My Years Of Living Vicariously

There is much going on in the bathrooms of the little people. For those who read my rantings, this, of course, is a reference to the three grandchildren. All have been recently focused on one of life’s great hurdles: potty training.

Every parent will tell you, if they are honest, there is great trauma surrounding this milestone of life.

Now, I don’t want to sound irreverent, but I have always considered that had our Creator taken a few more days, perhaps our personal plumbing could have been designed to handle waste somewhat more effectively. But, in deference to good taste, we will not be more explicit.

Think about the impact of a ten or twelve-day plan.

Had our physiology been designed differently, then that portion of our bathrooms could be used for another lavatory, or for a linen closet or perhaps a fancy towel warmer like Jackie had at the house in Connecticut. It would have meant room for one of those nice scales like they have at the doctor’s office instead of the one that is hidden from eyesight by your expanding gut. Public spaces could have larger waiting rooms and offices could have a place to store copier paper. Maybe there would be no long lines during half time at the stadium.

And think of the time savings when you don’t have to look for a “plunger” or for the number for Acme Plumbing when Drano didn’t work.

Just a few more days, Lord.

My daughter in Dallas measures the progress in potty training in “dollars and cents.” It seems that disposable diapers can put a real kink in the budget. Kids rarely have constipation, it seems.

Your own budget would be impacted without having the expense of TP. (That was the way my mom would always list the need on her shopping list. She was the benchmark of discretion. It goes hand-in-hand with purple hair.) And there would be no need to squeeze things in the paper products section – that could all be contained in produce. Of course, Mr. Whipple would have had to draw unemployment. But on the other hand, no worries over the merits of single-ply versus double-ply.

I refuse to discuss air fresheners and scented candles.

It would rid us of awkward moments in powder rooms located dangerously close to where there are numbers of people chatting amicably and wondering where you disappeared.

There would also be no need to wonder when the coffee will kick in.

This rant is not a limbo contest. I will refrain from going lower.

The little people are two-thirds potty trained. It has taken coaxing, lots of “high fives,” and a good many “reward stickers.” We have even sent a copy of "I have to Go" by Robert Munsch.

Recently, while attempting to steal a couple of moments of privacy and a bit of quiet, my daughter was surprised when her youngest – the redhead – appeared around the corner of the bathroom as she was completing her task and greeted her with, “good job, Mommy!”

The youngest of the little people, the one in Florida, is very near to clearing the hurdle. She has mastered reading while sitting.

I find that I live my life vicariously through my children and grandchildren.

Some days are absolutely hilarious.

Give Grandmon a "high five."

Suckers For Sincerity

I want to see the evidence.

When I hear the CEO of BP stand on the oil-soaked beaches of Louisiana and say, “I am as devastated as you are,” I want photographs. I want to see his lawn soaked in the mire. I want to see the oil slick in his swimming pool. I want photos of his pets with the gunk all over them. I want to see his bank account dwindling because he cannot work.

Show me you are experiencing the pain; don’t just give me fake sincerity.

For those of us who have lived for any significant period of years, we remember him well. Aside from the rumors surrounding FDR and Lucy Mercer, John Kennedy and his trysts, and the others, Spiro Agnew looms as one of the first of really serious political scandals in my time. He has the dubious distinction as the only Vice-President of the United States to be forced to resign. It was perhaps prophetic that the man he served alongside met a similar fate.

But back to Agnew.

Spiro was a master at public relations. Like Dick Cheney of a later administration, he became the “hit man” for the Nixon White House, coming down hard on those who dared to protest the war in Vietnam. He labeled them “un-American.” (Sound familiar?) Agnew had great oratory powers – far better than his President – and could string alliterations with the best of them. Remember “nattering nabobs of negativism?” That one was thanks to the writing talents of William Safire.

Coincidental to the time when the “hatchet” fell with his conviction on tax evasion charges, I was teaching a popular course in American Studies at a college in the South. I believed then, as I do now, that you can never divorce the arts and humanities from what is taking place in the real world. As a result, I encouraged my students to understand the events of the day.

In his resignation address, Agnew pulled out all the stops. He never apologized for his actions, but instead seemed to liken his departure with the loss of Abraham Lincoln by quoting a statement made by James Garfield at the time: “Fellow citizens, God reigns, and the government in Washington still lives.” He spoke of America’s high hopes. He mentioned his situation as an adversity from which our country could thrive.

I challenged my students to get reactions from people on the street about the event. What did they think?

By and far, the most popular response was, “he was so sincere.”

Yes, he was sincere, but he was sincerely wrong!

In August of 1974, after the scandals of Watergate, Agnew’s boss was in a similar situation. In his farewell to the people who served his administration, he likened the sadness of his leaving to Theodore Roosevelt’s loss when his young wife died. He mentioned his father – a poor farmer with the poorest lemon ranch in California. He spoke of his mother, referring to her as a saint. Like Agnew, he spoke about adversity making you stronger. It was emotional; sincere.

But he was sincerely wrong. Hours upon hours of tapes proved his degree of manipulative paranoia.

Let’s not forget how sincerely another said, “I did not,” when asked about Monica. Or any of the Johns when asked what was “real” and what was not.

So why this jag about sincerity?

Much of America’s connection with Ms. Palin of Wasilla has to do with perceived sincerity. She beams that adoring smile when talking about hockey moms and sitting on her porch looking toward Russia. She is ordinary people.

Rand Paul, the new darling of the Tea Party, has made some really disturbing comments. In a love fest with Glenn Beck he made alarming claims about the healthcare plan. Lately, Mr. Paul sees us an “un-patriotic” to criticize BP for their role in the greatest oil disaster in the world. “Accidents will happen.” (Shades of Rumsfeld?)

He espouses all this with great sincerity.

Sincerity has a two-part definition. The first, “honesty of mind.” But remember truth is what one perceives it to be. So the second part – freedom from hypocrisy - is necessary for completeness.

We confuse sincerity and simplistic solutions with sensibility. We confuse passionate discourse with actual compassion for others.

When your cute puppy chews up your best Cole-Hahn’s and you start to scold, don’t fall for that sincere sideways tilt of the head as he looks up adoringly.

He was sincerely wrong.

Quality Leadership

Each one of us occupies a “sphere of leadership.” It may be only one person outside ourself. It may be as vast as a nation or even worldwide. We all influence someone with our decisions, our attitudes, and our actions.

So what guidelines undergird our role as leader? What dictates our conscience?

There is a very sad, but telling, article in today’s New York Times about the Attorney General of Connecticut running for the Senate seat occupied by Christopher Dodd, who has chosen to retire. It seems Mr. Blumenthal has repeatedly voiced an enhanced military record, which includes active duty in Vietnam. It is something he states when addressing veteran’s groups around the state or gatherings with a patriotic theme. Yet the evidence points at such assertions as blatantly false.

This is not an individual with a dubious resume. So why did Mr. Blumenthal reinvent his past? (He says he is guilty of “misplaced words.”) Why does anyone choose to do so?

There was a very seedy lawyer in a small town in Alabama. (Yes, I realize there are many seedy lawyers in many small towns, and also large towns, in Alabama and elsewhere.) We will call him Charlie. His principal source of wealth came from marriage into a prosperous family. His work as a lawyer merely got him out of the house and from underfoot. He was a laughably ordinary attorney. However, he did utter one profound thing once, when the heavens opened and a glimmer of respectability pierced his thoughts: “If you think you can please everybody, you might as well resign from the human race.” It was probably not even original, but it was for him, profound. Contradictory (you had to know his “modus operandi”), but profound.

The “need to please” dominates our actions, our words. However, our decision concerning the “whom we wish to please and why” becomes the trap. A child’s first manipulations of the truth surround the need to please a parent. This need to please merely escalates with time. And with this passage of time the results of this need impacts a greater sphere.

Mr. Blumenthal wanted to please his audience in Norwalk in 2008, so he “served time in Vietnam.”

The most damning “need to please” of course surrounds ourself. Our jails are overrun with those who failed at curbing their personal appetites for some form of gratification. They are the ones whose need became so egregious as to force an arrest and trial.

But consider the area between the innocence of childhood and the gallows.

It has many names depending upon the path we choose. For the purpose of discussion, let’s call this area teaching, career politics, public service, ministry, or some other noble calling. Any one of which impacts the lives of countless others.

And while we are setting the stage, let’s populate the sidelines with lobbyists, populous groups with an agenda, soul-mates, finances, low self-esteem, news polls, the NRA, comfort zones, and with Charlie’s “modus operandi” – which translates “the way I like to handle things.”

Now, throw into the mix a gross abuse of Joseph Fletcher’s “situation ethics” and we have a mess called Working for the Good 2010.

To begin with, I believe most people enter public service or ministry or some noble calling with the highest of intentions. With Sarah Palin I think it has more to do with the need to be adored. Seriously!

Back to Joseph Fletcher.

Fletcher, an Episcopal theologian, gave us the term, “situation ethics” in his book of the same name back in the mid-sixties. It sought to explain decisions made based upon a given situation rather than a moral absolute. Paul Tillich codified the concept as “love is the absolute law.” But you knew that.

Enter a bright young soul who discovers an avenue to serve others in local government. The path of service was rough, but with determination and a real desire to make a difference, our candidate made progress toward their goal. As they increased their sphere of influence, campaigns became more and more dependent upon media coverage – that proved expensive. Donations also proved to be a challenge. Along comes a “special interest group.” You know the scenario, it has been played out in dozens of books and movies.

Situational compromise becomes more tolerable because the dream still has some validity. Eventually, however, even the dream becomes clouded and it is now a matter of sustaining a public lifestyle that an oversized ego demands.

One day our bright young soul, now older but far less wiser, finds they are without any ideals proposing a law that allows people to carry firearms into the airport. And to think I once admired Charlton Heston. They even got to Moses.

Think of the number of fallen leaders - parents, priests, teachers, ministers, elected officials, and yes, members of our Congress. Think of the lurking conflicts on the sidelines of their intended goals that proved to be too great to resist. For some, even the prayer meetings on C-Street were not enough to thwart their personal needs. More importantly, think of the number of people who were in their “sphere of influence.” This is the greater tragedy.

I propose each leader, no matter their sphere, resolve:

“I promise to keep a clean heart and a right spirit and to constantly question the reasons behind each decision I make. I promise that my work will always be about the people I serve and never about me and my needs.”

Keeping Up Appearances

Patricia Routledge as Hyacinth Bucket in the BBC series, "Keeping Up Appearances."

Hyacinth Bucket (pronounced Boo-kay) knows the importance of appearing socially correct and a “cut above” the neighbors. Her candlelight dinners are legendary – perhaps only in her own mind. She even “borrowed” a Rolls-Royce in an effort to outdo Lydia Hawksworth who had a new Jaguar. The fact that she and her faithful husband, Richard, were arrested for doing so didn't seem to phase her in the least.

I am, of course, speaking of the hilariously funny character superbly portrayed by Patricia Routledge in the BBC comedy, “Keeping Up Appearances.” Hyacinth is constantly bedeviled by her “less than proper” relatives. Her attempts at being someone other than who she actually “is” faces being unveiled by two sisters with spousal problems, one sister who is morally “loose,” and a father who is reliving World War One – often without his clothes. All these issues come to haunt her about the time she is staging one of her social encounters with people she hopes to impress.

She sounds very Southern to me.

We had a very dear friend – a type of Rosalind Russell with a “drawl.” She always appeared in costumes rather than in routine feminine apparel. When she arrived – fashionably late – she garnered attention. Her, “Hello Dahling” would make Tallulah envious.

Once, when I was driving home, in a city across the state from where this friend lived, I spied out of the corner of my eye, a woman dressed in a kilt and with a swath of tartan flung across her shoulder. I thought, “wow, there is another Helen Barker in the world.” Intrigued, I made the block to get another look. To my surprise, it was Mrs. Barker, herself, hundreds of miles from her home on a shopping spree for antiques. I invited her home for dinner and we listened to her regale us with stories of the Edinburgh "tatoo" and her learning the "highland fling." Helen Barker wrote the book on appearances.

When, not long after her marriage to Mr. Barker, it came time for the couple to have a home and a proper address, it was not the best time with respect to Mr. Barker’s construction business. That would flourish later. However, their diminished resources would not stop “keeping up appearances.” On a hilltop on one of the best streets in their town, the Barkers built a copy of Tara from “Gone With The Wind.” From the roadway it was magnificent. However, if you were able to view it from the side – which you were not – you would discover it was only about 15 feet wide. It was a two-story façade. In order to open the double front doorway on the columned porch, you had to back up the stairway in the entry hall. It was “grand” only at a distance. No one questioned that the Barker’s always entertained at the yacht club across the street.

Southerners know the value of “keeping up appearances.”

The Monroe sisters of Quitman, Mississippi were the most respected ladies in the county. Their father had left them quite well heeled at his death, so wealth had a great deal to do with this. However, along with the wealth came impeccable manners, good taste, and a sense of fashion. Neither of them ever married, despite a retinue of gentlemen callers in their younger days. By the time that I knew them, the bloom had gone off the rose.

They lived together in the family home at one of the best addresses in town. They attended the First Methodist Church with great regularity and were known for their altruism.

Yet, come to find out, that was all a well-articulated ruse.

In truth, Gladys and Gertrude Monroe fought like banshees behind the shuttered windows of their big house.

One morning they were in a particularly heated exchange – something to do with an “old beau” that one felt the other had caused to beat a retreat; crushing any hopes of romance. As their angered discussion escalated, the “Westminster Quarters” signaled someone at the front door.

Gladys remembered she had told the Methodist preacher to stop by to pick up a check for the new typewriter she had promised to donate for the church office.

As she walked out of the kitchen toward the front of the house to greet the preacher, she looked over her shoulder at Gertrude and said, “Sister, you best zip it up, we have company. And besides, you know I am right about this as usual.”

She then continued to the parlor where the maid had seated the guest.

Well, it seems that Gertrude was not ready to “zip it up.” As Gladys spoke in her postured tone to the preacher, Gertrude, still smoldering over their confrontation about the wayward suitor, hurled a cast iron skilled at the kitchen doorway, making a noise that could be heard all the way to the front gate.

Needless to say, the Reverend Carter was startled; looking toward the direction of the noise.

Without batting an eye, Gladys hastened to clarify, “Goodness me, Sister must have dropped the set out of her ring.” In the south, it is always all about façade.

It seems that the current governor of Texas, another of the “cash strapped states” in the US with an 11 million dollar shortfall, has been “keeping up appearances” to the tune of $600,000.00 for two years temporary housing while the state manse is under repair. Mr. Perry, a Republican, even billed the state for $1,000.00 for emergency repair for his ’filtered ice” machine. He must have been expecting the Bishop.

Sarah Palin, strangely quiet since the oil spill in the Gulf, kept up yet another appearance over the weekend to discuss "immigration" issues. Same old delivery - different verbage.

She is one appearance that should not be kept.

Technology Has Gone Too Far

At a time when we have just learned that high-ups in the Security and Exchange Commission spent hours online watching porn as our financial system was going down the tube, I have just read that Playboy will soon publish a 3-D centerfold. I am sorry, this was too good to pass over.

Just think about it.

The purpose of 3-D is to make things loom towards you. Now, don’t force me to get too graphic here. Use your imagination, unless you are Baptist, and then, just miss the point. Oops, sorry about that.

The Scandinavians warned that our repressive regard for nudity and sexuality had fostered an unnatural approach to the subject. Yet, some 40 or so years following our “seventies revolution,” we still seem to be very preoccupied with the subject. And now, it will come toward us in three-dimensions.

Shouldn’t we use our technology for a loftier purpose?

With the failure of the “dome” designed to seal off the ruptured oil well in the Gulf and the inability to accurately pinpoint exact incidences of tornadic winds, you would think that technology has avenues of challenge that would warrant exploration.

By the way, following all the missteps in Iraq, which had their imprint of involvement, I was surprised to find that Halliburton had their fingers in the Gulf oil disaster. Is there any aspect of our lives immune to their abuse? Will other things soon “point” to their involvement? Again, I apologize, but I didn’t make all this up.

But, back to the concept of a 3-D centerfold.

Does this mean that eventually, as economies falter, august institutions like the Louvre will utilize such technology to increase foot traffic?

Consider the Delacroix, La Liberté guidant le peuple, with this scientific advance. The “Mona Lisa” could pale in comparison.

Of course, since most of the their treasures are already in three-dimensional form, Greece will have to rely on Angela Merkel and her peers. She has had some experience with cleavage.

Goodbye To A Dear Friend

Chicago Skyline, Friday evening sail, 2008

There is a whimsical tune from the musical, “Camelot,” which talks about the “merry month of May.” With the oil spill in the Gulf, the floods in Tennessee, and the severe storms in Oklahoma, May doesn’t seem that merry.

May in Chicago means it’s time to sail. The season opened officially on May 1 as the first boats made their way into a favored mooring spot in one of the harbors along the lakefront. Those who know me well, realize that sailing is like breathing for me. So you would think I would be ecstatically merry.

Not so much it seems.

Sadly, near the end of last season – back in October – I lost a very good friend in a storm in late October. My wonderful Pearson sailboat, “Sea Esta,” was the victim of another boat which broke mooring during high winds on the morning of October 23. While the other sailboat wound up on the bottom of the lake, Sea Esta sustained such serious damage that she was deemed a total loss.

It was difficult to watch her being towed up the Chicago River for her last voyage. A broken beauty. So many memories.

While I will be sailing a great Beneteau this season, I will miss my good friend. I will miss the comfort of a beautifully constructed boat and one that was a joy to sail. I cannot count the number of times that I shouted above the sounds of a stiff wind, “I am truly fortunate to be alive at this moment.”

I first met Sea Esta on a trip to Milwaukee where she was being offered for sale. It was love at first sight. I knew we would have an affair. So the association began. Then, of course, there was the necessary trip down the lake – a 90-mile journey – to her new home in Monroe Harbor.

For those who sail, you know that the best plans for any voyage are always subject to the realities of nature. For the trip down the lake, I decided it would best be accomplished in two segments: Milwaukee to Waukegan – 60 miles – then Waukegan to Chicago for the remaining 30.

I sealed the deal on the purchase in the last week of June. I planned to make the first leg of the journey (Milwaukee to Waukegan) on Saturday, July 1. I would move her through the three bridges of the Milwaukee River at 9 a.m. and head out into Lake Michigan by 9:30 or so.

For the trip I asked two younger friends who were both athletic and seemed “sea worthy.” On the trip on the Milwaukee river everyone was smiling, even when the second bridge was greatly delayed in opening and we kept having to dodge a group of kayakers who seemed oblivious to my vessel.

However, before we left the Milwaukee lakefront headed toward Chicago, my two stalwart helpers had become seasick. (So much for athletic types.)

In the course of raising sails, I discovered that one crew member had trauma from childhood sailing with his family and would freeze up at the hint of any urgency. The second was just clumsy. At one point a line was dropped over the bow and subsequently made its way, still attached to the bow, and became entangled in the propeller of the engine – rendering any use of auxiliary power impossible.

So, it was sailing!!!

The wind was stiff and my wonderful new vessel handled it well. We were quite heeled over with water coming close to entering the cockpit from the list of the boat in such a heavy wind. However, my two helpers were bent double in the bottom of the cockpit moaning, “Am I going to die?”

I had to fight it alone. No one could help lower the sails because both were lowered over the side tossing their cookies.

I fought it alone until 6 p.m. when I radioed the Coast Guard for help. We had made it only 30 miles toward Chicago and about 13 miles offshore. So much for the plans.
With a trip of 60 miles left, and with being unable to begin the journey until after church on Sunday, the plan was scuttled. Sea Esta would remain at a very “toney” mooring at a private harbor costing me a mint each 24 hours. We would have to make the final leg on July 4.

For that, I traded my “sickies” for a member of my choir whose wife could drive us to Racine and pick us up when we arrived in Chicago. With the propeller untangled (another costly project) we would motor down – not sail! Since it was now July 4, we could leave Racine at 8 a.m. and make it to Chicago around dusk.

The best laid plans………

To our dismay, Racine has the largest and longest 4th of July parade in the USA. When we arrived at 8 the parade had begun and blocked every possible entry to the marina where the boat was moored. I attempted bribing the police in charge of traffic control to no avail. They just looked at me and laughed at the situation.

And the bands played on and on and on until 12:30 p.m.

We finally got to the harbor and moved Sea Esta back into open waters by about 1:15. Five hours later than I had planned. It was a great ride down the lake. We stayed about a mile offshore. Towards dusk, the fireworks began. Village after village, pyrotechnics spiraled into the air. About 10:30 we finally pulled into Monroe Harbor and safe into our mooring.

It was the first of many adventures with my wonderful boat. She served us well. Now she exists as a great memory: a place for fresh air, great conversation, some really good food, the best view of a beautiful city, and yes, fantastic sailing.

Of course, there were moments of madness. Most involved the move up and down the Chicago river and its 23 bridges which had to be raised to accommodate the mast.

Once, when heading upriver for the close of the season, we were in an armada of about 20 boats. When we were in the “canyon” - that area of the river where it is most narrow and the buildings allow no sunlight to reach you at river level – a large two-master schooner lost its engine. It happens to the best of us. So, in the spirit of good seamanship, the vessel was tied alongside a similar sized boat for the remainder of the trip.

A well-meaning crew member on the disabled boat went below to work on the engine. In the course of doing so, he got the engine started and inadvertently put it in reverse. The result, with the towing vessel moving forward and the boat tied to her moving in the opposite direction, they were spinning around in the middle of the river with the rest of us fearing a major collision as we attempted to elude the madness. Of course, the Chicago Marine Police were going bananas screaming expletives that would make Mike Ditka sound like an altar boy. Something about being on the water brings out the Captain Bligh in the best of us.

Even with all the madness, those of us who love it come back again and again. John Masefield understood the lure:

I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by,
And the wheel's kick and the wind's song and the white sail's shaking,
And a grey mist on the sea's face and a grey dawn breaking.

I must go down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;
And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.

I must go down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,
To the gull's way and the whale's way where the wind's like a whetted knife;
And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover,
And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick's over.

When Cornelius Vanderbilt Whitney was asked, “what is it like to sail?”

According to legend, he responded, “you can get the same sensation that you get from sailing if you will stand, fully clothed, in the shower tearing up $100 bills.”

Very true, but believe me, the memories are worth it.

Good bye, Sea Esta, you will be missed this sailing season and I promise that the Beneteau will not eclipse your memory.

Mother Nature VS. Mother's Nature

The New Modern Wing of the Art Institute by Renzo Piano with Monroe Harbor in the background awaiting the sailboats.

Springtime is finally arriving in Chicago. I don’t recall a more beautiful display of flowering trees and shrubs in recent years. Sailboats are making their way down the river and out into the Lake for the beginning of the season. (Things that make you go, “Life is good.”)

However, the rest of the country is literally awash in disasters.

All of us who have such treasured memories of the sugar-white beaches of South Alabama and North Florida and of the marsh lands at the mouth of the Mississippi are biting our nails awaiting the tracking news of the mass of oil emanating from the ruptured BP oil rig off the Louisiana coast. While winds and gulf currents have kept it at bay, for the most part, today it is reaching the Chandeleur Islands.

Tomorrow, British Petroleum lowers the large metal cap over the leak at a depth which this technology has never performed. Keep your fingers crossed. BP has indicated that if this fails, the spillage could reach 1.7 million gallons per day. Speaking of things crossed, did John Boehner imply that we needed “more” offshore drilling? (Things which make you go, "Oh great tanned wonder, the cocoa butter has seeped into some of you.")

Poor Nashville is under water. In the outlying areas, even school buildings are riding down the river like a pre-fabricated steamer minus the paddle wheel. Now, when Katrina devastated New Orleans, Pat Robertson blamed it on the city’s immorality. Everyone seems really quiet about Nashville’s Opry Land Hotel whose various lobbys are like reflecting pools. Does this mean that God is upset about the hotel being the site of the recent national meeting of the Tea Party? (Things that make you go “Hmmmmm.”)

The NYC bomber was apprehended before he flew to Dubai. It seems the “no-fly” list failed momentarily. Well, it has failed a number of times. Mildred Fowler was detained and not allowed to board her flight to the Mary Kay Convention because a passenger reported seeing something very suspicious as she was attempting to repack her bags in order to avoid a luggage fee. “Mildred, you never carry a toy pistol as a gift to your grandson. (Things that make you go, “Were you even thinking?”)

I congratulate the NYPD and the other agencies on catching the perpetrator of the failed terrorist attempt. However, you have to be a bit annoyed if you are the guy changing shirts on the street near the vehicle. That captured surveillance image was posted all over the web. Now his wife is wondering why he needed to change shirts before getting home? (Things that make you go, “Uh oh.”)

This weekend is one of the Hallmark holidays – “Mother’s Day.” Usually at this time, I am frantically phoning my sister in Alabama to get some idea of what my mother would like as a gift. She loved pink and she loved flowers. Sadly, she is no longer with us and I miss her. I miss her purple hair and her signature fragrance both a part of her nature. (Things that make you go, “Who sells Nina Ricci?”)

I miss both of them, the ones that stumbled upon my hollow log.

They were great folks and despite my many stories that evoke laughter at their eccentricities, they were two very wonderful people. (Things that make you go, “Thank you.”)