Max then threw in a tidbit about an arrest of a Garland Youth Volunteer Soccer Coach on charges of sexual molestation of a young boy.  The on-air reporter then confirmed, "You are looking at it - right here."

Max then got interviewed on camera and we both answered questions about the neighborhood and our thoughts.  My Calvinist roots lamented, Total Depravity as a basic human condition.  Max and I were filmed talking and walking back to our respective homes.

News at 9 - but no film.  Max and I ended up on the cutting room floor.  Ironically, the interview they ended up airing was with a young man, Justin, who expressed disgust and shock.  But Justin, is known to us as a habitual neighborhood criminal and in trouble with the law since about the age of 12.  The evening news had the police spokesman making a statment and he was flanked by LULAC folks who were there to spin the story that this sexual predator had nothing to do with immigration policy - just in case you out there in the TV viewing audience might be thinking just such a thought.  The Garland Soccer Association released a comment that they had done a background check on this coach using his driver's license and found nothing. 

It seems to me we already have more than enough American perverts that we don't need to be importing them.  But hey, America is the land of opportunity and liberty, everyone who wants to come on up here (for whatever reason); just get a fake document or two, get an official driver's license (what could be the harm?).  And then you'll have the opportunity to take liberties, and who cares?  After all all foreigners should have the right to disregard American laws and to come to America to disregard our laws.  Who cares?

Who cares? That is a good question to ask the young victim, who when the detectives ask if he knew why the police were talking to him?  Answered, "Because my coach rapes me". 

A Calvinist woud lament, total depravity - a human condition.

Great Northwest Trip - Bavaria & Spokane

We had traveled over 2500 miles by car in 13 days, so we plan a decompression stop for just the two of us in a Bavarian mountain village, formerly known as Leavenworth, Washington.  Leavenworth is a small town on the east side of the Cascade Mountains, that Sue first visited years ago while marching with the Arlington High School Band in Leavenworth's Autumn Festival.  She later returned doing some geologic field exercises while at the University of Washington.  Since then, the town has gone whole-schnitzel into the Bavarian theme.  Leavenworth's Bavarian make-over is a huge success, as the three streets were packed with happy tourists wandering between coo-coo clock shoppes, wines, cheese and many restaurants and mountain chalet lodging facades. [no photos available - the camera broke]

We arrived in town early afternoon, and I had the phone number for the "Bavarian Inn" where we had reservations (but no address).  We cruised through town, and found the "Bavarian Chalet", the "Bavarian Lodge", the "Bavarian Bar & Grill" and the "Bavarian Hotel", not to mention the "Edelweiss Inn" and "Heidi's Pancake Haus" -- but no Bavarian Inn.  I stopped to visit Heidi (complete with laced up Bavarian bodice - I love that look) at the tourist info.  I told Heidi of my dilemma, she was stumped until Gretchen asked what phone number I had, and she immediately knew it was really the "Bavarian Lodge" that had our reservations. Dankeschön y'all!.

After checking in, we strolled beneath bountiful flower pots hanging from the street lamp posts and did a bit of window shopping.  Of course, it will come as no surprise to the frequent readers of this blog (all 3 of you, and you know who you are) that it was the Cheese Shoppe that brough us in to do business.  Free samples!  Sue selected a mango stilton.  I warned her that she would have to smuggle that cheese past the TSA in Spokane tomorrow morning, and I added that mango stilton looks suspiciously like plastik, a powerful explosive  preferred by Hezbollah the Lebanese Shi'ite terrorist group.  She was unfazed, as I think that warning sounded like a challenge.  [as a side note: she actually got the mango stilton AND a plastic bottle of water > 1.4 fl oz past the eagle-eyed TSA the next afternoon for our return flight to Dallas]

We had a late lunch that included samples of the local Wenatchee Creamery cheese.  We then wandered to the few blocks to the Wenatchee River Park and walked along the banks of the shallow, crystal clear waters filled with many intertube floaters enjoying the afternoon sun.  We made friends with a chocolate lab who came upon us as she trotted along the trail with a large stick in her mouth.  I gave her the command to drop, she did.  She gave me the command to throw the dang stick into the water, I did.  We played for about 5 minutes then we left.  So she found the next creature that had hands and a decent throwing motion.  I think she lives nearby, but comes to the river every day for a pickup game of fetch in the water.

We enjoyed a wunderbar dinner of schnitzel and wine at Mozart's Cafe.  It was there that we experienced a chocolate noisset (sp?) a chocolate pyramid filled with mousse and liquors.  
Viola!  
The End of a fine Trip through the Great Northwest.

   

Great Northwest Trip - Beach Picnic!

Finding everything in order on our visit to our rental property, we swung back onto I-5 and drove down for an afternoon with Sue's sister, Cathy, husband Eric and Zach, Connor and Emma on the Mukilteo Beach.  While first filling everyone in on our travels to date, Sue mentioned that we were late in getting in the night before because of our jaunt over to the Tillamook Cheese Factory.  Sue explained that she had begun making her own homemade cheeses.  Emma (age 6 1/2) wryly commented; "Well as long as you don't cut the cheese."  We all got her joke and laughed heartily.

Having dispensed with the fart jokes of my 6-year old niece, it was time to head on out for a picnic lunch.  We were able to catch 'em a day before their trip to see the California Coastal Redwoods.  In the meantime, Cathy put together a great fried chicken picnic lunch that we all enjoyed beside the stony beach.  It was a good visit, catching up on the active life of Cathy's young family as we sat on longs , threw rocks into Puget Sound at floating drift wood.  Then the 3 younguns were off to clamber over the play equipment in the grassy part of the park.  A sunny and delightful afternoon next to the water.

Toward the end, I was challenged by Zach to answer the question: "Which came first, the chicken or the egg?"

I said neither, it all begins with turtles.  In fact the world is held up by a turtle.  So what is that turtle standing on?  Not to be fooled by such a clever question, I said it was turtles all the way down.  But as for the first question regarding chickens and eggs, i told Zach and Connor that beside the turtles, the universe is really just an omelet.  This word about turtles and omelets set the two boys off on excitingly developing a whole new cosmological explanation which they felt confident was the long lost unified field theory.  The one simple idea that made sense of everything.  I assurred them they were going in the right direction, one cannot go wrong if you start with turtles.

We got some a chance to hear about Emma's dance classes and how she had performed in a circus themed recital earlier, dancing as a balloon and a zebra, with a chance to see her elaborate zebra costume.  Emma was soon dressed out in her leotards and was about to go to dance class, so we said our good-byes; leaving Zach and Connor writing a script for a film explaining the origins of the universe.  It was a brief but good and fun visit. 

Great Northwest Trip - LaConnor Landing

With the Cheese Factory and Portland Traffic behind us, it was a race with the setting Sun to up to Bob and Ann's place for our night's landing in LaConnor.  Around 5 we called to say we would be arriving later than we expected.  Bob asked where are you?  Sue said, well, we are in Washington.  Bob asked how far in to Washington.  Sue said, well we've made it about 3 miles in so far, so go ahead and feed the kids we'll be there in about 4 hours.

We arrived just as the Sun sank below the watery horizon.  Bob had a couple of nice steaks waiting to be cooked to our specifications.  But, looking around at the nieces and nephew - it was good thing Bob fed his kids before we arrives, as the way they had grown, it sure looks like they've been eating a lot of food!

Our host and hostess filled us in on many of life's adventures from there part of the world as they watched us consume a wonderful meal.  Bob's got a new addition on the place for his office, but for our visit, it was turned into a dog pound.  Ann is still kicking, by that I mean kicking ass and taking names, as she wrestles with laws, policies, management and attitudes involved with nursing in a nursing home.  It wears me out just listening to all that stuff, I don't know how she holds up - but she does.

We got filled in on Roberts summer violin camp and music interests while he sat in the corner electronically dispatching evil-doers on the computer screen. In fact, Hannah attended the same summer music camp as brother Robert as is working on her music reading skills with an eye toward joining the youth orchestra.  Katy Ann continues developing her skill with the piano, and her teacher says she has real talent, but at least to this point, not the "fire in the belly".  That passion Katy Ann reserves for her animals and has a list of exotic beast to acquire.  Dad says "no way" - but he has said that before.  

We talked into the night until it was time to take over the girl's room and bar the door from that curious cat.  The curious cat wanted to come in and see what we were doing lying on our backs in the dark.  I am afraid if the curious cat did get into the room and jumped on my face, it may have suffered the fate of many a curious cat.  Come morning, we found Bob at his post, serving pancakes, eggs, bacon and juice to all comers.  We took terrible advantage of his hospitality once again.

Our plan was to visit our rental on Pilchuck Creek and see how things were going, especially since we had to have the in-coming power line and breaker box repaired and rewired to meet code.  Unfortunately it was surprise visit, on account of our unplanned and somewhat erratic vacation travel schedule.  We were met in the driveway by our tenant, who once we assured her of our identity, was pleased to tell us everything was working well and how pleased she was to have such a place for her and her family.  Good reports all around.

Next stop: Beach Picnic!

Great Northwest Trip - Cheesy Tourist Stop

Sue looks upon Tillamook Cheddar Cheese
Assembly Line

As has been mentioned several times on these pages; Sue has become quite the home cheese-maker and connoisseur of cheese.  Accordingly, we scheduled a diversionary trip to Tillamook County, in the Northwest corner of Oregon to visit the large cheese factory there.  It was a happening place, the 20 acre parking lot was stuffed with RV and international folks ready to sample a small free cheese cube and then get enticed into buying an ice cream cone.  We enthusiastically joined the cheesy throng of tourist.

The "tour" was self-guided, meaning that you were allowed to look through windows from above the manufacturing floor and read educational signs post below the observation windows explaining the basic process.  We watched as 40 lb chunks of cheddar were automatically delivered, sliced into retail sized blocks, wrapped and boxed.  Of course Sue wanted to know more details than the basics, but was pleased to see and figure out much of the industrial process.  As it turns out, half of the Oregon labor force was canned earlier this year and much of the Tillamook Cheese process has been relocated to Idaho.  I am not sure why, but my suspicion is that Oregon has a regressive, anti-industrial mentality and set of policies and it makes economic sense to move those jobs 1,000 miles away from the Tillamook County cows.  We were not mooved to buy at the Tillamook Factory Store, since all of the products are readily available at local grocers throughout the NW.  We did move a few blocks down the road and stopped in to the Blue Heron French Cheese Creamery.  Again free samples.  I asked if these sampled were locally made varieties of cheese?  The Cheese girl said, "No.  Blue Heron has made all of their cheese in Wisconsin since 2007".  This relocation of jobs from a state that makes it illegal to pump you own gas. Just so backwards.  It is little wonder that Oregon has the 2nd highest unemployment rate of any state in the country.

Our cheese expedition to the old County Tillamook was a worthy and inspiring one.  However, it put us way behind schedule.  Once we cross to Washington State on the north side of the Columbia River, I filled up my own gas tank, washed the windows and made our "whey" to LaConner for a brief stay with Bob, Ann, Robert, Katy Ann and Hannah + pets.

Great Northwest Trip - Saltwater Between Our Toes

When we were packing for 2 weeks in the Great Northwest, we forced ourselves to put long sleeve shirts and light jackets into the suitcase.  None of those items have been used since last February 7th around here.  As always, it seems like it has been a hot and humid 102 forever.  It seems like it is hot everywhere in the world.  But wisely we each tucked clothing with extra fabric into our single piece of luggage - what a waste.  It was in the 90's in Montana, in the 90's in Idaho.  And the day we arrived in what was expected to be rain sodden Eugene, Oregon, it was 101 degrees!  Hell.  It was only 103 degrees back in Garland that day.

Inga took to the couch, while Sue and I had her bedroom.  The windows were open to allow the cooling night vapors seep into the blistering interior.  It being a hot Friday night meant that all of the raucous revelers also had their apartment windows open, so we had several competing parties from which to choose from and vicariously revel.  The loud, but rather poor singing was only punctuated by the inebriated voices emanating from 18th Avenue.  Kind of reminds me of being back in college. 

Take Off Your Shoes
Come and Get Some Saltwater Between Yer Toes!
Sue & Inga at Newport, Beach

Looking for some of the fable Oregon cold, wet air, we opted to go as far west a possible.  The next day was declared a beach day.  Inga preferred Newport over Florence, so it was north on I-5, cut west at Corvalis on to Newport, home of the Japanese dock that washed ashore after being broken loose from it moorings by the tsunami.  Alas, the tsunami dock which had travel across the Pacific had been removed.  All that was left for us to enjoy was a sunny day on an expansive beach, wading through the surf.

Ladies In Wading

Inga Makes A Splash

*** IT IS HERE THAT MY CAMERA BATTERY DIES ***

I realize the next day that the camera battery is past the point of being able to be recharged.  Not to fear, my phone can be a camera.  I can still take photos during our vacation.

*** IT IS NOW TIME TO FEAR ***

[Two week after my return from vacation, my phone (with stored vacation photos) has it's touch screen go kaput.  For those of you that log in just to look at the pictures.  Sorry, no vacation photos for rest of the blog.]

We wandered into Newport for some lunch.  The ever and over popular Mo's Chowder House was packed out the door.  We were hungry, so Ocean Bleu Restaurant a few blocks down the street worked just fine for us.  We picked up a bag of saltwater taffy to give our dog-sitter once we got back to Texas.

I drove the 50 miles down Highway 101 to Florence, then cut inland to get back to Eugene.  It would be nice to pull in to one of those coastal camps and stay awhile.  But I'll have to return some other cool and foggy summer day.

Great Northwest Trip - The Good Life, Ducks & "Sasquatch Sighting"

We were delighted to be counted among those who joined in the celebration of Nephew Daniel's achievement of Eagle Scout Rank, it was us no-bodies and a whole lot of Famous Potatoes.  After scraping the bugs of the windshield, it was off to Oregon.  Eugene, Oregon to be specific.

Inga will be a senior this year at the University of Oregon, Land of the Ducks. The University Registrar's office sends me quarterly reminders that "You can't be a Duck without a Bill".  Inga is living the good life in her hobbit-hole apartment across the street from the University with her two apartment mates.  Inga is volunteering several hours most days at the Campus Health Clinic where she is screening and doing preliminary advising for students interested in the Smoking Cessation Program.  Inga will be doing her Honor's College Thesis on Health Policy and Smoking Cessation as part of her Public Policy and Planning major with a eye toward a career in the health policy sector or perhaps a lobbyist (all expenses paid!) for health policy.  In September she will go through training as one of the select Clarke Honor's College Campus Guides, interacting the best and brightest prospective students visiting the Oregon campus.  Whoever gave her that (paying) job, knew what they were doing - she will be an excellent and enthusiastic representative of the really smart Ducks.

On our last visit to Eugene, Inga's mother heard mention of new interest by the name of Sean.  When discreet inquiries were made about a possible introDUCKtion, the response was that Sean was a very kind and caring man with many similar interests to Inga's; however, he was also pretty quiet and on the shy-side, not confident in his ability to make good first impressions.  So, Inga told Sean to lay low while her loose-cannon Dad was in town.  I took to referring to this Sean as the "Sasquatch boyfriend", a beast of the Northwest who is widely believed to exist, but who has rarely ever been spotted by credible witnesses (such as myself).  I was told that there was evidence of this Sean on Facebook, but I am not on Facebook; and besides, with Photoshop and everything, am I really supposed to believe the internet and Facebook? I checked Swope.com and found no evidence of this Sean.

After a year of hammering by the colluding wife+daughter team on old "Troll Dad" to layoff on the Sasquatch business, it was hoped that Dad was under proper control so as to be able to unveil Sean once we arrived in Eugene.  I am now a firm believer!

Sean Battee & Inga

We met Sean as soon as we pulled up to Inga's apartment.  Inga and Sean met us as we stepped from the car and Sean graciously carried my wife's luggage up the stair to Inga's room where we were to stay.  We offered to take Inga and Sean out to dinner.  Agreed.  We all 4 walked to the Maple Garden Chinese Restaurant.  Inga and Sue did most of the talking, Sean and me both stayed kind of quite.  Our waitress had pierced her nasal septum an had two small black horned toad lizard horns protruding from her nostrils.  She also displayed very dark eye-liner and spiked hair in a non-natural color while wearing a crocheted top over her perfunctorily covered black brassier.  It is a left-coast college town, so get used to it.  I didn't think commenting on our waitress was necessary (even after we had left the premises), but the nasal reptilian horns kind of undid my wife.  In retrospect, if only by coincidence, it was a nice contrast between the heavily tattooed & pierced population making a bold and permanent statement and the courteous, introspective and soft spoken Sean.  

Planned ahead of time was for Sean's mother, Annie, to make the hour trip down from Salem and the 3 Sunesons (soon-a-son) and the 2 Battee's (bah-TAY) to enjoy dinner together.  Inga and Sean had selected the Agate Cafe for dinner a few block up the street with dessert at the Sweet Life, across town.  We all enjoyed a very pleasant dinner together, and Sue and Annie quickly discovered they had an acquaintance (now living in New Zealand) in common. And as a mater of fact, Sean and Annie are planning a September trip to New Zealand and Australia.

Annie and Sean, Inga and Sue
Ready for Dinner at the Agate Cafe

Inga & Sean Enjoying the Sweet Life (metaphorically)
As we all Enjoy Dessert at
The Sweet Life (literally)

We all enjoyed having Sean around quite a bit over our 3 day stay. Sean talked of his interest in a career in law enforcement and his status in no-man's land as the previous tenant refused to move out of the apartment he had leased for the Summer and Fall as well as other topics.  And contrary to whatever reservations existed before our arrival, Sean made a very good (first) impression on us all - I guess that would include Inga as well.

Inga certainly has impressed us with her good choices, and those choices are all being savored with a set of good close friends, roommates and of course Sean.  She is excited about her future and faces life with great zeal.

You go Inga! -- and enjoy the journey.

Great Northwest Trip - Famous Potatoes & Eagle Court of Honor

The morning light came gently through our window as we awoke to the rhythmic lapping sounds of small waves on the cobbled shore of Flathead Lake just below our window.  We washed up and stepped down the stairs to load up on cinnamon rolls and fresh local cherries.  Last thing to pack was the toothbrush and it was a quick load into the SUV with our traveling supplies and comforts. 

South through Flathead valley, still in the morning shadow of the Mission Range jutting up just to our east.  We soon connected up to I-90 and nodded at the ancestral ranch of Great Grandfather Jonas Suneson on the hills bordering the outskirts of Missoula.  South into the Bitter Root Country, then through Hamilton and over the pass to catch the headwaters and then flow with the Salmon River through Idaho.  Our destination 9 1/2 hours away was Sister Sheri & Family outside of Boise.

We were pleased to be able to arrange our vacation schedule to coincide with Nephew Daniel's Eagle Scout Court of Honor.  We arrived a day ahead of the big Eagle Scout event which was to be held in the backyard.  We were able to help in setting up tables and chairs for the 31 guests and the next day Mom and Dad arrived from where we had just departed.  I was able to demonstrate my expertise as a super-duper melon-ball scooper; both cantaloupe and water melon balls where skewered and mounted on pineapples.  It was looking real festive all around the place.

Daniel's Grandmother
Preparing the Melon Ball
Sampler

The troop members came a bit early for some rehearsal, then came the guests, ready to take their seats strategically located in the evening shade.  There was a powerpoint presentation of Daniel's adventures through years in the Boy Scouts scrolling on the family room TV; from Pinewood Derby Days through the 5-Day raft trip down Oregon's Deschutes River.  The program began punctually at 7 PM, short remarks by Assistant Scout Master, Daniel's Father, Tony (who has been heavily involved with both of his boys in Scouting) and then presentation of the rank of Eagle by his Eagle Scout brother, Scott.  

Daniel's Proud Father Address the
Eagle Court of Honor
Tony has Two Eagle Scout Sons

Daniel Taking the Scout's Oath

Daniel finished with some remarks of his own.  Then Jaz-Dog was released from the garage wearing her own scout neck scarf and the party got into full-swing.  Cheese, cookies, a special Eagle Cake and of course, melon balls. 

Congratulation to Daniel attaining the Rank of Eagle Scout!
A feat accomplished by a mere 1% of scouts, deserving of a fete.

Daniel Presents Scouting Awards
To his Mother and Father

Eagle Scout Daniel
Eagle Court of Honor

Great Northwest Trip - Big Sky & Hot Water

Hot Water - No Photos Please

Our little hike in Glacier National Park from Logan Pass to the Hidden Lake overlook was the day before.  As hikes go, relatively short and up a gentle incline.  I've done this hike many times before, but either the mountains have gotten steeper, or my lung have gotten older - not sure which is true.  They say the "legs are the first to go".  My experience was that the legs are willing, but it is the lungs that are weak.   

The morning after our jaunt through the snow, I decided what we needed was to "take the waters".  Not that I was feeling any ill effects - it is just nice to take the waters.  In this case, it was a 45 minute drive from Polson to Wild Horse Hot Springs.  For $3 per hour per person one could get a 4-foot deep cement pool inside a dimly lit room that was filled with 121 degree mineral water. 

Spoiler Alert! --- Underneath these adult clothes, I am really naked.

Me and the wife cut off the lonely 2-lane Montana highway and turned north at the well weathered sign that seemed to point toward the Wild Horse Aqua Park & Hot Springs.  For a mile or two we traveled very dusty ranch roads until arriving at the Aqua Park.  The place was surrounded by a rusted-out house trailer or two, ample scrap iron and old pipes and what was probably a 60-year old low slung structure connected to the bath house.  We paid $6 and were shown which of the rooms had working plumbing.  I thought #4 looked the best.  That is not to imply that these could in anyway be thought of as the now popular "spa" type of setting.  But for $6, it was a deal.  I am all about value.  Me and the misses took off our clothes (I warned you this was coming) and stepped down the aqua green painted cement steps into the broth.  A pool of hot water is really a civilized way of letting worries and aches of body and soul melt away.  It was a good soak, for about an hour.  Once reaching parboiled prune stage, it was time to dry off.  All muscles restored by hot mineral waters.  Probably a good idea, but someone in our party said "of course there will be no pictures of this event on your blog."  So, let your imagination run wild as your peruse this very literature. 

I decided to take the long way home.  Just east of the town Hot Springs, is the world famous Camus Prairie Giant Ripple Marks http://www.glaciallakemissoula.org/virtualtour/camasprarie.html.  A must see for the geologist and and natural history affectionados of the cataclysmic Glacial Lake Missoula.  We stopped and marveled at the indications of deep and swift moving waters from the last glacial age, but seen deposited in a now arid valley.

Stupid Joke Alert!
     Q: What did the Mother buffalo say as she sent her boy off to school?
     A:  Bison!

Still cooling down from cooking in the Wild Horse Hot Springs, I pulled into the Moise Mercantile for a Huckleberry milkshake.  The couple from Washington parked next to us asked if we were going to tour the National Bison Range?  They breathlessly told us that they had just finished driving the 19-mile tour and had seen a bear picking berries, an elk, Big Horn Sheep and many bison cows with their calves!  Sue was intrigued.  I remember the Bison Range as a less-than-thrilling slow ride over a big hill, which may or probably may not have any wildlife to see.  I've been there about 4 or 5 times.  No doubt, after our Huckleberry shakes, I was going to go again.

We saw Big Horn Sheep in the shade on the slope of mountain.  We saw several solitary bison bulls.  Then toward the end, we saw off in the distance, the herd of bison.  I guess these critters are a must see, as part of Sue's family lore, her Grandfather raised buffalo (bison) on his ranch in Miles City, Montana.  That endeavor has since been referred to in the Cook family as "those damn buffalo!"  Among other things, they don't take to fences too kindly.

On a sad note for lovers on nonsequiturs, driving through Charlo, Montana, just outside the National Bison Range, I saw that the Hawaiian Cafe was no longer in business.  I always wanted to stop and sip a mai tai at the Hawaiian Cafe in Charlo, Montana as I looked upon the great ungulate beasts of the North American Plains and the snow-covered crags of the Mission Range while trying to think of the the tropics with spouting whales, and hula dancers on the sunny beach.  I guess the Hawaiian Cafe in the land of melted glaciers, bears and bison was never meant to be. 

The Great Northwest Trip - Big Sky

I find it strange how those grooves get worn by a person spending time in one place.  The grooves are not readily visible, at least until it comes time to get up and move, and then one realizes you're up to your neck in a well-worn rut which is called my place or my job.  And even if my place and my job are not that special or enviable by any of the other observers of your location and condition, one feels those strong tethers of routine or of place that hold one fast.  I find it strange that is so hard to just climb out of that groove and just go away.

But go away we did.  The impetus was primarily to spend a few days with my folks, see how they're doing and gettin' along.  And as they are sort of worriers about me and my lifestyle, it was expressed that I had to get up to Montana where they reside and give an accounting of myself and my life.  There needed to be talks of the estate and of affairs to come and likewise there needed to be assurance from me that the wolves are not baying at my front door.  All of that was accomplished in a grand tour and with a get-up-and-go-away abandon.  It was good - and I've got the pictures to prove it.

     ******************************************

It was to be a big loop, as many things in life truly are; we would cover 2,702 miles and hit the usual high points, as will be documented.

We flew Dallas to Spokane, thus avoiding outrageous taxes and fees at Sea-Tac Airport in Seattle, but we did succumb to $100 in round-trip checked baggage fees, amounting to an additional +10% charge to the ticket!  I prophesy the coming day when we will just fly naked with no checked baggage and we will not even pack a toothbrush while we are on vacation.  It may not be pretty, butt it is going to happen.  

Perhaps it was because I did not fly naked this time, but the guy at the Spokane car rental counter gave me a free up-grade on our reserved mid-size model to an SUV.  By mid-afternoon we were heading up over the bump that is the Idaho panhandle east of Spokane on our way to see the folks for dinner at Flathead Lake.  After enduring two consecutive butt aches (which I never get) from sitting in the airplane seats, it was a great feeling to get on the road.  I always feel great driving the St. Regis to Ravalli route in Montana, it is my favorite stretch of road in the West, hugging the banks of the Clarke Fork and Flathead Rivers, and it is especially pleasant in the illumination of a late summer's day.  I am feeling good about this.

We check-in at the Chateau Mom & Dad and select the upstairs "Chimney Room" for our stay.  The menus were already penned and the plan was to not be a tourist, but just take it easy and on the lake shore and visit like just plain folks.

We chucked that easy-going plan the next day and took a trip to Glacier National Park.  We caught a free shuttle bus in Apgar Village and rode it up the Going-to-the-Sun road, currently experiencing long traffic delays due to construction repairing the parts of the road that slid off the cliff.  We debarked at Logan Pass and Sue challenged me to a hike to the Hidden Lake overlook.  Game on!

Dad, Sue & Mom
Logan Pass Visitor's Center
Trailhead to Hidden Lake

We had to cross several slushy snowfields on the trail, and we were gleefully mindful that it was 105 degrees in Dallas, and a sunny 66 degrees atop the continental divide.  We saluted the federally employed Mountain Goats posing for the tourists along the trail.

Mountain Goat placed in snowfield by Park Service to entertain  the Taxpayers visiting the park

Nanny & Kid taking a break from Job
Snowfield Posing for Tourists
(Goats with Kids are allowed 30 min breaks after 3 Hrs in the Snowfield)

On the way down we both took a tumble as we crossed the slippery snow - it felt good.


We passed several Rangers briskly walking up the trail with there radios full of chatter while we were returning; I asked, "Are you closing the trail because of the bear at Hidden lake?"  She answered, "Yeah, you got that right."

I read in the Missoulian paper the next day that a seasonal worked from Michigan had disappeared on a lone hike from Hidden Lake in Glacier NP. The article wrote of slippery rocks and steep cliffs as hazards; I fear a bear et 'im up.

Hidden Lake, Glacier National Park
Glacially carved landscape

Mark has chased Billy Goats Gruff out from
Under this Bridge
And is now acting as a "Troll" Dad
I am ready to mess with by-passer's minds - for no good reason
As they tromp across my bridge

Sue Crosses the Treacherous Ice

Snowbank Sue - Nothing like Dallas in August

Wife basking in high-altitude marvelously cool air

My parents were waiting for us at Logan Pass Center when we returned after being chased off the mountain by the bear.  We all hopped on the bus and took the ride down the road carved precariously on the vertical wall of the glacial valley.  We got off for a small hike through the "Trail of Cedars" and the beautiful Avalanche Creek.

Avalanche Creek
Glacier National Park
Along the "Trail of the Cedars"
Named after it discovered, Cedar Yopantz -
An early explorer who was known for
striking off into the wilderness without  a map or compass.
This random navigation technique is now known as:
"Flying by Cedar Yopantz"