Bob Ike’s blog

My dad, Dick Ike, Jr., would have turned 104 tomorrow, August 8th, an age his own father had reached.  But Dad’s colon cancer was higher up and more invasive than Grandpa’s, and he only lived 9 years after diagnosis and resection.  But he died a happy man, as he had lived.  Just as his retirement years exceeded his Fisher Body working years (by one), he spent many more years with the burden of a son (nearly 51) than without (only 34).  Regardless, I’m so happy he and Mom brought me home from that Grand Rapids hospital in  ’52.

One of my duties right after he died was to compose and deliver his eulogy.  Others would deliver remarks, but mine were to be committed to a pamphlet put together by undertaker Jon Durham, who happened to be my best friend’s little brother.  I reproduce that document here, so you can all read about what a great man my dad was.

In an old country with a proud history like Ireland’s, you’d expect a lot of that.  This morning’s side trip from Beaufort to Cork brought me to a sterling modern example of this phenomenon.  We set out to hike nearby Tomies Woods, at the edge of Killarney Park. 

The trek we’d take took us a mile in then 131 steps down, where we could catch a look at Eas Ui Shúileabháin (O‘Sullivan’s Cascade), a little set of falls as the water came down the rocks from draining waters from Tomies Mountain (735 m elevation) into Loch Leane, where we’ve been yesterday touring Ross Castle.

According to legend this waterfall once ran not with water, but with whiskey instead. The Chieftain of the Fianna, Fionn MacCumhal, resided above the Cascade on Tomies Mountain. It was here that he kept his personal supply of the finest uisgebeatha (whiskey). O’Sullivan of Tomies was lucky enough to share this delightful drop, being the only man bold enough to stand up to Fionn.  Unfortunately when the Sassenagh (The English) invaded Ireland, it changed into water and became known as O’Sullivan’s Cascade. (1).  Damned English.

There were no good angles for an iPhone camera

This image kyped from the net does it better justice

After the walk back, we headed for the Gap of Dunloe, between the highest mountains in Ireland (McGillycuddy Reeks) and Killaney’s Purple and Tomies mountains.  The River Loe flows through the valley, linking its five corrie lakes: Coosaun Lough, Black Lake, Cushnavally Lake, Auger Lake, and Black Lough.  Such makes for fabulous adventuring, from rafting to rock climbing to serious hiking.   The Gap was unfortunately closed to these activities through the end of August.  Closed for maintenance?  So the Gap was left to its other primary activity, fleecing tourists.  We’d been there the day before, dropping into Moriarity’s shop, which seemed to be an appendage to the restaurant next door.  Their bar seemed no great shakes, so we thought we’d check out the knick knacks at their cheesy shop.   Little did we know they purveyed high end Irish woolens.  Kathy emerged with a beautiful purple cape that set her back several hundred euros.

But appearances are deceptive in the Gap.   We thought Kate Kearney’s Cottage was just a little gift shop and lunch counter, passing it by our first time up.

As I read, I learned that Kate ran one of the 10 best pubs in the area, so that was our destination today.  She provided a nice Killarney IPA and a Paddy’s uisce bump for me.  I had no expectation for any more satisfaction from her place.  Everything there was prim and modern, obviously recently updated.  Getting back to the men’s, nothing countered this perception, although the sign on the door suggested mischief.

I promised I’d adhere.  Tile and sinks were clearly almost new, and shy eliminators had their own little rooms

But to the right, against the wall, was the magnificent installation of someone who still cared. 

That such instillations can occur in these modern times speak to some hope that the best of the past might be preserved.  If only American pissoir designers might take heed, we beleaguered older males might find some joy as we seek our way through these modern times.

Eire comforts in many other ways, with its slower pace, marvelous locally grown (and caught) food, traditional music, un-peated uisce, beer that satisfies far beyond Guinness, smiling buxom lasses, and a comforting countryside that blends just enough mountain with long stretches of green.  And all that water! Add to that a summer climate where the temps rarely exceed 65, and you’ve got a place to which I’m coming back.

Reference

1. Páirceanna Náisiúnta na hÉirann.  National Parks of Ireland.  Killarney National Park.  O’Sullivan’s Cascade.  https://www.killarneynationalpark.ie/visit-us/osullivans-cascade/

“A bad doctor makes the same mistakes day after day and calls it experience” – Tommy Palella, 1982. 

I’ve swapped patients for posts, and surely had a few duds, but have been at it a while and it’s been quite the experience.  I thought I’d learn from WordPress that this would be my 300^th post.  Instead, I see I’ve tallied 287 posts but 53 drafts!  So depending on how you count it, I’m either a little short or way over.  As I had much of this composed in my head while out on the trail this afternoon, why waste it?  Not all of those posts were very pithy.  The very first – “Introduce yourself” – was provided by WordPress.   Some were “shameless plugs” announcing books, and others were tables of contents meant for readers of those books to access.  But I started on January 12, 2020 and intend to keep going.  Putting my thoughts out there for the public has been immensely fun and satisfying, and I’m pleased at least a few of you joined in.

The number 300 brings to mind a movie:

Hard to believe I’d be so fond of a movie about Spartans, but their battle against the vastly larger Persian army was a glorious thing to watch.   Of course, this has nothing to do with writing, other than the number.

The trail we were on wound though the Killarney National Park and ended up at Caisleán an Rois (Ross Castle).

It has at least half again as many years on it as I have posts, built in the early 1500s.  It sits on Loch Leane (Lake of Learning) across from a monastery dating to the 7^th century that schooled the first King of Ireland.  It was the last Irish castle to be taken by Oliver Cromwell’s navy in 1652, victim to a battleship that had been disassembled into 7ths, take to the lake, and reassembled to batter the castle.  Residents of the castle and monastery met horrid ends.

We learned these details from the driver who took us on his horse cart back to the city center.  There were a song about the English perhaps I’d better not repeat.

The horse carts gather conveniently near to many pubs and shops.  We ventured down High Street but turned onto narrow Sráid an Phluincéid (Plunkett Street) where the entertaining pedestrian traffic continued with nary horse nor automobile.  Courtney’s pub looked inviting, and indeed it was.  A compact set of taps contained all you might want, including 2 fine IPAs: O’Hara’s 51^st State and Kilkenny’s Full Circle IPA.

The barkeep said O’Hara was not wading into America’s controversy about DC, but wistfully thinking that Ireland had so much in common with America maybe they should be the 51^st state.  I assured him I’d be honored to see a shamrock up there among our 50 stars.

Should you want a bump with any of these fine beers, there were many choices.

I went with the special, and it was outstanding.

There were a couple of tables out front for those rare days in Ireland when outside might be inviting, like today’s 20 degree sunny offering.

Drinking like that, such seats can’t be occupied in eternity.  The road back in the pub, as it often does in this country, brought wonder.  Again the genius Irish engineers had constructed a gleaming temple to men’s needs.  I haven’t felt this satisfied since they took the troughs out of the men’s rooms at Michigan Stadium.

It was a sporting event drawing in patrons in the early afternoon.

This was the championship game for hurling, a uniquely Irish sport.  Held at Dublin’s Páirc an Chrócaigh (Croke Park), the third largest sports arena in Ireland, all 82,300 seats were filled.  I did some hurling back in high school, but I believe this is a different sport.  Played on a “pitch” like soccer, the game is much more lively and fast paced.  Ya gotta love a sport where the game starts with a ”throw in”.  Let ‘em have at it!.  Played by men in short pants wearing helmets who tussle with each other at every opportunity, the aim is to propel a small yellow ball through the goal in two different manners using what look like long spoons.  There are actual goalposts involved, with similar goalposts also used for Irish football, making the countryside schools look like a place Harbaugh should come recruit.  At the base of the goalposts is a net looking much like a soccer goal, manned by a goalie, into which a successful shot garners 3 points.  But most of the scoring comes from scooping a ball from anywhere on the pitch up through the goalposts, getting 1 point.  The shots were pretty amazing.  Limerick – favored by the locals – was ahead at halftime, when we left.  By the time we got to Beaufort, they’d won.  The game is fun enough I hope we can find it on TV at home.

Beaufort’s where we’re at for the rest of the week.  There’s a castle on the grounds that will see my mom’s 2^nd 90^th birthday party tomorrow.  We’ve learned of the Dunlap Gap, Danny Man, and Tomies Wood, so should have plenty of activities to accompany our drinking. Éirinn go Brách!

I swore several months go I’d blog no more about Mr. Corona, the “pandemic” behind us and figuring the annoying umpteenth generation variants of SARS-COV-2 as mere cold/flu agents. Hardly worth any attention, let alone a mask, vaxx, lockdown, or quarantine. But info trickles out about how things really turned out that deserves commentary. Released Friday were British data about deaths from COVID according to vaccination status. The bar graphs need no explanation. Read ’em and weep.

My pharmacist sister asked me at dinner why an intelligent man like me never got vaccinated. I told her that in addition to nearly 50 years in medicine, I have a masters in microbiology and research experience in 4 virology labs, understood what was going on, and chose not to participate. She left the room. I don’t think that even graphs like these would affect the likes of her, who drank the Kool-Aid long ago.

So, to those of you wise enough to have avoided the jab: prosit!

*PS. My U of M just selected a new President, Dr. Ono. Oh-no! At least his first name is Santa. The faculty with have their stockings hung by the chimney with care.

Reference

1. Jordan D, Zaniewski A. Regents appoint Santa Ono as University of Michigan’s next president. University Record 7/13/22. https://record.umich.edu/articles/regents-appoint-santa-ono-as-university-of-michigans-new-president/

After our magnificent dinner at Half Door (1), Mom got a hankering to go to a pub and hear some real Irish music.  She’d heard O’Flaherty’s was a good spot (2), so off we went.  It wasn’t far, but the little side streets and Gaelic signage proved a challenge.

Fortunately, the proprietors emblazoned their name across the door in English, so we knew we were in the right place.

Once inside, looking around, it was easy to see this was the real deal.

It filled up as the evening when on.

We scored a choice table by the “stage”, actually just an open spot in front of the piano (never played) where the three then four musicians would sit and play.  While the girls gathered Guinnesses, I paid a visit to the back only to encounter perhaps the most impressive feature of the place.  Taking the basic design used in Shannon Airport (3), the Irish engineers moved from the marble/porcelain of the stone age to the gleaming stainless steel of the industrial age.

The result was almost as impressive as the pissoir I’d encountered in Vienna (4), maybe moreso as it hugged a corner.  Like all good designs of such facilities, it cared naught for my aim and did not restrict my style, while welcoming others who might participate.   One of my few regrets of the evening is that I did not consume enough Guinness to attack this structure repeatedly.

My wife, mom, and sisters did not understand my enthusiasm, but did enjoy the evening’s entertainment.  At the bar, my sister Ish chatted up a guy with a guitar case who had not been to the bar in 30 years, but was recognized and asked to join the band.  The four of them lept into a rollicking set of Irish tunes none of us recognized, although everyone else in the bar did.

The stamina of us Yanks did not match that of the locals.  Mom had her soon to be 90 years as an excuse while Kathy was waiting for Danny Boy or some Van Morrison tunes.  I was just tired, taking longer to recover from that transatlantic trip than I’d expected.  My sisters went with the flow, and we were home by 11, still immensely satisfied with our evening.  We’ve got 11 more days in the Emerald Isle, and the big stuff (Mom’s 90^th) is yet to come.  Let’s hope we can make it before the pipes, the pipes, are callin’.

References

1. The Half Door Restaurant.  An Leath Doras.  https://halfdoor.ie/
2. O’Flaherty’s Bar, Dingle.  http://www.oflahertysdingle.com/
3. Ike B.  fualán iontach eile.  WordPress 7/11/22.  https://theviewfromharbal.com/2022/07/11/fualan-iontach-eile/
4. Ike B.  ein prächtiges Pissoir. WordPress 12/3/20. https://theviewfromharbal.com/2020/12/03/ein-prachtiges-pissoir/

* magnificent Irish engineering

One of the joys of this Ireland rip has been to hang out with Jolene, a.k.a. “Ish”, my 6’1” favorite sister, a pharmacist who became that when her plans to become a vet fell through.  The main reason we’re here is to celebrate our mom’s 90^th birthday, with a big blowout planned for Killarney next Saturday.  See us all together at Mom’s place in Stanwood a couple Octobers ago as we gathered then to fėte her as she pushed off to Mazatlán Mexico for the winter:

Seated: Di, Amy (“Marge”, who died suddenly in May), Mom.  Standing: Jolene (“Ish”), me

Jolene got that nickname in an offhanded fashion, telling some guy asking her name, as she exited a bar, that hers was “Ish Kabibble”.  The name stuck.  Growing up with Mom’s music, she was familiar with Spike Jones and with Kay Kyser’s Kollege of Musical Knowledge, for whom the main cornet player was Erie Pennsylvania’s Meryn (Mern) Bogue.  Before hooking up with the big bands, Mr. Bogue was a solo musical comedian (1). 

One of the tunes in his repertoire was “Isch ga-bibble.”, a phrase derived from a mock-Yiddish expression, “Ische ga bibble?”, which was purported to mean “I should worry?”

The phrase lived on on Mad Magazine’s Alfred E. Newman’s lips as “What, me worry?”.  There is an actual Yiddish phrase – “nisht gefidlt” – meaning “it doesn’t matter to me,” from which the term “ish kabibble” may derive.  Fannie Brice (“Funny girl”: 1891-1951) used this phrase in her act (2).  It stuck with Mr. Bogue and he had a long career playing cornet and cracking jokes as Ish Kabibbile.  Kay Kyser had rescued him from West Virginia Law School in 1931 and employed him till the band broke up in 1950 (3).  Ish managed the band for most of that stretch.and appeared in 10 movies.  Spike Jones lured him away for a year, but Ish did not like the experience.  After the breakup, Ish continued to perform with the band’s singer, his good friend Mike Douglas, who went on to have a long career as a television host.

I was happy to learn a few years back that my sis Ish loves her nickname and likes being called that.  During the early days of COVID, out grocery shopping and listening to the student radio station on my earbuds, I was surprise to hear the DJ identify herself as “-ish” (4).  While some of the young DJs at WCBN have an impressively deep knowledge of old music, I wondered whether this “-ish” would know anything of Mr. Bogue.  I’ve not yet e-mailed her.  It’s possible her name instead applies to the modifying suffix used by sloppy speakers and writers of English everywhere.

Jolene actually prefers a longer contraction of Mr. Kabibble’s name: “Ishka”.  Grocery shopping last night after hitting town, we were surprised to see her name staring at us from the shelves of bottled water (5). Hard to say ho they came up with that word, other than founder Michael Sutton’s recollection that “My Mum was a great Irish speaker and she came up with the phonetics for the Ishka brand.” (6). No word if she was a fan of the Big Bands

Needless to say, it’s what we’re drinking, at least when the choice of beverage is non-alcoholic.  Here’s to my Ishka!

PS. If you’re wanting to learn a little more about the original Ish, here are a couple videos (7,8).

References

1. Ish Kabibble.  Wikipedia 4/20/22.   https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ish_Kabibble

 2.     Ish kabibble.  Online Etymology Dictionary.  https://www.etymonline.com/word/ish%20kabibble

3.     Merz C.  The History of “Ish Kabibble”.  Hagan History Center. 7/8/22.  https://www.eriehistory.org/blog/the-history-of-ish-kabibble 

4.     -ish.  WCBN.  https://app.wcbn.org/djs/325

5.     Ishka.  Irish spring water.  https://www.irishspringwater.com

6. .O’Connor F.  We had an idea and we bottled it: How the good times keep on flowing at Ishka.  Independent.ie. 12/12/21.  https://www.independent.ie/business/we-had-an-idea-and-we-bottled-it-how-the-good-times-keep-on-flowing-at-ishka-41137573.html.

7. Ish Kabibble.  YouTube.  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YUxn02OIr3s

8. WQLN PBS NPR.  Ish Kabibble (Merwyn Bogue).  YouTube.  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QOiviXgjWJE

When yesterday (Sunday) afternoon, after close to 24 hours of travel , we finally landed in Shannon prepared to head to Dingle to start our 2 week family Irish adventure*, you can guess the first place I sought out after clearing customs and heading to baggage claim.  SNN is a charming airport – all direction signs are in Gaelic as first language – with over 75 years of history.  In 1935, the Irish Government took a decision to initiate a survey “to find suitable bases for the operation of seaplanes and landplanes on a transatlantic service” (1).   By 1939, the first planes were landing.

I wasn’t expecting my little necessary jaunt to take me back in time.  As you may recall from previous posts, the old ways of handling men’s emissions have a real pull on me (2).  So you can imagine my delight as I came through the door and saw these magnificent white slabs standing ready to take what I could offer.  I don’t know if they were porcelain or marble, but I was ready to attempt to slam them down in a contest which of course they would always win. Yes, they go all the way to the floor.

Alas, the orange plastic barrier signifying repair in progress.  Well, even Mt. Rushmore is closed for repairs sometimes.

I’ll pass back through Shannon if about 2 weeks.  Maybe they’ll be done by then.  I’ll be ready, as always. If not, there’s always next time. This Irish charm and my Irish blood will definitely bring me back.  But, please don’t fuss with the design!

References

1. Shannon Airport.  History https://www.shannonairport.ie/corporate/about/history/

• Ike B.  ein prächtiges Pissoir. WordPress 12/3/20. https://theviewfromharbal.com/2020/12/03/ein-prachtiges-pissoir/

My birth mother will turn 90 7/16/22.  We’ll celebrate in a castle I. Killarney,  prceded by a week in Dingle and followed by a week in Beaufort

This time, that stands for “power shortage”, a bedevilment of electric car drivers much worse than when we see our gas guzzler’s gauges dip into “reserve”.  So, what do you do when your fancy Tesla runs out of “juice”?  Tesla drivers get a lot of warning.  On the top left corner of the Tesla display, near the speedometer, the driver can see the color of the battery icon turn from green, to yellow, to red. That’s how you know your Tesla is in trouble.  Red indicates that your car is draining the last bits of power and is about to die.  You have 10-20 miles after you hit red.  I know from my friend Ken that the last miles of a long trip at the limits of a charge are characterized by frantic scrutiny of PlugShare, an app showing public charging stations, hoping to find one at which to top off.  And this was in the LA-San Diego corridor, where charging stations are thick.  Chasing charges can consume the better part of a road trip in an E.V (1,2).  But what if that fails and the putt-putts are no more as your battery gauge sits at zero?  We’ve all had that happen with our regular cars, trudging to the closest gas station to beg a can and come back with a gallon that might get us those few miles home.  But you can’t put electrons in a gas can, which got me thinking as to what you actually would do.  Well, you can always get towed to the nearest charging station (3).  E.V.s can’t be towed like regular cars, requiring a flatbed.   So, you’ll need to convey that to the towing company.  If you’ve got roadside assistance insurance, you’re covered.  Yes, they do make machines that come to you.  The best is made by a US company, Blink, a 350-pound gasoline powered unit that can take anywhere from 25 to 50 minutes to deliver 25 miles of range.  That’s a little heavier than a full gas can.  eCamion, a Canadian company that specializes in battery-based EV chargers, is working on a mobile unit that could charge several dead electron guzzlers (4).  The battery needed for such a purpose would fit into a ten-foot shipping container, which is the equivalent of a small-sized U-Haul. 

While it seems you can actually could jump start an EV – as all EVs have two batteries,  one to run the motors and the other for miscellany, like radio, wipers, heated seats, among other things with the hardest part of the jump start process is locating the auxiliary battery – the boost only works from the larger battery to the smaller one (5).  And for sure you can’t jump another EV.  So, leave those jumper cables at home.

But we put a man on the moon!  Can’t we revive a dead EV on the side of the road?  There must be other solutions.  Kathy and I thought of a few. Why hasn’t Elon paired with his buddies at Apple to come up with an app that would fire up a Tesla from the iPhone’s lithium battery over a lightening to USB cable?  Heck, while there at it, why not make it wireless!  And have those zillions we’ve sunk into defense over the decades brought us nothing?  We’ve all seen the KC-135 drop its proboscis into a B52 to refuel it in flight.  How about some other flying craft trailing power cords to rescue our dead Teslas?  Would have to be choppers as they’d be operating in traffic.  But since the mission is to restore drivers to saving the earth, could we not get ample volunteers?   And, of course, Elon could have one of his many satellites send down thunderbolts. Zap!  Talk about post-market service.  Ah, but a man’s reach should exceed his grasp, or what’s a heaven for? (6).

Peace, love, dope, and free energy for all!

References

1. Wolfe R. I Rented an Electric Car for a Four-Day Road Trip. I Spent More Time Charging It Than I Did Sleeping. Wall Street Journal 6/3/22. https://www.wsj.com/articles/i-rented-an-electric-car-for-a-four-day-road-trip-i-spent-more-time-charging-it-than-i-did-sleeping-11654268401?AID=11557093&PID=6415797&SID=bi%7C629e2712601ab110760eae7a%7C1655952505699fggt7f7k&subid=Business+Insider&cjevent=d155a100f2b111ec813d004b0a1c0e0b&tier_1=affiliate&tier_2=moa&tier_3=Business+Insider&tier_4=3861930&tier_5=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.wsj.com%2Farticles%2Fi-rented-an-electric-car-for-a-four-day-road-trip-i-spent-more-time-charging-it-than-i-did-sleeping-11654268401
2. O’Connell JO. To No One’s Surprise, a Gas-Powered Road Trip Bests One in an Electric Vehicle. Red State 6/23/22.
   https://redstate.com/jenniferoo/2022/06/23/to-no-ones-surprise-a-gas-powered-road-trip-bests-one-in-an-electric-vehicle-n582929
3. Tchir J. If my EV battery dies on the road, can I get a boost?
   Globe and Mail 3/7/21. https://www.theglobeandmail.com/drive/mobility/article-if-my-ev-battery-dies-on-the-road-can-i-get-a-boost/
4. 3 Things You Can Do If Your Car Runs Out Of Battery. Mach 1 August 2020. https://www.mach1services.com/what-to-do-if-electric-car-runs-out-of-battery/
5. Pritchard T. Can you jump-start an electric car? Here’s what you can and can’t do. Tom’s guide 1/16/22. https://www.tomsguide.com/reference/can-you-jump-start-an-electric-car-heres-what-you-can-and-cant-do
6. Browning R. Men and women and other poems. London: FB Pinion, 1855