We’re now halfway to Christmas for those keeping track of remaining shopping days. My wife was always envious of those born on June 25th for this reason – the midpoint of gift getting. This says something about her, while I never made the connection. It was also “Custer’s Last Stand” at the Battle of Little Bighorn in 1876. Too bad he missed out on Christmas and his 37th Birthday. Sitting Bull got all the gifts.
I escaped from the apartment yesterday afternoon, and put down the convertible top for a drive to Tualatin. It was a welcome break from the quarantine routine. A couple of beers and some burgers on a friend’s grill were the added reward. I should do getaways more often. Next Friday, the Buffalo Wild Wings “Leadership Meetings” resume after a 3-month furlough. I’d like to say that things are returning to normal, but that would be premature. Instead, I’ll just have to take advantage of opportunities to socialize as they present themselves. The pessimist in me is warning of a relapse.
I should get my own grill back when we move to Florida next spring. In this apartment, all we have in a tiny balcony that does not allow for grilling. I call it the “Tally-o,” because it’s really a patio barely big enough for our schnauzer, Tally. However, we can open the doors and smell the aroma of neighborhood restaurants. I have mixed feelings about living downtown, so having a home again will be more than welcome. Thankfully, we’re now at the halfway point of our lease with lots of travel plans to break-up any monotony.
I did just discover that there is a Halfway, Oregon near the Idaho state line. The community was named for the fact it is roughly halfway between Pine and the ghost town of Cornucopia. It has about 300 residents. Wikipedia reports that Halfway earned a place in the history of the dot-com era in December 1999, when it received and accepted an offer to rename itself as Half.com, Oregon. This promotional publicity stunt was in conjunction with the e-commerce start-up that eventually sold to Ebay. The unusual one-year partnership was in exchange for $110,000; 20 computers for the school; and other financial subsidies.
It became the first city in the world to rename itself as a dot.com. It’s also interesting to note that Halfway is within four miles of the 45th parallel which makes it halfway between the equator and the North Pole. For us in Portland, it’s halfway to Manhattan….Montana, that is!
Thanks to Lennon and McCartney for making everyone’s sixty-fourth birthday less painful. “When I’m 64” has finally arrived for my wife. For me, it’s a distant memory nearly five years ago. “They say it’s your birthday, well it’s my birthday too, yeah!”
No one looks more forward to their birthday than my wife and I try to make every one special. It’s a little tough this year with stores closed, travel restricted, and restaurants shut down. I was not responsible for her 40th celebration. On her 50th, we went to San Diego, but I ruined that with a kidney stone attack. I did manage to make it up for her 60th with a ocean hut in Bora-Bora. Birthday breakfast was served by canoe. Tonight, dinner will be to-go. Her daughter and husband will join us, along with their dog, our Tally’s playmate. My gift was delayed in shipment and hasn’t arrived yet. The poem that goes with it will be read anyway.
“We’re gonna have a good time.”
Yes, You’re 64
For a memorable Birthday,
In this time of Isolation
You just might need,
Some Imagination
The jewelry stores,
Are still shut down.
And we won’t be wearing,
A suit and gown.
There probably won’t.
Be fireworks.
Or a hotel,
With special perks.
With theaters closed,
There’s not a show.
And we’ll have,
Our dinner to-go.
We won’t be going,
To the beach.
With warmer ones,
Soon within reach.
No Bora-Bora,
Or Kidney stone.
But you won’t,
Celebrate alone
There’s a Limoges,
And lots of flowers.
But your sunny day,
Might bring showers.
Wish for a rainbow,
And peace on earth.
On this anniversary,
Of your birth.
At least each dog,
Has hat in place.
With dreams of cake,
On tongue and face.
Sing the birthday song,
While washing your hands.
And hope that fans,
Soon fill the stands.
Next year,
We’ll be in a house.
Not too far,
From Mickey Mouse.
The greatest gift,
You didn’t get.
There’s still no need,
For a testing kit.
Despite we’re on,
A weight loss diet.
This year’s birthday,
Might be a riot.
Will you still need me?
I love you, more.
And still feed me?
Yes, you’re Sixty-four.
Copyright 2020 johnstonwrites.com
The running streak now stands at 4,188 consecutive days, with little other activity throughout the week. I’m now finding that masks are now the most common litter found on the street. There are also more and more boarded up business fronts. These are signs of the times. We’re currently in self-quarantine after a week of travel and once our dog Tally spends time at the groomer this afternoon, I’ll be the only shaggy dog left in the family. Long hair with touches of gray – another sign of the times.
We continue to watch House of Cards, having now surpassed the episodes we saw years ago. The two of us really miss our movie matinees and dining out. Trips to the grocery stores are my wife’s main source of entertainment. She has a birthday coming up in a few days, but it will not be the scope of past celebrations. Flowers are on order and a gift is in the mail. She wants to go to Nonna Emelia for Italian comfort food, a very conservative choice for her. A lot of money has been saved these past few months after cancelling trips, using points, and being limited to carry-out food options – all signs of the times.
Through the end of this month we’ll try to stay at home as much as possible, with respect to limiting any exposure to others. I can still easily keep my distance while running and airing Tally. The next travel plan is 39 days away – the next flight about 80 days off. It could all change quickly with the times, but it’s good to have something more than Netflix to look forward to in the future. Uncertainty continues to be the biggest sign of the times.
ESPN stirred some memories last night with the airing of “Long Gone Summer,” the 1998 home run battle between Sammy Sosa and Mark McGuire. It was the quest to top Roger Maris’ 61 home-run season in 1961. The record had stood for 28 years, once Maris had “outdone” The Babe. I was part of a Cubs season ticket group of nine owners that conducted a draft at the beginning of the season to determine who would get which tickets for what games. I happened to pick 9/13/1998 and set-aside four of what turned out to be the most precious tickets I’ve ever purchased.
On that day my 77-year old father, my 24-year old son, and my best friend all joined me at Wrigley Field. They were special seats in a row by themselves near the Cubs’ dugout, guarded at each end by two elderly female ushers. One I remember for sure was named Louise. Their job was to keep people from walking in front of us, thinking that our wide space was an aisle. The 9 special seats were actually added in the middle of what was once an aisle way when the Ryne Sandburg record contract in the early 1992 spurred the team to add revenue by expanding seating capacity. This was allegedly how they paid a portion of his 4-year $27.4 million deal. Nonetheless, we always called them the “Ryne Sandburg” seats and oddly met him down in that area when he accidentally kicked-over my friend’s beer earlier that year on Opening Day. (See Post #283). Louise would occasionally allow celebrities coming off the field to pass in front of us. This is why the beer incident occurred.
Fast forward to September 13th, as the baseball season was coming to an end. Before the game started we had lunch at the Stadium Club, a perk for VIP Season Ticket Holders. They actually served the same hot dogs as the concession stands but on Cubs china at three times the cost. I remember thinking, “wouldn’t it be something if Sammy hit numbers 61 and 62 today.” McGuire had already topped the Maris record at Busch Stadium 5 days before. Sosa had hit his 60th the day before, setting up the historical drama we were about to witness. Wrigley Field was abuzz as we took our seats, spotting Ryne Sandburg and his family a couple of rows in front of us. The 61st came in the 5th inning, lifting us out of our seats. The Cubs were up 8-3 on the Brewers. Sam-mee, Sam-mee! The fans littered the field and caused a long delay.
Sosa struck out in the 7th and came to bat for the final time in the bottom of the ninth down by 2. 480-feet later, he had tied McGuire at 62. There were hugs all around, as we watched the commotion. To make the day even better, Mark Grace homered in the bottom of the 10th for the “W.” Three generations of family and a best friend make the game even more memorable. “Cubs Win! Cubs Win! Holy Cow!”
Nine years later, my wife bought a commemorative brick following a 12-3 victory over the Cardinals. She was at that game with me along with my son and 9-month old grandson. It’s too bad my dad couldn’t be with us to make it four generations. Instead, the brick reads “3 Generations – Mike, Adam, Gavyn.” Dad died in 2014 at 93, just missing the 2016 World Series run. My wife and I were there, thinking of him. So many great memories of Wrigley Field, but none can top Sosa vs. McGuire.
I’ve reached another blogging milestone- Post #1150 on day #4183 of the running streak. All these numbers are my way of keeping track of the quickly passing days of my life. This past week has gone particularly fast with all our hard work in finding a permanent retirement resting spot. The location represents the final leg of our lives that in some ways have gone full-circle. We will live within ten minutes from my son. This hasn’t hasn’t happened in about 45 years when he was still living in my house. He tried to originally escape from me during college but here were are in Florida just miles apart, starting in March of next year. Coincidentally, I will be living just miles from where my grandparents retired in Englewood, and going to the same beaches I did as a child.
To celebrate, I played golf this afternoon with my son and grandson on what was essentially a Par-3 cow pasture but certainly good enough for my skills. There were no cow pies to dodge. My wife gladly went to the beach just a few miles from where we settled on soon building our retirement home. My two granddaughters and their mother joined us for fun in the hotel pool yesterday afternoon. Before this we had only enough time for a couple of evening meals with them as we combed resort-style properties from north of Tampa to Venice. We’re flying in and out of Orlando so we’ve gotten a good cross-section of the Sunshine State with barely time enough for fast-food breakfast or lunch. In all, we visited twelve different communities. Each night we discussed the pros and cons without that “this is it” feeling. In the back of our minds, we were holding out for the last stop, believing on paper that it might be the best fit. It could have also turned out to be a big disappointment, forcing us return in a few months with a new plan.
After debating proximity to airport, closeness to family, home styles, builders, near-by food options, lot locations, availability, construction timetables, and beach access, we think we’ve found our pot of gold. It’s a beautiful property with landscaped paths over Venetian-style bridges. Our lot would back up to a small pond with no other homes in the sight path. No one will be able to build in the preserve across the street and our private road ends in a cul-de-sac. Three blocks away they are building a direct access road to the nearby beaches. However, what really sold me is the Atlanta Braves Spring Training facility just outside our gates. We’ll be able to operate with one car and a golf cart, with easy access to the supermarket, restaurants, clubhouse, pools, recreation centers, dog park, and ball park. There’s something for each of us to the point that we never needed to discuss it before saying “yes.” Hopefully, we can get through the financing and building processes without too many hassles. It will truly be a year-round vacation home – the pot of gold we’re sure we’ve found!
The value of today’s run was nine cents, a nickel and four pennies. Yesterday was only two cents. I’ve found that running in the streets is making “cents,” when compared to just staying on the sidewalks. Reduced automobile traffic has made this possible, while it’s impossible to maintain proper social distancing on the narrow sidewalks. In addition, I’m less likely to step-on or trip-over a crack. My mother’s back is grateful. (See Post #1159).
I should be collecting all this change, but I already have badly chapped and aging hands from constant scrubbing. This “dirty money” is best left in the street for someone else to find these days. (See Post #1332). I was once inspired by a fellow streak runner named Craig Davidson, who donated his findings to charity. I’ve never met Craig but we both seemed to be attracted to shiny objects on the ground. It was sad to see that his 15,130-day (41+ years) streak ended a few months ago due to a bacterial infection. Over the years, he had collected and donated over $10,000. His runs were much more valuable than mine, having found 3-$100 bills and a $50 gold coin through the years. Bravely, he started a new streak a week later after reaching the top-22 and considered as part of THE LEGENDS on the world active list.
I appreciated his attitude about this set-back, knowing that I would be totally bummed if my 4,169-day streak ever ended. He had been doing it religiously every day since his mid-twenties, while mine didn’t begin until my mid-fifties. It’s probably like losing a best friend. I always just threw my change into a big glass jar and wrote checks to charity, so I have no accounting of what was collected during these 11+ years. Homelessness is my primary cause these days, after encountering the problem every day on my running route.
I would have undoubtedly started my streak at an earlier age if I had known about the challenge detailed on www.runeveryday.com. Currently, I’m ranked 224th in the world of 2,220 documented participants. This puts me in the top 10% on the Streak Runners International (SRI) active list, but still only considered EXPERIENCED. I rarely move up anymore, as new members join and streaks of this level rarely end. Craig Davidson was unfortunately one of these casualties. I was encouraged that after a few days of mourning, he was able to start “making cents” again!
It’s the official Memorial Day holiday, yet it feels rather uneventful. For many, it’s a day off of work. Unfortunately, too many are spending it unemployed or unhealthy in these pandemic times. I want to especially take the time to remember those who lost their lives defending our freedom, including my own grandparents and fathers. Thank you just isn’t enough. The sun should be shining in their honor, but instead it’s gray and overcast. Traditional picnics will be indoors at safe social distances. Parades have been cancelled, other events delayed.
My wife is certainly in the patriotic spirit, with table decorations, flowers, and flags to mark the occasion. Tally is wearing her “red, white, blue, and cute” collar to show-off her new haircut. I just finished my run with little else planned for the day. I’m grateful to be alive and well, but anxious to travel again. Regrettably, it will be some time before I’m “Back Home Again in Indiana.”
It just doesn’t seem like Memorial Weekend without the Indy 500, even though I’m thousands of miles away from any action. They did come to Portland last year, so I scored some complimentary seats. It was nowhere near the same! All that frantic scrambling I did through the years to get tickets for friends, family, and clients is just a distant memory. Then, there were house guests that just wouldn’t go away because of race delays as long as a week. Early mornings fighting traffic were always a hassle. A run-away dog once held-up the carefully planned get-to-the-track-on-time schedule. There were also the humorous moments like when I illegally got into a police escort line, speeding by all those stopped by the sirens until they caught me. I also lost my young son, after he ran away angry into the crowd. After searching for hours I found him safely protected by “Mud Man,” a drunken superhero with a muddy cape from diving in the puddles. There was also that race that I arrived at the Speedway in style by helicopter, avoiding all traffic like a real big shot!
I usually spent Race Day trying to get my guests in places where they needed special credentials or invitations. It was a game that more than often turned out successfully, considering all the contacts I made through the years. I miss the fried biscuits and apple butter that were served with Jug’s popular fried chicken. The Indianapolis Motor Speedway was my office every May. I sold media sponsorships, driver appearances, car branding, and suite VIP experiences. One Memorial Weekend I even went jet skiing with the Unser and Andretti families. I rarely sat during the race, moving from the infield grass for the start, to the pit or garage areas; to the tower, suites or top row for the best overall perspectives; and finally for the Winner’s Circle for the milk bath. My Gold badge was the key to all this freedom.
These days I could never tolerate the crowds or afford to go by chopper. There are probably not enough VIP credentials as motivation to go. I’d spend all my time searching for another bathroom, that incidentally weren’t always the cleanest. The best seat for me is in front of the TV, listening to the radio broadcast. It will never replace the unforgettable ear-splitting sound of 33 cars on the track at the same time, partially to blame for my present hearing loss. I especially won’t miss the Indiana heat and humidity that could turn to snowflakes the very next day. With the new August date, snow will not be a surprise. We’ll hopefully be on a road trip back to Florida while it’s happening – if it happens?
I purposely passed-up a dime and a penny on this morning’s run – #4,165. In 11.4 years I’ve never missed a day. There was a time when I wouldn’t have thought twice about picking up “dirty money.” Anymore, I just leave it on the ground for someone else to spend. My wife knows I’m always looking for lost change, and so occasionally she’ll come back from her dog walks with a gift for me. The other day it was that nickel I was looking for, after running by four pennies the day before. The nickel was nearly unrecognizable, but I have it soaking in Diet Coke to remove the tarnish. It’s the same Diet Coke that probably eats away at my stomach lining every day, another of my daily habits.
The run itself was not smooth going. I even tripped at one point. My skinny legs are still wrapped in compression gear and seem unsure of themselves. There had been some improvement earlier this week, but they were stiff and sore today. I was surpassed by some young women in the park that made me look like I was standing still. I just kept plugging along, slogging as I like to call it. It felt like a really slow pace, but my finishing time was normal. Needless to say, it was not a memorable Memorial Day experience.
Now that the run is behind me, I can concentrate on writing. My book attempt is really stretching my imagination. Blogging has been challenging, with little to write about these days. We had pizza again for dinner last night, at least from a new place. Our big outings yesterday were taking our dog Tally to and from the groomer and picking-up some ice cream pints from Salt & Straw. TV night was another episode of Homecoming. The pizza pick-up was just across the street, and I responsibly disinfected the dirty money with a Clorox wipe.
Today will not be any more creative. It’s a different day with the same old snacks. Lucky Tally is feeling spry with her new haircut, while the rest of us remain shaggy. There are some signs of blue sky, as I bemoan the fact that there will be no Indy 500 to watch until maybe August. Other than today, it’s memorable to note that the only other times the race was cancelled since its inception in 1911 were during the 5 war years. It’s a different kind of war these days. The dirty money is on the Chinese.
Everyone in our household is getting a little shaggy. At least, Tally our fuzzy schnauzer gets groomed today. She’s been growing her mustache for three months now in these pandemic times. The spa that we took he to for years, Urban Fauna, has sadly closed its doors for good. We’re taking her this afternoon to Coats and Tails, just down the block. Provided they do a good job, we’ll at least have convenience on our side. Hopefully, Supercuts will reopen soon and I can get rid of my shaggy appearance.
One of our favorite neighborhood taverns is the Blue Moon. My wife is drawn by their mini-corn dogs called Scooby-Snacks. They’ve been a welcome to-go choice over the past month, after they were closed during the initial stages of the virus. I’ve written about Scooby-Doo recently (See Post #1310), but failed to mention his lazy cartoon companion, Shaggy. As described by Wikipedia, “Shaggy Rogers has a characteristic speech pattern, marked by his frequent use of the filler word “like” and, when startled, his exclamations of “Zoinks!”. His nickname derives from the shaggy style of his sandy-blond hair. He also sports a rough goatee. His signature attire consists of a green v-neck T-shirt and maroon bell-bottom pants, both of which fit loosely.”
“Both Scooby and Shaggy are readily bribed with Scooby Snacks due to their mutual large appetites, insisting that ‘being in a constant state of terror makes us constantly hungry!'” I guess they have a lot in common with our family, hoping the Blue Moon Scooby-Snacks can ease our terror of Coronavirus. Casey Kasem, of American Top 40 fame, was the original voice of Shaggy, while Don Messick was Scooby, while also voicing The Jetson’s Dog, Astro. “Ruh-Roh!”
Tally, of course, is a fan of snacks, too! She’s not particular, having enjoyed fortune cookies last night from our Chinese take-out order. They always throw in extras for her! It reminds me of one of my favorite poems that I wrote years ago and have adapted for today’s Creature Feature post:
Tally
We have a dog named Tally,
Eats everything in sight.
She wants a treat each morning,
Gets ham most every night.
.
She’s at my feet when dining,
Just waiting for her share.
I simply can’t ignore,
Her impatient stare.
.
When we take her on a walk,
Her nose is on the ground.
Searching every crack,
For a morsel to be found.
.
Ice cream is a favorite,
She licks it off the stick.
And if you want some for yourself,
You better eat it quick.
.
When we order Chinese,
Her tail begins to wag.
And she starts to whimper,
When she sees the bag.
.
She wants her Fortune cookie,
In no mood to chase her ball.
She’s been known to eat them,
Plastic wrapper and all.
.
On the morning after,
When I went to scoop.
You’ll never guess what I found?
A fortune in her poop.
Copyright 2009 johnstonwrites.com
The original was written for Tally’s sister, Tinker, that we lost five months ago at age 15. She was “The Poopingest Pup on the Planet.” (See Post #33). Tinker, although a schnauzer, reminded me of Disney’s Shaggy Dog. Tally, on the other hand, will no longer be shaggy after this afternoon.
I got my “three cents worth” on this morning’s run #4,160. I like to call them “Angel Winks,” shiny reminders of those you’ve lost in life. (See Post #183). A few months ago I would have stopped to pick these abandoned pennies off the street, but anymore they may pose a viral health threat by even touching them. I left them lay for someone else, but thought of a cousin that recently passed away. We had a couple trees planted in her honor, and perhaps she was saying “thank you.”? The common phrase has always been, “give your two cents worth,” but anymore you have to adjust for inflation. I did stop the other day when I was walking Tally to pick one up, but it was gleaming in the afternoon sun and seemed safe. I brought it home and dropped it in my collection jar after a thorough scrubbing.
It was a good run that generated some new ideas for my novel, temporarily titled “There’s no ‘A’ in Murder,” about a college student serial killer. My wife suggested I change it to A+, to further emphasize the grade. I think she’s concerned that I’m thinking about murdering her, but the main character doesn’t murder people he loves. There have already been too many times when I’m disgusted with my imagination. In fact, I’m not sure if it’s a very healthy project? However, it’s kept me away from watching excessive T.V., although it’s still on in the background. The extra work has also kept me out of the refrigerator. Instead of just the hour spent every day writing this blog, I’ve dedicated considerably more energy to the book. Much more than three cents worth!
I’ve blended in elements of sports, music, and adoption that are clearly personal, but most of the story is pure, twisted fiction. Every writer probably puts a little bit of themselves in their work, but the concern is always that those close to you will “read” more into your artistry. As I talk to my wife about the plot, she expresses worry over my current state of mind. Maybe she looks at me like Jack Nicholson in “The Shining,” a frightening victim of cabin fever? Joe Hill or Stephen King I’m NOT, but at least he’s been happily married for almost 50 years. His wife is used to his weirdness, while mine won’t even read this blog for fear of what she might discover about me. This is why I never use her name, just as many authors use a pseudonym to protect their identity.
It’s interesting to note that Stephen King’s son uses the name Joe Hill on his books because he wanted to succeed on his own, without the benefit of his famous father’s recognition. His work is great, and I respect him for this. However, he probably took advantage of the old man’s contacts, while initially getting into the business. Maybe the publisher fought for him to use the name King? I have never sought out a publisher for any of my work – that may very well be unworthy. I do get personal enjoyment out of working on my poems and stories. As a side note, I rarely use foul language on this blog or in my everyday speech, except when watching sports. The book gives me an outlet to express juvenile humor, cuss words, and anatomy references. I heard on the radio that four-letter words starting with “f” was a common attention-getter these days on book covers. “Thank God There’s An Ocean” was my first attempt at a novel 30 years ago. Admittedly, there are common elements in this second effort. Maybe the third time will be the charm, in order to get my “three cents worth.”?
