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Here’s to wishing you all a Happy 4th!
Today, my birth father would have been 93. He took his life nearly 13-years ago, although I didn’t know he existed at the time. I was in touch with one of his daughters (my half-sister) today, who reminded me that we had our first phone call 6-years ago tomorrow. She had five sisters at the time, but only four are still alive. The only brother died tragically as a teenager. I discovered the connection through Ancestry, having already known the name of my birth mother.
That first call was not as awkward as I envisioned. I thought for sure she would think that I was a stalker of sorts. Instead, it became comfortable as we explored the possibility. A few calls later, we were ready to call each other brother and sister – I refer to her as “Fav” to distinguish her from the sister that I grew up with, who was also adopted. Unlike “Fav” we have no genetic connection, but rather a lifetime of memories and a common love for the couple that raised us. They are my real mom and dad.
I first met “Fav’s” Bannister family in their hometown of Scipio, Indiana on December 26, 2018. Her mother was gracious enough to welcome me despite the awkward circumstances. I was the result of a “high-school fling” prior to their marriage that she was not aware. Her mom was apparently an older classmate of my bio-mother. Four of the five sisters were there to meet my wife and I, including one that passed a few years back. I’ve yet to meet the fifth but came close a few months ago. The mother recently died, as did my bio-mom, who sadly I also never met.
“Fav” came from our second face-to-face meeting at Lambert’s Cafe in Foley, Alabama, home of the “throwed rolls.” It was a preferred dining spot for all of our parents when they vacationed down south. That initial meeting was on September 2, 2020. She brought along her friend Tish for support and a sign that read “Favorite Sister,” I held up the sign in a photo of the two of us that she used to taunt her siblings. Needless to say, my adopted sister did not appreciate the claim when she saw it on Facebook.
“Fav” and I have met on two other occasions, but keep in touch with text messages, especially during football season. She works for the University of Alabama and an avid “Roll Tide” fan. One of our visits was at the Tuscaloosa campus, where I also met her son. She did message me today on her father’s birthday, so these memories are fresh in my mind. I never met him, but have some photos, stories, and his Marine’s spoon to remind me of his major influence on my life. Here’s to all my six sisters, past and present. Oh, and there’s one more on my birth mother’s side that won’t acknowledge me, but that’s another story. Regardless, they are all favorites!
My eyes are still sensitive to sunlight, hence the bulky, black sunglasses. I went out to fix both yard fountains this morning in the cooler temperatures and found myself breathless, another indication that I need to continue the gym work to get back into shape. After I’m done writing this morning, I’ll walk to the fitness center and do the stationary bike, rowing machines, and weights that are now my daily routine. I often feel spent on the walk back.
Our electric fireplace was finally installed yesterday but will need some finishing tile. Because of our concrete walls, the size of the plug did not allow it to fit flush with the wall as expected. We watched the flames dance and felt its warmth that was not necessary on another hot, humid Floriday day. It’s just another home improvement project that was crossed off the list but then added another to-do line.
I went to another baseball card trade night last evening with expectations of leaving with fewer numbers in my collection. Instead, I exchanged two cards for twelve, adding to my bulging binders. Tonight, I am participating in an on-line break, having drawn the Toronto Blue Jays. I promptly traded for the White Sox, the worst team in baseball, for the second worst. This tends to be my luck in these games of chance, but at least the Sox are my team through thick and thin. With unwrapped cards dating back two years, maybe I’ll get a good break, but more likely there will be a valuable Blue Jays card revealed.
Breaking is the latest phenomenon with card collectors. Instead of buying a box of cards, you share the contents of several boxes with others, adding variety and value. You pay a fee and either pick your team or rely on the luck of the draw, depending on the offer. Each pack of cards is unwrapped separately during an on-line event. Unlike the old days, there is no bubble gum prize, just rare variations like parallels, special finishes, numbered, and game-used relics that add unique value to the standard player’s traditional issue. These also command higher prices on the resale market, when at one time only supply and demand determined prices. This was the case with Honus Wagner when his tobacco cards were destroyed because he did not appreciate the association. This left very few on the market and determined its multi-million-dollar worth.
I’m not sure whether I like to watch the unwrapping ceremonies over opening them myself. It’s always like Christmas when a sealed pack of cards is opened, at least for me. Opening a full box is even more thrilling but the investment is sometimes prohibitive. This is why sharing the cost has become popular through these lotteries, plus multiple boxes add to the drama. I’d rather have complete control and keep all of the cards, but these chance breaks like tonight better fit my retirement budget. Go Sox!
We have dinner tonight with another card collector and his wife. He once owned his own trading card business, so it will be interesting to see what he has in the way of White Sox merchandise. I find it amazing to see how card collecting interests have exploded in the past few years with football garnering the most attention Hobby cards like Lorcana and Pokeman have also attracted younger interest. There are also hockey, auto racing, basketball, history, celebrities, soccer, and every other sport as options, depending on taste. I’m sticking with baseball in search of that illusive Honus Wagner. Give me a break!
As promised, here is the summary poem of our Disney/Portland trip to celebrate my wife’s birthday. We stayed with her daughter, who works for Nike, and husband who is campaigning for City Council. We went to some of our favorite restaurants like Apizza Scholls, Salt & Straw, Buffalo Wild Wings, and Ling’s, after our final Disney dinner with my family in Orlando at Be Our Guest. We ventured into wine country with friends, visited the Portland Art Museum and other downtown haunts, and took their dogs, Ham (who barked at me incessantly) and Falco, to the Thousand Acre Park. I continued to struggle with my legs, but their vehicles shuttled me close to all of our destinations. The final Bridgerton episodes were on Netflix, a service we no longer subscribe, so we watched on their projection screen, ate fresh morel mushrooms from the farmer’s market, drank wine, and went to a Portland Pickle’s baseball game. Before we left, we stopped by Powell’s Bookstore where they were married five years ago and caught some magnificent glimpses of Mount Hood. Once again, you had to be there to understand all the subtle, humorous nuances of this particular poem. We’ll see them again in January.
C.U. in January
Disney Grey Stuff,
Beauty and the Beast.
For a family of 6,
A Pricey feast.
Dreaded presentation,
For Marriott bucks.
Off to the airport,
Middle seat sucks.
Midnight arrival,
Baggage delay.
Barely get there,
Before THE birthday.
Screen door lunch,
Apizza pie.
No Birthday Bear,
But Megan buys.
Mitch campaigning,
But time to make eggs.
Mike having issues,
With cramps in his legs.
But walked a Thousand Acres,
And peed behind a tree.
Let my natural instincts,
Take ahold of me.
Wings with Matt,
Bridgerton finale.
Remembering walks,
With Falco and Tally.
With the IU gang,
At Domaine Willamette,
In case you’re wondering,
It’s Wag-yu, dammit.
Pasta Allora,
Flor wine.
Farmer’s Market,
Morels to dine.
Art Museum,
Monet and shoes.
Salt and Straw,
Mount Hood views.
Stranger Danger,
Ham annoyed.
His growls and bark,
Hard to avoid.
Golf Shuttle,
Ling farewell.
Suitcases packed.
New truck smell.
Once amused,
By drinking Dickel.
My new favorite,
Is “Pickle, Pickle, Pickle!”
A stop at Powell’s,
But not to Marry!
If not Next Tuesday,
C.U. in January.
Copyright 2024 johnstonwrites.com
I’m reminded of the Billy Joel song, I’m Movin’ Out:
Sergeant O’Leary is walkin’ the beat
At night, he becomes a bartender
He works at Mister Cacciatore’s down on Sullivan Street
Across from the medical center.
Yeah, and he’s trading in his Chevy
For a Cadillac-ac-ac-ac-ac-ac
You oughta know by now
(You oughta know by now)
And if he can’t drive with a broken back
At least he can polish the fenders.
And it seems such a waste of time
If that’s what it’s all about
Mama, if that’s movin’ up
Then I’m movin’ out
Mmm, I’m movin’ out.
Instead of “Cadillac-ac-ac-ac-ac-ac,” I’m thinkin’ Cataract-act-act-act-act-act. I’m sporting the big, black Solar Shield sunglasses that look like Blue Blockers and putting drops in my eyes every few hours. I even had to wear a plastic shield over my right eye the first night to avoid scratching and rubbing. Otherwise, everything is normal.
It was just another medical procedure I had to endure this year, but certainly nothing compared to open heart surgery. So far, they’ve left my brain alone. In a few weeks, they’ll do the left eye and I’ll need to get new glasses, the result of better vision.
On the never-ending list of doctor visits, I do have a wellness exam next week and will continue the chiropractor adjustments to my spinal area. Walking is getting more comfortable. Currently, I’m sitting on an ice pack while writing this. As the year goes on, I’ll be seeing, even clearer now, a neurologist and a urologist. What could go wrong, or better yet, what is right?
Another birthday and another Limoges gift for my wife. The tradition continued after several frustrating attempts to provide some memories from our Egypt/London adventure. A broken box was delivered (I jokingly patched it with a Band-aid), then a second effort failed to be mailed, while a third attempt turned out to be a duplicate. Finally, I settled on Stonehenge to celebrate her 68th. We were off to Disney World and Portland with great expectations, as portrayed in this poem:
More with Every Year
London landmarks,
Were twice broken.
Booth and Bridge,
Band-Aid jokin’.
And with so many,
In your collection.
A duplicate order,
Upon inspection.
But on these boxes,
I continue to binge.
As we go to places,
Like Stonehenge.
Compared to Egypt,
Not too impressed.
But, this pile of stones,
A bucket list quest.
I would build such,
Monuments for you.
But, lacking handy skills,
Wouldn’t know what to do.
Bluey and Disney World,
Lead up to your Birthday.
But being with your Megan,
Makes it a special day.
Flight into Portlandia,
Ling’s, Apizza, and wine.
Another brief glimpse,
Of the White Stag sign.
Wishing you,
A five-peak day.
Banana Cake,
And kitty play.
“So Happy Together,
With Falco and Ham.
Then to the spa,
For some glam.
Fosse and Tally,
Schnauzerville bound.
With Pee on the floor,
As she comes unwound.
But we’ll be back,
In eleven short days.
To watch her attack,
The dry food maize.
It’s time to turn,
Another page.
And you’ll be closer,
To my dreaded age.
Happy sixty-eight,
Let it be clear.
I love you more,
With every year.
copyright 2024 johnstonwrites.com
The trip itself will be summarized in the next poem.
We have returned from our journey west, as I add some of my notes from the start of our journey:
After a stop at Schnauzerville to drop off the dogs, we made the three-hour drive to Orlando. Our plan was to spend as little as possible after $1300 in tickets and the points expense of a three-bedroom, three-night’s condo. A group of seven is never a lucky combination for admission to Disney World. I agreed to pay for one-day in the Park, while my son’s brood spent two extra days. We also took just my youngest granddaughter to see Bluey’s Big Play at the Disney Theater.
When all was said and done, hundreds, if not thousands, more dollars were spent on souvenirs, parking, and food, including a pricy meal at Be Our Guest. My son and I shared these costs. My wife is o, celebrating a birthday, got carried away buying collector pins. She was a bad influence despite my objections, earning me a Grumpy pin. My son bought us Lightening Passes to skip the lines but I could not do any of the rollercoaster and too often ended up with everyone’s packages while they all did the rides.
The day included the Haunted Mansion, Pirates of the Caribbean, Thunder Mountain, Space Mountain, Peter Pan, Barnstormer, Small World, Speedway, Dumbo, Buzz Lightyear, People Mover, Princess Meet, Snow White Mine Train, Tron, and Carousel. We took the ferry to and from the park that put us in by 10a and out by 11p.
A free $70 Giordano’s pizza as a result of slow inaccurate delivery, a $350 Visa gift card for a Marriott presentation, and a surprise $50 pocket find helped us not break the bank. Grandkid memories abound – good and bad. New battery-powered droid toys and stuffed Disney characters cluttered our living quarters. Themed T-shirts, mouse ears head gear, purses, back-packs and costumes let everyone know that we were in the spending spirit.
The dinner, with a brief appearance by The Beast, appropriately followed a meet-and-greet with Belle. Family members were cast in acting parts for her scripted surprise party. The pre-fix menu choices were marginal in flavor but we ended right up front for the always impressive fireworks.
I was surprised how well my legs held up, the longest stretch of time on my feet since surgery in mid-January. There were no issues with cramps or Charlie Horses, painful conditions that have been debilitating over the past few months. My extra ten pounds is still an issue, especially in trying to squeeze into my bathing suit to play with the kids in the Marriott Vacation Club pool. Fast, fatty, fried foods coupled with ice cream over the past few days have led to swelling in my hands, ankles, and feet. This poor diet will probably continue over the next week in Portland with more pizza, pasta, and wine.
Continued from Post #2543. Written for an upcoming 70th birthday party:
Seventy times Two!
I attended the 40th,
When we were just kids.
And since that time,
We’ve all hit the skids!
Zoomin’ and Dickeling,
Are now in the past.
These thirty years,
Have gone by fast.
Juneteenth is now,
A National Holiday.
My wife, Denise, born,
The very same day.
The banks are closed,
Or I’d enclose checks.
And today’s your best chance,
To beg for some sex.
Instead, you get,
Another rhyme.
But there won’t be,
A next time.
We know Tim’s got,
And Karen, too!
Tom Walton genes,
But “E,” NOT you!
I’d suggest a shot,
Or two, on a dare.
But that’s not covered,
By Medicare.
The bald truth,
Is under those caps.
Let’s get this over,
And return to our naps.
We’re still neighbors,
Though far away.
Wishing you both,
A Happy Birthday!
Copyright 2024 Johnstonwrites.com
Twenty-one weeks have come to pass since surgery with the only remaining indications being a long scar and some mild tenderness in my chest. The gym is restoring some of my strength, but I miss the ability to simply lace up my tennis shoes and hit the streets. The chiropractor has diagnosed my leg issues as bypass sciatica and the treatments continue. I have been finally able to surpass the mile mark on the treadmill with only mild discomfort. As we prepare to be on the road the next ten days, my home exercise routines will be on hold. I know there’s a gym at the Marriott Vacation Club and workout equipment in Porland, but I’m hoping to get in several miles of walking each day. The benches at Disney World will undoubtedly become my new friend.
I have a couple of birthday poems that I need to write on the plane ride. One will be an update from this tribute 30-years ago:
“Who’s Zoomin’ Who” became our theme,
“Four Asses,” we were quite a team.
Was wearing tights a real-life scheme?
Or was it just a silly dream?
We once turned on your garden hose,
And dove for Dickel, legend goes.
We Dickeled too much, I suppose,
Cause Doug blew noodles through his nose.
Tim, you’ve picked your friends and foes,
I’ll bet you’ve even picked your nose.
The thing you can’t pick, everyone knows,
Is a relative like Mike, and that fact shows.
To keep in shape you both abide,
But there’s something age can never hide.
Your body’s like a classic ride,
Shiny on the surface but rusted inside.
So here’s to a couple of Birthday boys,
Eat, Drink, Spend, and make some noise.
Cause he who dies with the most toys,
The winning widow still enjoys.
Happy 40th, Mike and Tim
For those of you that don’t know, George Dickel is a whiskey brand, “Who’s Zoomin’ Who, a hit song by Aretha Franklin, and Doug a fellow partier. To really understand, however, you would have had to be there.
Both Mike and Tim were born on June 19th. It was tough to write at the time, because Mike was a close friend while Tim was only an acquaintance. In fact, I’m not sure that I’ve even seen Tim since then. Mike’s wife, Karen, recently posted a Facebook request to send them both greetings on their upcoming joint 70th birthday. Karen is Tim’s brother.
Coincidentally, my wife was also born on that Juneteenth day, although a few years younger. In fact, she wasn’t yet my wife thirty years ago. I will craft her poem separately, as part of a traditional Limoges Box gift.
Fortunately, none of us have a widow.
Write On!
