Skunks and Possums and Deer, Oh My!

All in the past week Mother Nature has been unleashing her creatures on the streets and back alleys of the city. Bike paths too.

First, the route to a client took me past a forest preserve. On a stretch just outside the preserve, not far from some homes I saw my first skunk. Well at least my first live, not road kill, non-cartoon one. He (or she I did not get close enough to tell) was running? hopping? It was hard to describe. All I could think about was that I was glad this was miles from my home. But it was only yards from someone else’s home.

A few nights later we were trying to exit a parking lot. My wife was out of the car because the machine took dollars only, no credit cards, and it was not liking so much the singles that we had. From the corner of my eye, which like the rest of my body was safely in the car, I saw a creature too big to be a cute little mouse. It looked like a medium sized rat and it was heading our way. I suggested to my wife that she might want to hurry.

Once safely in the car we got close enough to see that it was a baby possum. We have an adult  that frequents our backyard and occasionally scares the bejesus out of me as I come in the back door at night. They are not attractive creatures when large. At least they aren’t rats.

Then last Sunday I was riding on the bike path about 20 miles north of where I live. Typically my eyes are focused more down than ahead. At one point I glanced up to see a deer straddling the two lanes of the path. In this area there is only a foot of grass on each side of the path and them woods on the other side of the grass. I hit the brakes. Being the great outdoors man that I am I surmised that I would not fare as well as the deer should we collide. The image of hooves crashing down on my skull also gave me pause.

Instead of a crash I slowed long enough to witness the deer bound off into the woods. They are beautiful creatures.

I love Mother Nature but that was more than enough nature for one week.

The Great Chicago Desert

From Dictionary.com

Desert, waste, wilderness …Desert emphasizes lack of water

The Village of Lincolnshire is a wealthy suburb north of Chicago best know for being the place where I work. Today it was a desert. No water. At least none that you could use.

There was a “boil water alert“. At work you could not use a drinking fountain, drink the coffee, get ice OR EVEN WASH YOUR HANDS. Thank the lord for swine flu. Without it there would not have been a large supply of hand sanitizer in the building. I would have been forced to drive to the nearest gas station every time I had to go to the bathroom.

By the end of the day my mouth was dry. I was thirsty and the vending machine was out of bottled water. Tomorrow. Bringing a canteen.

A desert. Right in the middle of the Chicago suburbs. And I was there.

Birthday Weeks

My birthday fell on a Thursday this year–yes it was this past Thursday June 18 for all who still want to send cards and presents.

Thursdays for us working stiffs often means little opportunity to celebrate on the actual day. On this birthday not only did Ihave a lot of work to do but my wife and son were at a baseball game–he was playing, she was watching. So I came home to an empty house. Not the best. But this can happen on mid-week birthdays.

My birthday often also becomes jumbled with Father’s day. Not quite like being born on Christmas but in the same realm. This year it worked out OK. Because they were 3 days apart I received extra consideration over the entire 4 days.

That’s when it struck me. Birthday weeks. Why not? After the first few the specific day becomes less important than the proper celebration. Having a birthday week affords everyone of the same opportunities. And if it is a special one, say Frank’s BIG 5-0 coming up in July, take the whole month. More if you need it. Why not? You are worth extolling.

BTW, there are still 3 days left in my 2009 Birthday Week. Just in case you want to go out and celebrate– preferably with me.

I Got The Biggest Bag

“It helps to have known your doctor since he was 10.”

That was my response at the cardiologist office to the small, white haired woman behind the counter. She had just handed to me a bag of filled with drug samples. It is not unusual for doctors to give these samples to patients in order to have them try new medications or, in my case to carry me through until my new prescription comes in the mail.

I was responding to her comment, “you got the biggest bag.”

On my way out the door I heard her repeat several times. “That is so nice. That is so nice.”

It is nice to have a friend for so many years…and he’s a doctor.  And he even remembers my birthday.

Are There No Good Guys Left?

Famous people, especially actors, should not be looked to as role models. And yet few people know my friend Gary, my step father Fred or any of the other truly good guys in my world.

With actors especially it is easy to confuse the characters they play with the people they are.  And yet given all the press they get usually there is enough known about their private lives to think you know. So when I read that Morgan Freeman had an affair with his stepdaughter that started when she was a teenager, it saddens me. He certainly played many stand up guys. He had that reputation as well. Married to the same woman for 25 years. Maybe the car accident was Karma.

Mel Gibson’s fall from grace has been well documented. Woody and Soon-Yi.  John Edwards. Too many others to list.

All I can say is that I can take a slew of mediocre movies from Tom Hanks but finding out something that drops him from the Good Guys list would put me over the top.

As long as we are discussing famous prople as Good Guys, my thoughts go to Walter Cronkite who is 92 and reported today as being very ill.

And that’s the way it is.

Coffee: What A Difference A Year Makes

I doubt that the Age of Indulgence is truly over. Despite all the media coverage on how even the upper middle class is economizing, I suspect that the AOI is just on holiday.

And yet, a year does make a difference. I periodically stop at a Starbucks in an affluent northern suburb of Chicago on my way to the office. What draws me is that on occasion I have run into people I know. I can get my coffee fix at work for less but the opportunity to see friends is too hard to resist.

A year ago the lines were always long no matter what time I arrived. Staff would be rushing around trying to fill the orders and not make the tony clientele wait. Now they are lucky if the number of customers exceeds that of the staff.

I was further reminded of the change in attitudes when I ran across an article on the Internet about the most expensive coffee maker in the world which at the time of the article had just been installed in a coffee shop in San Francisco. I do not remember how I came across the article but when i first saw it I thought it was recent and intended to write about the exceptions to the austerity mindset.

But this article in the NY Times about the $20,000 Japanese Siphon Bar  was written in January, 2008 when we all still were 401(k) millionaires and credit was easy.  An article on Gizmodo describes the process, “Each “pot” consists of two globes. Water vapor evaporates from the bottom globe into the higher globe to meet the grounds. The coffee is then stirred with a bamboo paddle, removed from the heat and siphoned back to the lower globe (minus grounds).”

I wonder how many cups of coffee are being served from the $20,000 coffee maker. Probably as many as are made from the $100 per pound beans from Indonesia called Kopi Luwak, a coffee that is only roasted after it’s been eaten and excreted by a palm civet (a small cat-like creature).

Sounds yummy.

Siphon Bar

Numbers Don’t Lie

Well, actually they can and they do on occasion, but not in this case.

It’s bike season…at least according to the calendar. The weather in Chicago continues to be crap. We will have a day here or there in the mid-to-upper 70s and then more cold weather. A dismal spring is hard to take especially following a terrible winter.

Yet I started biking in mid-April and rode each weekend except last weekend because between graduation, related activities and rain it just never happened. Most rides have been cold. I tend to layer 2 shirts and a jacket and I am still cold.

Today the weather could be described as adequate, it was in the 60s when I started and the 70s by the time I finished 3.5 hours later. I was wiped by the time it was over. My hope was that I would notice increased speed this week being that I rode my road bike for the first time this year. I had been on my mountain bike until this weekend partly because I preferred the wide tires in the semi-wet weather and partly because my rode bike needed some heavy maintenance. It had been 4 years and approximately 3,500 miles so it was time for a major tune up and some new parts. 

Every ride so far this year has been a struggle and had taken far longer than it should have. Today’s ride felt the same. I broke the 50 mile mark for the first time this year but averaged barely over 15 mph and with a stop after 30, it took 1:33. Once I get into a normal pattern I usually average much closer to 16 mph. Even 1 mph over 50+ miles makes a big difference. I have been depressed about my riding…one of the few things I count on for joy.

So here is where the numbers don’t lie comes in. Apparently mood and weather  impact perception. This is what I wrote on June 11,2007:

I have been adding 5 miles a week to my ride and topped out this week at 48.5. Average speed at a hair under 15 mph which included 8 minutes of nonride time, 6 for a break and a few stop lights.

And in that post titled June Rocks and Rolls I was having a great time and feeling strong about my riding. Yet, the numbers this year were slightly better. Go figure.

I suspect that a little sunshine and warmth are all I need to turn the attitude around. I am tracking to being ready for my annual century ride. 100 miles. Now that is a number that doesn’t lie.

Doctor My Eyes

Last night.Toronto. I had gotten directions to a local sushi place.  OK. I was given the directions an hour earlier and I have short term memory issues. But…since I refuse to acknowledge them the map and directions stay in  my room. This was not going to be hard.

Out of the hotel is Front St. Turn right a short distance to John and another right and several blocks to Queen. Look for the Starbucks then the small grocery store and then the restaurant. No problem.

A nice night and it is still light at 8 pm. Onward. Five blocks later I know something is wrong. No John St. and it should not have been more than 2 blocks from the hotel. Fortunately there is a bus stop on every corner and a map at every bus stop. Got to love Canada.

A nonchalant stroll up to the map to check out the scene. I find myself standing there for several minutes. I have a problem. Not a life threatening problem mind you. After all the hotel is only five blocks away and at this point I am fairly confident that the right turn should have been left. It is still light out and a very pleasant evening. Except for one thing.

I CAN’T READ THE BLOODY MAP.

My eyes are not perfect. In fact I have worn glasses since the sixth grade . But my ocular affliction is  nearsightedness so reading usually comes easily even without glasses. I can get up in the morning and get around without needing to find my glasses.

All of you in your forties and later years have been ready to pounce for a paragraph or two. Are you too vain to wear reading glasses. You know that you can get them for a few bucks at CVS.  Ah ha. It was a trap. Got you. I already wear trifocols with readers built right in!

Still I stood there. Glasses on.Glasses off. Squinting. Right eye. Left eye. Nothing worked. This has never happened to me before. I am frustrated beyond words–at least any I know. F–K!

I remember many years ago listening to people about ten years older than me share stories about their various deteriorating body parts and functions. I decided then and there on a life rule.  I would NEVER become one of those stereotypical old men grumbling about their health to other people grumbling about theirs. One modification to the rule. No complaining about anthing from the neck down. Those are the gross areas. I reserve the right to complain about my deteriorating mind and eyes. maybe my ears. That’s it.

The evening at least ends well. I head back in the other direction. Find John St. Find the intersection of Queen St. and John St. Find the Starbucks, the grocery and the restaurant. The food was good, surprising and incredibly cheap. That almost made up for whatever is happening to my vision. Almost.  

Its Over

What do I mean by over? I mean:

Main Entry:	over
Part of Speech:	adjective
Definition:	accomplished
Synonyms:	ancient history, at an end, by, bygone, closed, completed, concluded, done, done with, ended, finished, gone, past, settled, up

High School. Its over.  The last day of classes was yesterday. The last high school baseball game was two days ago. The only thing left is the ceremony in a week. My son D left to spend his first post HS weekend at his college to be. Its over.

Did I know that this day was coming? Sure. A part of me knew this was coming on that day 14.5 years ago when I got married and became an instant parent. There is the key for me, the word parent. Being a parent has been a big part of who I am and what I enjoy. Yeah, yeah. I know that I have not stopped being a parent and there is much more life to live, yada, yada yada. Sure I know that what it means to parent a “child” has been changing rapidly over the last four years…but still.

This is the official beginning of that next phase in my life…oh yeah and in his. This is the Memorial day kick-off of Summer or maybe more appropiately the Labor Day kick-off of Fall. I am not ever ready for Fall especially knowing that Winter comes next.

It would be different if there were more still at home. That way he would just be the first instead of the first and last. Yes this is about  holding onto the past instead of  embracing the future. So what. Indulge me.

I worry about how well I have prepared him for this next step. Being me, it is easy to see every weakness, seeing the strengths comes harder for me.  I know it is time to let him fly. I will be there for him if he needs it. Who will be there for me?

OK. I am getting maudlin. More imprtantly, I should either find a story line  or stop for now. I choose the latter.

Its over.

I was thinking of going out with some weepy exit matching my mood. Then I remembered the way I felt when high school ended.

Prom Night

Prom 2009

Do you remember your senior prom? I do. More on that later.

This was my son’s prom night. Yes that is a picture of my son and his beautiful date L. (I would have selected one where I remembered to turn on the flash but my wife has this thing about pictures on the Internet and there are only so many battles worth fighting and anyways this piece is about prom.)

Prom was the Saturday of Memorial Day weekend. To start, we gathered  at the home of one of the girls for pictures. It was fun and nostalgic. 15 couples and their parents. My son had some good friends in this group but only about a third met that description. Another third were boys that we have known over the years. These are kids that had been D’s friends, or he had played on a team with, in grade school or middle school. It was great to see and talk to parents with whom I had lost touch but at some time in the past 18 years we had a string of shared experiences.

It is also fun to see the kids looking very grown-up in their formal wear. I need to brag. I have a very handsome son who was decked out in a black tux with a pink tie and pale pink dress to match L’s dress. The dress was  a frilly thing made of shear fabric that laid in layers. Quite the attractive couple.

This is one topic where pictures show off  the night better than any words I seem to be able to find.  You are all invited to my house to see pictures. There are pictures of D and L. Pictures of D with a couple of his best buds. Pictures of all the boys and of all the boys and girls together. I even got in a few candids before my son caught  on to what I was doing and waved me off.

The majority of the boys were in rented tuxes. One in his grandfather’s tux, one made his own tye-died outfit. On the girl’s side, one of the girl’s made her own dress and two others. All three were different and all beautiful. These clothes transform all who wear them. For this one night all boys are handsome and all girls are beautiful.

We waited for the “party bus” that would take them to Navy Pier for the prom. Of course it was late. Very late. The different reactions of the generations were classic. Parents worried.  The poor parent who had made the arrangements was being continuously asked if she knew where the limo was as she sat with her phone trying to get updates from the company. The kids were ready to go but they were full of anticipation and without a care.

It came and took them down to a ballroom on Navy Pier in downtown Chicago. There they ate and danced from 8 until midnight and then went on The Odyssey, a large party boat that sails on Lake Michigan. More dancing and dining (the egg roles were great I am told) until3:30 am. Then back on the Party Bus which took them to one of the kids home where they were served Subway sandwiches at 5am, slept(?) for awhile and then woke to a catered breakfast. Not bad.

D stopped home at noon, napped for awhile and then on to a Bar-B-Que at L’s house. Not a bad weekend and only one week of his high school career to go.

His take on prom. He had a very good time. Interestingly though he said that given how people he knew had built up prom as the best night of your life it had not met his expectations.

I had no expectations for my prom…and it met them. I was dating Sarah at the time. My second high school girlfriend. We had been dating for close to a year and a half though I had tried unsuccessfully to brake up with her many months before. It took four years before I was successful.

The best and worst of my prom.

The best. After the formal dance we went to see Bill Cosby perform. This was 1974 so after I Spy and The Bill Cosby Show but well before he became a Huxtable. At this time he was still a stand-up comedian. And a very, very good one.

The worst. My tux. Sarah had a light green dress. I wanted a classy black tux.  I could not anticipate matching the color. Wrong. This one year only. I am sure that whoever designed this tux and put it on the shelf got fired since they must have rented only one. To me. My mother and my girlfriend insisted that I wear a green and white checkered tux. Let me say that again because I am sure that at this point you must be thinking that you are hallucinating. There is no other explanation. You are not. I did say a green and white checkered tux. At least the slacks were black.

Fortunately my son will have great memories of his prom night. I only have green and white nightmares of mine.