Category: POEMS (Page 15 of 30)

Rhymes of all kinds

Retirement is not without Hassles: Home Sweet Home 3 #893

April 1, 2019 / mikeljohnston1 / 0 Comments

It’s our 20th “Limogesiversary,” as we head home from Phuket, Thailand. On this date, I gifted my wife her first Limoges box and hidden poem, a tradition that has been extended to include many of our special occasions. Her collection now consists of over 314 of these porcelain pieces in the twenty years we’ve been together. It seemed appropriate for this year’s gift to be a Thai temple, so I ordered one on-line and had it shipped to the house for when we arrived.

It took us over 36 hours to get home after numerous delays. As we arrived in San Francisco late for our last leg and missed our connection, there were seemingly no options to get back to Portland because of the massive number of Spring Break travelers. I’ve never seen stand-by lists that long! It was looking likely that we would be spending another night away from “Home Sweet Home.” Instead, we were fortunate to get some seats and be reunited with our pets.

While we were waiting at the airport, I wrote a poem summarizing our adventures in Thailand to accompany the Temple Pagoda Shrine hinged-box. As we posted pictures on Facebook, many of our friends were questioning the pronunciation of Phuket. They jokingly wanted to believe that the resort area was called puck-it (but with an “f”). Instead, it’s pooh-ket and not an offensive expression of “being fed up with, bothered, or uncaring.” However, I guess you could say that while we were there relaxing in paradise we didn’t have a care in the world.

We saw a lot of Buddhas and Shrines in Bangkok, had some great dinners, were teased by a monkey at James Bond Island, reconnected with my cousin, and met some new friends along the way. For my wife, it was definitely a destination to cross off her “bucket list.” I’m just glad to finally get back home for ten days before we head to Chicago and Indiana. After seeing more and more of the world, there’s truly “no place like home.”

Temple Tour

United we fly,
Bangkok destination.
For my working wife,
A ten-day vacation.

Temple Tours,
Dubbed a “ Buddhathon.”
Trying to figure out,
Which Day we’re on.

Vacation Clubs,
Luxurious suites.
Baht conversion,
Crowded streets.

Thanying and Nahm,
Great Thai-kok meals.
Bells to ring,
Bows and kneels.

Palace grounds,
Golden Shrines.
Buddhist monks,
Election Signs.

“Buddha Butt,”
No pictures please.
Embarrassing tips,
Elevator keys.

Taxi Drivers,
We can’t understand.
Thirty-one bucks,
Is worth a grand.

“30 Seconds,
Over Tokyo.”
On the way back,
A stop in Seoul.

There’s no “F,”
In Phuket.
With every run,
Relentless sweat.

Cousin Jim toast,
Under a waterfall.
But had no luck,
Watching basketball.

A favorite spot,
By the pool.
The Andaman Sea,
A turquoise jewel.

Resort dining,
Lights out.
Whiney kids,
Who love to shout.

Soothing massage,
But long delays.
Wonderful weather,
And plenty of rays.

Monkey business,
Inside a cave.
Number Nine,
Your canoe fav.

James Bond Island,
The “Honeymoon Hong.”
On or in the water,
All day long.

Tom and Julie,
Fellow Hoosiers we met.
Dinner with Sinee,
Watching the sun set.

Another Honeymoon,
With my Sweetie Pie.
Time with my love,
In the Land of Thai.

Retirement is not without Hassles: National (Pi)e Day #872

March 11, 2019 / mikeljohnston1 / 0 Comments

Most husbands and wives have pet names for each other. I happen to call my wife “Sweetie Pie,” and wanted to celebrate her day, National Pie Day with this bit of silliness:

Sweetie (Pi)e

It’s a special day,
All about Pie.
National Recognition,
Mathematical Tie.

Third Month,
Fourteenth Day.
Time to honor,
Mrs. J.

Three Point,
One Four.
One Five Nine,
Infinite More.

Pie are Square,
No, they’re round.
Inside the Crust,
Surprises are found.

Hidden away,
Could be meat,
Or its contents,
Might be sweet.

It can be filled,
With Big Blueberries,
Georgia peaches.
Or Lambert Cherries.

For Halloween,
There’s pumpkin spice.
On Thanksgiving Day,
You’ll eat it twice.

When the Pie Man offers,
Sample slices to compare.
As Simple Simon says,
“Let me taste your ware.”

Key Lime in the Summer,
Hot Shepard’s in the Fall.
If there’s no time to make it,
There’s a bakery at the Mall.

Chicken Pot Pie,
Pizza Pie for dinner.
Mom’s Apple Pie,
A Blue Ribbon winner.

Chess is not just,
A board game.
Curds is where,
It gets its name.

Lemon Meringue,
Is fluffy and light.
Cream Pies in comedy,
Often take flight.

You wouldn’t throw,
A Strawberry Pie.
Or scare away pests,
With a Shoofly.

Pork or Peanut Butter?
Buttermilk’s better.
Is that Blackberry?
On your sweater.

A Ray Charles tune,
“Sweet Potato Pie.”
If you like s’mores,
Enjoy a Moon Pie.

But, the favorite dish,
That money can’t buy
Is a slice of YOU,
My Sweetie Pie.

This way it’s not just another day of retirement – it’s Pi Day. Now excuse me, I’m hungry for some pie!

Retirement is not without Hassles: Cliffhanger #870

March 11, 2019 / mikeljohnston1 / 0 Comments

On the train to Seattle, I also wrote this baseball gem with shades of “Casey at the Bat.” Apparently, I was also thinking of the National Geographic documentary Free Solo about mountain climbers who truly hang from the cliffs, since baseball is not a life or death sport. It’s only a game:

Cliffhanger

The object is simple,
I once said to Cliff.
Hit it where they ain’t,
Pitch where they’ll whiff.

Cliff is my pitcher,
Who’s learning the rules.
I told him I’ve studied,
At the finest baseball schools.

You see it’s a game
That may seem quite boring.
But you’re certain to win,
If you keep them from scoring.

Don’t let them on base,
For any damn reason.
This is the key,
To a great baseball season.

If they can’t get to first,
They can’t make the steal.
Just strike them out,
It’s no big deal.

If they do hit the sphere,
Just be where it lands.
This maintains quiet,
With the fans in the stands.

If it falls to the ground,
Just throw them out.
But if it spins away,
There may be some doubt.

Don’t let that happen,
Keep it away from the bat.
You don’t want that hit,
To be a troublesome stat.

Keep the scoreboard at zero,
And YOU get the hits.
The logic behind this,
Doesn’t take wits.

Outscore your opponent,
And victory is yours.
In case that first score,
Somehow occurs.

Don’t make it complicated,
And make that mistake.
Keep them hitless,
For Heaven’s sake.

Cliff simply nodded,
As if he understood.
Then threw his first pitch,
And it hit wood.

It sailed into the sky,
And over the fence.
And I looked at him,
As if he was dense.

I tried to explain,
Don’t give up any more!
Because now we too,
Will have to score.

He give me a wink,
Then blew it again.
If Cliff keeps this up,
We’ll never win.

So I called for time,
And pulled him aside,
But the very next batter,
Gave it a ride.

Cliff is no genius,
It’s clear to me.
We lost that game,
‘Cause Cliff gave up 3!

Retirement is not without Hassles: Seattle Bound #869

March 10, 2019 / mikeljohnston1 / 0 Comments

Took the Union Station train,
To downtown Seattle.
With a clackity, clack,
And a rattle, rattle.

With the throttle up,
It’s a three hour ride.
The rails are our guide,
And you at my side.

I gaze your way,
Don’t mean to stare.
Another adventure,
For us to share.

The whistle blows,
Another stop.
Side to side sway,
Cloppity…Clop.

The way I stagger,
From car to car.
You’d think I’d come,
From the nearest bar.

Despite the bumps,
I’m rocked to sleep.
And feel relaxed,
No schedule to keep.

It’s quiet on board,
I get a snack.
Could touch that train,
That’s speeding back.

No checkpoint hassles,
No security unpacks.
Never on the wrong side,
Of the tracks.

No traffic jams,
The hours pass quick.
A tunnel of darkness,
Only Clickity…Click.

Everyone has to,
Stop for us.
As we cruise by,
I watch them cuss.

The view flashes by,
While we hold hands.
As time flies by,
Love firmly stands.

Whoosh go the doors,
Tickets please.
Water on the left,
Then a forest of trees.

It’s warm inside,
There’s a mist in the air,
Mount Rainier on the right,
I haven’t a care

Rockin’ & Rollin’
On railroad ties.
The steel highway,
Under Northwest skies.

Last stop King Street,
We’ll Uber from there.
We’ll Amtrak again,
But don’t know where?

All Aboard,
Got-to-Get.
Chug-A-Lug
Then Lickety-Split.

Retirement is not without Hassles: Bucket Battle #867

March 7, 2019 / mikeljohnston1 / 0 Comments

When you have a bucket list, you also need a bucket of money to go with it. To get to the places you want to go it takes both time and money. Retirement guarantees that you have a lot of time on your hands, but that bucket of money often develops leaks. On the other hand, your bucket list tends to grow as you begin to explore new places, so you might need a bigger bucket to hold your dreams. Life in its simplest form is nothing more than a “Bucket Battle.”

Those of us from Indiana know the true significance of “The Bucket.” More specifically, the Old Oaken Bucket. It’s the prize the winning team receives when Indiana University and Purdue University play football every fall. The coveted traveling trophy was first awarded in 1925. The actual bucket was found on the Bruner family farm between Kent and Hanover in southern Indiana. An “I” or “P” is attached to its chain each year in honor of the victor. However, the inaugural battle ended in a tie, so an “I-P” link was added. My mom had a miniature replica of this trophy that she passed along to me.

The Old Oaken Bucket
By: Samuel Woodworth (1784–1842)

HOW dear to this heart are the scenes of my childhood,
When fond recollection presents them to view!
The orchard, the meadow, the deep-tangled wildwood,
And every loved spot which my infancy knew;
The wide-spreading pond and the mill which stood by it,
The bridge, and the rock where the cataract fell;
The cot of my father, the dairy-house nigh it,
And e’en the rude bucket which hung in the well,—
The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket,
The moss-covered bucket which hung in the well.

That moss-covered vessel I hail as a treasure;
For often, at noon, when returned from the field,
I found it the source of an exquisite pleasure,
The purest and sweetest that nature can yield.
How ardent I seized it, with hands that were glowing!
And quick to the white-pebbled bottom it fell;
Then soon, with the emblem of truth overflowing,
And dripping with coolness, it rose from the well;—
The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket,
The moss-covered bucket, arose from the well.

How sweet from the green mossy brim to receive it,
As, poised on the curb, it inclined to my lips!
Not a full blushing goblet could tempt me to leave it,
Though filled with the nectar that Jupiter sips.
And now, far removed from the loved situation,
The tear of regret will intrusively swell,
As fancy reverts to my father’s plantation,
And sighs for the bucket which hangs in the well;
The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket,
The moss-covered bucket which hangs in the well.

As the poem describes, the bucket was how we once retrieved life-giving fresh water, as opposed to just turning on the tap. The “green mossy” references do not exactly sound appetizing. It was also made into a song that only Hoosiers like myself would recognize. The poem was written 8 years before the Old Oaken Bucket became a football trophy and long before making a “bucket list” was considered to be a positive exercise.

“Kicking the bucket” was once a common phrase in reference to death. The “bucket list” therefore originally meant a list of things to do before dying. There was a popular 2007 movie starring Morgan Freeman and Jack Nicholson called “The Bucket List” that perhaps inspired each of us to make one. However, to fulfill your list, you need to be constantly filling a real bucket with cash in the form of an IRA. The real life “battle,” as opposed to just a game, is how many buckets do you need to fill before you retire, and how do you keep them from leaking?

Retirement is not without Hassles: Wedding Plans #858

March 2, 2019 / mikeljohnston1 / 0 Comments

It’s my wife’s weekend but just another day of retirement for me. We’ll start out her Saturday with the dogs and exercise with them on our “Schnauzerthon.” Tinker, our oldest schnauzer, just turned 15 and is limping badly. Her 105-year old little legs deserve a carriage ride. This is why we bought the Air Buggy that we push her in while sister Tally scampers ahead. The “Schnauzerthon” combines my morning run with a long walk for my wife. We take turns pushing the stroller and trying to contain Tally on her leash. It takes about an hour and is part of my working wife’s weekend routine. There are Marathons and Triathlons, but every great endurance athlete should try a “Schnauzerthon.”

My wife is taking her oldest daughter shopping later this afternoon for a wedding dress. She and I are also going to a birthday party luncheon for a 70-year old friend – at least he won’t be keeping us up late. Both of these life events were once hard to imagine – 70 year old friends and married children. We must be growing old. I’m only a little over my two years from my 70th “blowout.” Weddings are about as positive as it gets any more, since at this age it’s mostly funerals.

The birthday event today was at McMenamin’s Edgefield, a venue that we had always wanted to check out. It’s the historic site of a former “Poor Farm,” as well as a vineyard, golf course, spa, and popular summer concert hot spot. I read a custom poem as part of the traditional “old man” birthday roast that highlighted the drawn-out ceremonies. It made fun of the proper pronunciation of the birthday boy’s name – silent “k” and “i before e.” As a fellow Cubs fan, I buy some of my baseball cards from him, so it’s not been a long-standing relationship. I got a few scattered laughs for my efforts:

KNEIS not Niece

Seventy-year old friends,
Are rare for me.
I like to hang around
With younger folks, see?

Parties are for kids,
Not those turning gray.
But now that I’m here.
Happy Birthday anyway.

Turn up your hearing aids,
And lean on your canes.
Enjoy some cake
Forget about your pains.

You went over the hill,
Twenty years ago.
Social Security is now,
Your main source of dough

This makes you desperate,
To sell us KNEIS cards.
To protect our life savings,
Needing more than shin-guards.

Ernie couldn’t make it,
Or any top draft picks.
Sherm would be here,
But he died at fifty-six.

Bryzzo was busy,
Joe Maddux sends regrets.
Wrigley Field Management,
Warns of optimistic bets.

Nice-ler or Niece-ler?
It’s pronounced how?
As long as you’re buying,
Either version you’ll allow.

This has been an issue,
All of your KNEIS life.
Then you shared this problem,
With your daughters and wife.

For the “Mr. Cub” title,
You’re next in line.
They’ll win it again,
In year 2109.

Crib to Classroom,
Office to Booth.
Your career has focused,
On educating our youth.

You’re a kid again,
Every baseball season.
Being close to the game,
Gives all if us “reason.”

Buying and selling,
Making a trade.
Just like in teaching,
Comes down to a grade.

You get us together,
To share what we love.
We bring our leather wallet,
Instead of a glove.

Thanks for the invite,
And not keeping us up late.
Now take out your dentures,
And Step up to your Plate.

His last name is memorable because it is pronounced the same as one of my college fraternity brothers, who eventually stole and married my girl friend. He probably did both her and me a favor, so I held only a short grudge. It was great to get out of the house on a beautiful, sunny afternoon and see some of the Portland area peaks that have been recently hidden by rain clouds. From a couple wearing bath robes to those holding golf clubs, we got the full perspective of the property. My wife will spend the rest of the day with her daughter talking wedding plans. I’m glad they’re getting together because it keeps me from going to a local production of the musical Jesus Christ Superstar. I’m free to join a friend for fried chicken and beer tonight. Cheers to both the bride and my birthday buddy!

Retirement is not without Hassles: Defend, Secure, Protect #853

February 26, 2019 / mikeljohnston1 / 0 Comments

Don’t roll the dice and keep yourself safe. It’s all about Protection! This is what I was trying to emphasize in yesterday’s post about “Grampons” (See Post #852). My thoughts inspired yet another silly poem:

Defend, Secure, Protect

Cameras and Lights,
Then set the alarm.
Protect your family,
From any harm.

Fasten your Seat Belt,
Air bags a must.
And always ride,
With someone you trust.

Bumpers on cars,
For passenger protection.
And car seats for kids,
Need regular inspection.

Latch your windows,
And close your drapes.
Take no prisoners,
No one escapes.

Locks and deadbolts,
Keep your doors Secure.
Hire a Body Guard,
If you’re not sure.

Or you might invest,
In a bulletproof vest,
If you’re worried about,
A bullet in the chest.

Elbow and knee pads,
Prevent burns and scrapes.
Defend the Castle,
Put on those Capes.

Wear a cup,
If baseball’s your sport.
Or a “jock strap,”
If the game’s on the court.

And always be sure,
To give it support.
Regardless of whether,
It’s long or short.

Keep it from getting,
A girl in trouble.
Wrap it in,
A plastic bubble.

Safety is about,
Maintaining protection.
It can also keep you,
From spreading infection.

And if you decide to wear,
A kilt and be a Kelt.
Don’t forget to put on,
Your Chastity Belt.

Umps wear a chest protector,
The same should go for HER.
When bumps in the road,
Cause them to stir.

Goal keepers don masks,
But if one’s at your door.
Unless it’s Halloween,
Their knock please ignore.

Mouth and shin-guards,
Cover those assets.
Get a Junk Yard dog.
And keep snakes as pets.

Don’t Roll the dice,
Or make foolish bets.
You can always dig a moat,
To discourage any threats.

Life Guards at the beach,
Police proud to serve.
For gaining Peace of Mind,
That we all so deserve.

Rubber Gloves,
Steel Toe Shoes.
Just hope you don’t,
Blow a safety fuse.

Baton down the hatches
Wear protective glasses.
There’s always new things,
To cover our asses.

These are some of the ways,
To keep us safe and sound.
And shields and cushions,
Yet to be found.

Knight’s wore armor,
Now there’s Armor-All.
Forget that notion,
Of building The Wall.

My bones are brittle,
And I worry about a fall.
I don’t wear a helmet,
Like they do in football.

So when it’s icy,
I strap on crampons.
But at my old age,
I call them “Grampons.”

Old Sport Shorts: Basketball Nightmare #848

February 21, 2019 / mikeljohnston1 / 0 Comments

I was raised a Hoosier basketball fan and had little choice in the matter. Both of my parents went to I.U., met there and got married. While they were in school, I.U. won their first National Championship. The year I was born they won it again, so it was all I.U. merchandise for Christmas. There are many photos of my in I.U. gear at an early age. I tried to break the family mold by going to Albion College, but soon transferred to Bloomington and the main Indiana University campus.

I eat, sleep, and drink I.U. basketball. It can make or ruin any day. I’ve watched them in person win two National Championships and lose in one Final Four. I followed them on TV for another National Championship banner and just when I thought they were invincible in the final game I found out they weren’t. Through the years, I’ve invested a lot of my time and sweat equity into the program. I’ve also sat in the stands twice in Maui to watch them play, so I can say I’ve stalked them to the corners of the earth.

The last 20 years have been tough. The teams have been hard to watch and success has waned. Coaches have come and gone in conjunction with embarrassment, cruelty, and cheating. I often have to leave the room if they are playing on TV, although a simple victory still lifts my spirits. Unfortunately, there have been too many losses.

There was a surge of hope with Coach Archie Miller and the recruitment of Indiana Mr. Basketball Romeo Langford. Everything looked promising on paper, but in reality the team chemistry is as bad as I’ve ever seen. They simply can’t shoot and scoring output in the 40’s have been norm of late. They somehow beat Michigan State in East Lansing (See Post #829) to end a losing skid, but then quickly started another one. Poor fundamentals and inexcusably inaccurate free-throw shooting have added to their consistent inability to hit big shots in the BIG Conference. The were blown out by in-state rival Purdue in West Lafayette, but had a chance to beat them in Bloomington. Predictably, they missed the last shot. To curb my growing frustrations, I wrote this “humorous” poem, rather than scream.

Nightmare On Hoosier Street

It’s a basketball nightmare,
We can’t hit a shot.
Not a single player,
Can find their sweet spot.

It looks so easy,
When other teams play.
But we can’t seem to click,
On any given day.

We miss underneath,
And can’t hit a three.
We don’t make a bucket,
Even if it’s “Free.”

There’s a lid on our rim,
And a hole in my heart.
For a win at the buzzer,
Bring back Keith Smart.

Do the players need glasses?
Or more practice time?
To lose at I.U.’s,
An unforgivable crime.

When you wear the stripes,
Of Crimson and Cream.
March Madness,
Should be more than a dream.

You’ve played all your life,
Hours in the gym.
It’s the same old ten feet,
From the floor to the rim.

Please wake me up,
Tell me it’s not real.
To play for the Hoosiers,
Should be a big deal.

My wife tries to tell me,
It’s only a game.
But when you can’t score,
It’s more than a shame.

Where’s the fundamentals?
Hold on to the ball.
Why don’t our attempts,
Ever seem to fall?

It’s not a peach basket,
But nothing goes through.
Percentages show,
We’re long overdue.

It’s called a net,
And not in a knot.
It makes a “swoosh,”
When you hit the shot.

Instead it’s a “clang,”
Or an “Air Ball.”
That just shouldn’t happen,
At Assembly Hall.

It can’t be the coach,
When you’re 00h for ten.
Then somehow you manage,
To miss once again.

I try to wake up,
But my team is cursed.
To make it even worse,
Purdue is tied for first.

Retirement is not without Hassles: Valentine’s Day #841

February 14, 2019 / mikeljohnston1 / 0 Comments

I expressed some of my less than positive sentiments about Valentine’s Day last year (See Post #429), so there’s no need to further elaborate. I do like the fact that the day is all about silly love poems, and I enjoy writing poetry.

Fortunately, I get two attempts to get Valentine’s Day right, starting with the 20th anniversary of our first “date.” We celebrated last week and I presented her with a traditional Limoges Box gift, including a poem. She did not like the fox character that I selected, insisting that I had already bought her one a few years ago. No problem… I sent it back and got a prompt replacement just in time for Valentine’s Day.

I hope tonight goes better. As a precaution, I had her select a few options prior to placing my order. She chose the Texas capitol building, a pair of raccoons, and a martini glass. I thought the most “romantic” option was the raccoon Limoges, rekindling some childhood memories of her unusual pets.

My wife grew up around Lake Manitou, and was always surrounded by dogs, cats, and even raccoons as precious pets. I’ve often said that if I get a second chance to come back to this world, I would want it to be as one of her pets since she treats them so well. I wrote this silly poem to accompany the make-good raccoon Limoges, as my second attempt to make Valentine’s Day special this year.

Raccoon Love

“Take back the FOX,
And don’t buy more.
I have one already,
It’s raccoons I adore.”

A porcelain make-good,
For Valentine’s Day.
This pair can now play,
While the fox is away.

Childhood memories,
Of Lake Manitou.
Of all the raccoons,
You once got to know.

To go with your Zebra,
It’s Rochester Raccoon.
Unlike cousin Rocky,
There’s no Beatles tune.

The baby is Bandit,
What better name?
I understand yours,
Were really quite tame.

Some raccoons are famous,
Rocket’s a movie star.
A Guardian like Chris,
From a Galaxy afar.

Roni was the mascot,
Of the Winter Games.
Ranger Rick of the comics,
Are other raccoon names.

You don’t want to hear,
Some call them “Coons.”
And wear a fur cap,
Like Daniel Boone’s.

With sharp little claws,
And tiny little hands.
Clearly distinctive with,
Black and brown bands.

Curious creatures,
With eyes that glow.
And they can be sneaky,
As you well know.

These were your pets,
As you were growing up.
To feed, train, and love,
Just like any pup.

Retirement is not without Hassles: 50 Degrees of Gray #840

February 13, 2019 / mikeljohnston1 / 0 Comments

Today it wasn’t the time, the dogs, cat, or the alarm that got me out of bed but rather the temperature. I purposely stayed in bed until the outside thermometer function on my Iwatch finally read over 50 degrees. It doesn’t seem like much in the way of warmth, but after dealing with ice and snow for the past few weeks, the dry Arizona weather is a vast improvement. I arrived in Phoenix yesterday, greeted with blue skies, sunshine, and 70 degrees. My wife had flown in a few days earlier for business meetings. We reunited at the Marriott Canyon Villas, our first experience with the Marriott Vacation Club. The only problem is I’m stuck here with nothing but Diet Pepsi.

It will be cloudy for my run this morning but I won’t have to worry about slipping on ice or getting soaked. I was stuck on the boring treadmill for three straight days, preserving my ten-year-plus consecutive day running streak. Tomorrow will mark day 3,700. It may be a bit gray outside here in the desert but at least it’s not raining, as I wait for my wife to get ready. She will walk while I run in loops to avoid getting too far ahead. Once I reach 3.1 miles (5k), I will then walk back to the room with her. For a pleasant change of pace, we did not wake up to dogs begging to go with us.

“50 Degrees of Gray” is a heat wave compared to the Portland slop that we live in this time of year. I have to keep reminding myself that the constant rain and occasional light snow enables everyone to enjoy the spectacular, lush, green summer months ahead. Don’t worry they’ll be here soon. In the meantime, we escape when we can to a sunnier spot. However, with only one of us retired, we’re limited on our time away from home, unlike the “snowbirds” here at the resort who stay for three months or longer. Yesterday, poolside activities included a tequila tasting. They taught us this toast: “arriba (glasses up), abajo (glasses down), al centro (glasses to the front) y adeeentrooo (just gulp it down)!”

Tonight we will dine at Roy’s, one of our restaurant favorites for misoyaki butterfish and famous chocolate souffle. Tomorrow night our Valentine’s dinner will be at Ocean Prime, another “healthy” dose of gourmet calories. This afternoon we’ll walk to a nearby In-N-Out Burger for lunch (they also have Diet Coke – rejoice). Dining out is one of the main reasons for “The Streak.” As I often like to say, “run like a maniac, eat like a pig, then run again.”