da vinner!

Fans of James Jarmusch’s breakthrough 1984 film “Stranger than Paradise” (1) will recognize Aunt Lotte’s (Cecilia Stark’s) line, uttered as she bests in a game of cards her nephews Eddie and Billy visiting her in Cleveland from NYC.  As she triumphantly fans her cards over her tray in her living room, she announces frankly “I am da vinner!”.

Since none of you (well, maybe one) made it out to the Wind and James Event Center in Schoolcraft Thursday night to catch the 10th Annual Tournament of Writers Celebration (2), I can announce to you here as news that “I am da vinner!”.  Well, not the whole shebang, but Honorable Mention in the non-fiction Senior Division (51+).  As Kathy assures me, I can now call myself an “Award-winning-writer”.  Rest assured, the charges on this blog will not be going up.

The Tournament invites writers of all ages from the tri-county area (Kalamazoo, St. Joseph, and Calhoun) (2).  After a few years of lobbying Syd Bartos, diminutive director of the whole affair, she let me enter provided I assure her I write something about Vicksburg.  Upwards of a hundred enter each year, splits by category (fiction, non-fiction, poetry) and age (8th grade or less, 9th grade through age 25, 26-50, and 51 up).  I had plenty I could write about from my ‘burg years, so I was in.

It’s an efficient operation.  Entries, with strict guidelines, open February 1st and close end of month.  Six local writers, including editor-in-chief of The South County News, Kathy Oswalt-Forsyth, serve as coaches to entrants who want one, and then as judges.  Top winners are announced live on Facebook April 1st.  All entries, not just winners, go into a paperback book published on Amazon (3) that’s ready to order April 8th, when the ceremony is still over a week away.  Now up to 365 pages!

In the run up to that date, I wondered even about the wisdom of going.  Ms Bastos originally had wanted me to judge, but then forgot about that.  Fortunately, my little writing amie and VHS classmate Sandy Northrop Jones asked me to sit next to her at the signing ceremony and who could pass that up?  Authors sit at a long table and pass their books – basically their “participation trophies” – back and forth till we’ve all signed each other’s.  I thought Sandy had to pull some strings, but then I saw our cards “Bob Ike” and “Sandy Jones”. Our fate was not in the stars, but the alphabet.

As Syd was kicking off the ceremony, she announced how it had been opened to outsiders from as far away as Ann Arbor.  I didn’t hear any hisses, and felt relieved.  Then she began to announce awards for honorable mention, which hadn’t been included in any of the preliminaries.  And who’s among them, but yours truly!  Well, I walked a little lighter the rest of the night.  Each entrant gets a copy of all the judges’ comments.  I haven’t read mine yet but Syd said she gave it to a couple of old guys who got a real kick out of it.

I’ll try not to spoil it with too much intro.  Let’s just say it’s about me and 3 classmates/buddies making a movie back in the day.  They removed all pictures from all submissions for inclusion in the book.  I’ve restored mine here.

Spielberg ’70?  By Bob Ike

4 ‘Burg Boys Go to the Moon, 8mm Style

Honorable Mention – Nonfiction Senior Division

My VHS class of ’70 experienced some pretty momentous events, especially in our final 2 years.  Sure, you can be drawn to the sad and bad, like the assassinations, the riots, the Vietnam war, and the car-train crash that killed our classmates Ike and Pat (1), but we soared with the Tigers’ first World Series championship in 23 years, all that great music, and those space exploits: first that (Apollo 8) swing around the moon over Christmas ’68, then the actual moon landing of Apollo 11 in July the next year.  Perhaps the greatest achievement of mankind, uniting the world in awe of America’s exploration achievement.  So, of course, it begged for a snarky response by some local smart-assed teenagers.  Eric, Shorty, and I set out to make our version of the whole escapade, and film it.  I had a little hand-me-down 8mm Bell & Howell movie camera I’d already used to capture classroom antics.  Whatever imagination I lacked Eric and Shorty had in spades and we were off.  Diminutive Ross joined us from time to time.  The movie is up on my YouTube channel (2), but unfortunately a click on it comes up “This video has been removed for violating YouTube’s Community Guidelines”.  I‘ll work with them on that, but in the meantime all you’ll know about this little movie will come from my descriptions.

The two living actors can’t recall whose idea it was to start or when we started. What we shot was dictated by climate, and some of the shooting was inside. Rather than give you a blow by blow of our shooting schedule, I offer sequences as they appeared on the movie.  Was there a plot?  Same as Apollo 11.  Man shoots to moon.  Complications ensue.  Man lands on moon.  Man plays on moon.   Man returns to earth.  Adulation erupts. 

Here’s about how the movie proceeded.  Mimicking the great directors, I didn’t shoot in order.  We grabbed scenes according to weather, availability of props, impulsive ideas, whether the parents were home, and so forth.  But I present here the scenes as they unfolded in the movie.

Intro.  Nearly all movies have an intro to get you keyed up for the flick to come.  Sometimes, the intro is better than the actual movie.  We didn’t have access to a roaring lion, and a barking bulldog didn’t seem right.  So, we went for our first special effect.  I trained my camera on a very full toilet bowl, then flushed, filming till all was clear.  We spliced the film of that scene in backwards, so when it played, well you know what you’d see.  Unfortunately, the media guy who digitized the movie lost that film footage, but not before it got into the DVD.  So, the effect is not absent from the current digital version, just the original in a can. 

Titles.  For those times when text was needed, we had my green chalkboard.  I’ve forgotten who did the “artwork”.  After the initial titles, the three main players show their goofy faces.  Note how magnanimous we were, crediting “Everyone and his moon”.

Lift off.  Astronauts Neil and Buzz, dressed in their pale blue striped flight suits (from the Vicksburg Fire Department, courtesy of Eric’s volunteer fireman dad, Sheldon) toast to take a last taste, enter “capsule” (a garage can; special effect!).  Then cut to hoisting a Cutty Sark bottle off an array of Schlitz beer cans to the ceiling from Ross’s whitey-tidy clad butt.  Blast it off!

The space environment en route to the moon, using that weirdly exposed film, and from my ceiling, that swinging fishing reel kinda looked like a satellite.

Mission control had a crisis!  Frantic communications for mission control were fielded by me in front of a radio array, in the dark, headphones on wearing my dad’s 5th Army t-sergeant’s shirt, gesticulating wildly, and drinking.  I presume the issue was eventually resolved.

The astronauts did land on the moon (again, Ross’s butt).  Ross became part of the crew as they sought to relieve themselves on a classical floor to ceiling urinal (a poster).  After such a long trip, what would you want to do?  It was winter and Barton Lake was frozen, making our lunar surface.  By tossing a twirling garbage can lid – in slow motion – off my roof we sought to mimic landing, if the astronauts were traveling in a flying saucer.  My dad’s shout “what are you kids doing up there?” may have been the only adult supervision we’d had though the whole process.  Shorty, as the first astronaut out, got to test Barton Lake’s ice, i.e. the lunar surface, by breaking through the ice!  After came the descent to the moon’s surface (a ladder to Barton Lake ice).  Neil’s (Eric’s) descent was complicated by a fall off the ladder over to the thin ice, thus altering the famous phrase to “That’s a small step for man, but a helluva fall for me!”.  Buzz (Shorty) got down o.k., but still broke through some of the thin ice, to which they later took axes, sampling the lunar surface.  The intrepid astronauts then conducted their solar wind experiment, flying a kite on the ice over Barton Lake, before boarding for home.

Re-entry started with another special effect, filming the ground rushing by as out an open car door as we drove the back roads.  The astronauts emerge with their capsule (a garbage can with a makeshift parachute attached) tumbling through the sky in slow motion.  Once alit on the Barton Lake fields playground, Neil and Buzz work to unpack.  Most of their cargo seems to be empty beer cans.  We’d scoured the roadsides for those empties for several days.  There was no bottle law in those days, so our yield was rich.  Note that I somehow had died on the mission, as my body was pulled out and draped with a makeshift shroud, beer can on a stick anointing my head.

All that remains is a triumphant return ceremony.  With the astronauts in Joe Shook’s flatbed, the drive into the high school elicited magnificent adulation.  Who knows what the teachers were thinking.  As a final gesture, several of the participants lined up and mooned the school.  Then, a 747 flew by overhead.  Fin.

The movie has stood the test of time, even without a soundtrack.  No one around the ‘burg even knew we were doing such a thing.  Not our peers, not our teachers, not our parents, nobody.  Meredith Clark didn’t send his daughter Sue over to photograph us for the Commercial.  Yet, the movie remains a topic of conversation at every VHS ’70 gathering, sometimes even being shown to the curious.  At Shorty’s funeral in 2004, we made it a point to find a place in the basement of Rupert-Durham funeral home to set up a projector and screen to see the movie, in part so we could see the vital Shorty we all knew but also to enjoy his ever-irreverent spirit which permeated everything he did.   Several years ago, I had the 8mm film digitized, so now the film is immortal, or at least as long as those pixels last on the disc.  This opens the chance for easy editing, which I’ve resisted.  How can I improve on something we had so right – given the limitations – over 50 years ago?  As I’ve said, it’s a silent flick without even a soundtrack.  I did come across a song – a minor hit from ’65 – that would have been perfect to play over the closing credits, if we had any (2).  See if the singer looks like anyone from the ‘burg you might have known back then.  There’s that social media accessibility.  I already have a YouTube channel, and while the movie is up there, click on it and you’ll get “Violates Community Guidelines”. Apparently, there’s an appeals process. Will work on that.  Trust that I have not yet monetized. The movie’s also accessible on my GoogeDrive (3)

But not every audience is right for this movie.  My dear wife rose to become NASA’s chief scientist for 4 years at the turn of the century, and still has some ties to the space program.  Several times I offered her the chance to show “Apollo’s Ass” to her flock.  A humorous, brief respite, I thought.  Never any takers, alas.  I have made her sit through it a few times, so she knows what’s involved.  Her latest was when Eric and I viewed it again in the presence of our Kathy mates.  Hard to say who won, the producer/director’s hooting and clapping or the women’s eye rolling.  The girls did cut us some slack knowing the product they were viewing came from some adolescent smart asses.

Neither Eric nor I have sought or achieved a career in Hollywood, choosing instead the mundane professions of banking and medicine.  Steven Spielberg (Saratoga (CA) High, ’65) is a month short of being six years older than Eric, and a few months after that for me.  He got started making movies at age 12, even earning a Boy Scout merit badge for an 8 mm work.   He made 15-20 adventure films in high school, plus he went to the movies a lot, something Eric and I never did.   So, maybe the analogy is weak.  But neither of us can quell the thought that forever burns in our souls, as expressed by Marlon Brando’s character in “On the Waterfront”: “I coulda been a contendah!”.

So, if you go to YouTube and watch those few (17) minutes of adolescent nonsense there, get yourself a chuckle and know some boys from the ‘burg did it way back when.

If you’re wondering like the boys looked like, here ya go:

Maybe you had to be there, but I don’t think so.  Just as we couldn’t forget how we felt at the moon landing, can we ever forget our viewing of “Apollo’s Ass?”.  Timeless art from the ‘burg.

References (entry)

  1. Ike R. The Accident. Amazon (Kindle) 2021. 2nd edition published 3/10/23. Available at: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B095BS8VRJ
  2. NEW* Everyone’s Gone To The Moon – Jonathon King {stereo}. Smurftools Oldies Music Time Machine. YouTube. https:/youtu.be/5pfnKQNRXYM?si=y_yka4XM8dQrn4_

 3. Ike R, Durham E, Skippers M.  Apollo’s Ass the Movie.  Posted by RW Ike 2/5/24. Available at  http://tinyurl.com/ApollosAss

References (blog)

  1. Rotten Tomatoes.  Stranger than Paradise.  https://www.rottentomatoes.com/m/stranger_than_paradise

2. Vicksburg Cultural Arts Center.  Tournament of Writers.  https://vicksburgarts.com/tournament-of-writers

3. Vicksburg Cultural Center.  Small Town Anthology X: Southwest Michigan’s Tournament of Writers 2024.  https://www.amazon.com/Small-Town-Anthology-Southwest-Tournament/dp/B0D14MP9C4/ref=sr_1_1?crid=38XE497R5HW7L&dib=eyJ2IjoiMSJ9.OJH1wB8rrR5CtPW6Vf8ujEgEzGsDD9w6MwxFZJJuIQ-lS5Vxu-wv7NzAIT1T13kXkNkXxOnCIjeuV4LaMe_-BAEIT7WC-BFhUkT4eyGrQ2v__yPOFEiIG_BswuL5er6TWudXnREC2bEWmZo1v-nRBsOUkAnpbwbZj0g7_MoFDBR6R4AZT-g2gR5eGajT_VjcvFeSDD15DtDn0j9iVwxpMsgPfpAoaVFph9MitgY_pY0.q8RtdjFe62WM4JaisPw8lychXiAxdMmEcV3BFInpOQM&dib_tag=se&keywords=small+town+anthology+X&qid=1713527075&sprefix=small+town+anthology+x%2Caps%2C130&sr=8-1

4. Ike B.  Speilberg ’70?  4 ‘burg boys go to the moon, 8 mm style.  In: Vicksburg Cultural Center.  Small Town Anthology X: Southwest Michigan’s Tournament of Writers 2024 pp 77-81

hi!

Of course, I smoked a lot of dope as an undergrad.   I was so eager to join the stoned crowd in Ann Arbor, I took up smoking (Pall Malls) my last summer in Vicksburg – where weed was still scarce-just to get my lungs in shape.  I put away those smokes when I arrived in Ann Arbor where there was plenty of the real thing.  I know the male brain is not fully developed till age 25, but I can’t see as I did any harm.  My academic career speaks for itself.  Into grad school and beyond, I cooled it except for the occasional toke at a party.  Jump ahead to the early 90s on a visit to my little brother-in-law in California – 10 years my junior but a true tied-dyed neo-hippie-and had one of his joints.  He warned me that the THC content of dope these days is way higher than back in mine.  Indeed, I was one toke over pretty quickly but of course finished the joint.  They couldn’t get me off the couch and I missed joining them for their little beach walk that night.  An experience, for sure, but not one I cared to repeat.

That was it until the next century.  I trashed my brachial plexus (tangle of nerves up by the shoulder that makes the arm go) in a bike accident December ’14.  My arm was pretty useless for about 6 months but I adapted and didn’t miss a day of work.  The nerve pain was constant, dampened some by an anti-seizure medication I had to take in such large quantities it made me move like I had Parkinson’s. 

 At the time, “marihuana” could be purchased by people certified by a physician to have one of the several conditions it was supposed to help.  None of my UofM docs would even discuss it.  But $60 and a short consultation with a licensed doc attached to one of the pot shops west of town got me a certificate that I turned into my very own “Michigan Marihuana card”.

The doors of the several local pot shops were open to me now.  Kid in a candy store?  Well, the choices were overwhelming.  The buzz was pleasant and familiar, but didn’t do much for the pain, other than make me care less about it.  I learned I didn’t really care for smoking, even if buzz onset was much quicker than with edibles.  I eventually took all my leaf and turned it into a caramel edible in my Magical Butter machine (1).  My damaged brachial plexus stopped sending out bad messages by the end of 2015, leaving me with quite a stash.  My card became obsolete in November 2018 when Michigan voters passed the Michigan Regulation and Taxation of Marijuana Act, allowing anyone age 21 or older to possess up to 2.5 ounces of weed (2).

Frankly, I gave little thought to my stash until April 2019 when I learned I’d be retiring the coming June.   What would I do with all that idle time?   I do declare, there were times I was so lonesome I took some comfort there.  Zoning out with some of my favorite music from back in the day was pretty nice.  But a funny thing happened with my retirement.  With my big brain no longer tied to the job, plenty of uncommitted time, and a host of things I never had time to tend to or even think about begged for attention.  So much fun stuff was going down I didn’t want to zone out and miss anything.  So my stash stayed on the shelf.

All that stimulation tickled my bipolar gene a bit.  Ben Franklin – ”There’ll be sleeping enough in the grave” – took over.  I got by o.k. on my 4 hours, and Kathy liked how nice the house looked.  But the past several months, too many 3 AM awakenings got me searching for help.  One thing that kept me away from that stash was that back when I was doing it more regularly, it often interfered with my sleep.  Surprisingly, that didn’t happen when I began to take a nibble here and there.  Sleep came, blessedly, and zoning out was just a matter of dosing.  I paid attention to my labels, and indeed “indica” was most sedating with ”sativa” most stimulating and “hybrid” in between.  I finally used up my entire stash, so off to the pot shop I went.  They’re on every corner here in Tree Town.  “Cloud Cannabis” (3) is right next to our favorite party store, 3 blocks away.  How convenient!  It’s all very clean and clinical.  I laid in some edibles, and they’ve worked fine.  But I was expecting sticker shock, and got the opposite.  Now I don’t think they beat the early 70s going rate of $15/lid, but, people, DOPE IS CHEAP!  I bought 8 bags of 10 gummies each for a total of $20 plus tax.  Each gummie has 10 mg THC and for me 50 mg gets a roaring buzz going.  Now do the math on that.  That’s $2.50/bag, or $1.25 for that 50 mg dose.  A buck and a quarter!  A 6 pack of a nice IPA runs about $15, and it takes about 4 of those to get me a nice buzz going.  That’s 10 bucks!  Some of you out there with a history will snigger that I’ve neglected to account for all the snacks that THC is going to have me craving.  Somehow, that’s not one of the effects I get.  My wife is just the opposite.  The munchies she gets are so overwhelming she stays far away from the magical herb.  But my favorite intoxicant has the calories built in.  A 12 oz can of a typical 7% IPA has 200-300 calories.  So my friendly beer buzz comes with close to 1,000 calories.  We all carry some COVID souvenirs, and my main one is this gut, helped along by a knee that wouldn’t let me walk for exercise for a year.  While that gut’s shrinking slowly, there’s still 40 pounds there I don’t need.  At 3500 calories/pound of fat, that’s 140,000 calories to be burned.  Turn off 140 beer nights, and you see how this works.  If I start the program now, I’ll be slim by my birthday (September 4).  Maybe Sly will come along and take me higher (4). Boom lacka lacka lacka.

References

  1. Magical.  https://magicalbutter.com

2. Cloud.  Ann Arbor Recreational Cannabis Dispensary. https://cloudcannabis.com/dispensaries/mi/ann-arbor/

3. Michigan Marijuana Regulatory Agency.  Marijuana in Micihgan: What You Need to Know.  https://www.michigan.gov/-/media/Project/Websites/cra/consumer-connection/2021-lara-child-marijuana-brochure-APPROVED.pdf?rev=8a7de5aa78394b5d932b0bed20b4e20a

4. Sly & The Family Stone – I Want to Take You Higher (Official Audio).  YouTube https://youtu.be/BqWQzOzK3kw?si=jAS-uaSEkKxrlV5v

let’s play 2!

So, maybe there’s some things you can’t expect an old couple to do, like 16-18 innings as Ernie proposed. 

The rest of the yes-no are too long and agonizing to bother with, but we can make 2 concerts in one day!  As we just did, the first in the highbrow atmosphere of Orchestra Hall (1), doubling back to Ann Arbor’s Kerrytown Concert House 7 hours later to hear Pete Siers and his Kerrytown Stompers, a quintet (2).  We know Pete from Firefly Club days (early-mid ‘90s) where he often drummed for groups playing there.  He marched out an impressive group, flanked on stage left by a young banjoist and stage right by a young bearded man wrestling a bass saxophone.  These monsters served as the bass sections of jazz combos from New Orleans right up into the 30s.  The more common bass augment in small jazz groups of this era was the tuba or sousaphone, straight out of the marching band tradition that bore these groups.  The bass sax, even more monstrous, fell back even more quickly to the oncoming string basses.  Yet, it’s unique tone attracted top bandmen of the day and even Duke Ellington included the instrument on some of his charts.  Oh, yeah, you aging wind guys, one with a longstanding jazz club and jazz band plus his talented trumpeter companion kept us in the front row hoppin’.  Sneak a trombonist in a bit later and more the merrier!

So the banjo on one side and big brass bass instrument to the other marks a truly genuine authenticity to the grouping.

As Pete and the boys ripped into it, started by Pete on the washboard, the time to sit and hear what’s up wins out.  Such rollicking stuff, and we hadn’t heard half of these songs before (but we supported them in spirit!).  That had to be the happiest jazz concert we’ve heard since the Firefly shut down.  Such noise and feeling from a few guys.  Then throw in local boogie-woogie sensation Mark Braun (a.k.a. Mr.B), the jazz intensity only goes up a notch (or 2!).  So lucky, the 50 or so people (me too!) who caught them.  We shall return!

The whole concert is up “live” on YouTube (3).  I think ya can pay to see it later, didn’t check how much.

An older concert, maybe 2020 or 2021, is out there with the same roster Pete had for today’s performance (3), so as you decide whether or not to seek this out, just take in these wonderful sounds!I wanted to append this blog with a YouTube of Pete’s performance at the Firefly, but couldn’t find one from so way back. He was such a young’un then.  Any least little trip back to FireFly gets quickly sad, and can get worse.  So sad the state nailed her in August 2009, but those actions have consequences (4).  Your charges found work at Zal Graz Grotto, but it was never the same, junior high gymnasium versus cool cocktail joint.  Trumpeter Don Hicks has coaxed a marvellous jazz club into being right on Main Street (5).  Let’s hope he keeps paying his taxes!.

References

  1. Ike B.  DS”d”’oh”. WordPress 040524.  https://theviewfromharbal.com/2024/04/05/ds-doh/
  2. KERRYTOWN CONCERT HOUSE.   Pete Siers & the Kerrytown Stompers feat. special guest, Mr. B

Pete Siers & the Kerrytown Stompers feat. special guest, Mr. B

3. Kerrytown Concert House.  Pete Siers & the Kerrytown Stompers with special guest pianist Mr. B (Mark Lincoln Braun.  YouTube.  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A4aw-j3dGTU

4. Morgan M.  Firefly Club Closed.  Assets Seized.  Ann Arbor Chronicle 8/14/2009.  https://annarborchronicle.com/2009/08/14/firefly-club-closed-assets-seized/index.html

5. Blue Llama JAZZ CLUB.  https://bluellamaclub.com

DS “d’oh!”

Kathy and I face Friday mornings these days with a face full of free time, so unlike not so long ago, when Fridays made it paramount to getting al least a little work done before the weekend.  Every so often we’ll pick up after breakfast and head East to Dee-troit.  The Detroit Institute of Arts (DIA) is a fine art museum, and every so other features an otherworldly artist, like Van Gogh, giving a wonderful chance to see some of that artist’s best works in a concentrated area (1).  But not far from the DIA on Woodward is Orchestra Hall also, on Woodward, a palace where the DSO has played since shortly after it’s early resurrection (2).  The DSO played its first concert in 1887, only to go slowly out of business until resurrected by a donations program run by some matrons of Detroit society; the new orchestra first played publicly in 1915 and occupied Orchestra Hall 4 years later.  The great building has gone through some changes, notably for a decade as the Paradise Theater, a venue that for 1941-1951 was as important for black jazz and R&B as the Apollo Theater in Harlem.  Renovations since have restored it to its former glory (3).             .

Now, Kathy and I absolutely love the Chicago Symphony Orchestra (CSO).  The intonation and force of their brass ensemble is unparalleled and no orchestra is more disciplined.  Several of our little Chicago jaunts have strung around a CSO performance, and will continue to be.  But our little trip today got me going on some comparisons.  The spark was one of these “jamais vu” experiences expected from an aging brain.  I stood from my seat as I looked around in a pause between the first and second selections, looked around at the seats, balconies, and stage and figured “hey, I’ve got a concert to get home from.  How will I do that?”  Am I leaving from Chicago, Cleveland, Pittsburgh?  The rescue light went on and I realized we’ re in Detroit.

The DSO parking lot is 41.2 miles from my house, quickly accessed by 44’ over a path that is almost all freeway.  Starting at my front step, Symphony Hall (CSO) is 244 miles away, 4 ½ hours of it on a nice train ride.  Google Maps says you can drive it in 3 hr 41’, but where’s the fun in that?  Surely none to be had when you’re playing bumper cars with all the others in the loop.  And what do you gain by the extra effort, time, and cost to come to the Windy City?  None will deny that CSO is among the nation’s 3 finest symphonies, along with NY Phil and Boston (4).  DSO’s still an up and comer.  But Detroit, not Chicago, has their toes dug more firmly in musical history.  Detroit Symphony had been playing publicly for 4 years before CSO launched in, although they rocketed higher, as the cadre of Chicago businessman seeking an orchestra for their town went and “bought” the best conductor available.  By 1904, Daniel Burnham (designer of Chicago’s “master plan”) had designed and built sumptuous Symphony Hall.  Alas, CSO and DSO have never had a battle of the bands.  Maybe they’re working on a home-and-home arrangement.  The DSO nearly saw its history vaporize in the 70s.  The building fell into such serious disrepair by 1970, word came that the once venerable hall would be demolished to make way for a department store.  Local citizens led by DSO bassoonist (and now Trustee) Paul Ganson rallied to save the building. Following a series of marches, several sidewalk performances, and tireless advocacy, the Save Orchestra Hall coalition of musicians, DSO fans, and concerned Detroiters successfully fended off the wrecking ball.  Efforts took over 20 years and cost $6 million, but by 1989, the DSO was back performing in Orchestra Hall.

So, going there is a marvelous experience.  So close and convenient to Ann Arbor.  Yeah, Hill Auditorium can pull in some world class acts, but the Hill wasn’t built for boomers who grew up to exceed 6’.  Many stubby Ann Arborites, so still many satisfied Hill customers.  Then these DSO matinees!  One thing by going, you’re assured that you’ll be most likely to be carded for a senior discount.  But you’ll meet a support staff proficient in handline stumbling, temporary confusion, and bathroom issues.  And no body-shaming.

Of course, designers of Orchestra Hall wanted you to sit in awe of the performance to come.  That happens, as you stare at that stage and with beautiful trim surrounding the “horseshoe”, probably unchanged in 105 years.

Symphony catalogues hit in fall.  But perusal usually hits only a few performances of interest.  Neither CSO nor DSO does full disclosure on it’s offering.  Today’s context caught us with the “Debussy/Rachmaninoff” pairing (1).  

We always love to hear of the faun’s afternoon and Rachmaninoff’s always good for a few fireworks.  DSO’s flautist lifted DeBussy’s faun for a light traipse through the sonic meadow, often suspended by threads as light as spiderwebs.  The Rachmaninoff was no holds barred, so I didn’t think he failed to omit a single instrument on the stage.

But a sandwich can’t be judged without its filling.  Director Jacobsen (who usually picks the program) chose to include: Dun Yun’s “Ears of the Book Co for Pipa and Orchestra”.  To show that we were being ripped away from Western Music, not only were exposed to the composer herself, a short stubby valley-girl equivalent wearing a polka dot black-on-white skirt and with platform white basketball shoes (5).  She promised “snapshots” instead of continuity, and surely delivered.  At least she didn’t sit around to conduct.  She kicky-skipped her way off the stage, but was followed by a countryman (at least by appearance), Wu Man, who was the maestro of the “pipa”, a stringed instrument some chunks larger than a lute (6).  As I watched Ms Man cradle the pipa to her spot on the stage, I turned to my wife and observed “Looks like a 2 man-lute!”

Her 2 little hands were all over that instrument for this section.  For me, string instruments either drive rhythm for a piece or keep it in the background.  Ms Man and her 13-37 strings tinkled away throughout.  The thing could use a pickup, but that would make it unauthentic.  At one juncture, I thought the picklings of the pipa were those of a marsh animal ready to get attacked by all the other instruments.  This seemed to occur without solution, and the pipa dominated the last measure.  Almost as if the non-Chinese bowed down to the Chinese.  I was waving’ no flags.

Even the last bars clarify what a pitiful piece this was.  At the very end, Wu Man was going nuts on the pipa, it settled down almost visibly to where you could see hand grooves on the stage to lift everything up.  It was like the orchestra was plying to keep her little butt plucking away!  And why? As we did get to a nice grove to the left, everybody paused.  It extended enough to the concertgoers who could could pray that the band had ended.  The band continued its pause, 

There’s more to this than getting annoyed with shitty music.  That’s a risk with any big symphony orchestra, who will want to slip in “new” music so it’s offerings might not seem stale.

But this is much different and please stick with me.  The composer of the featured piece is a Chinese Communist National; Du Yun is a Chinese National, alumna of Shanghai Conservatory of Music, Oberlin College (BM), and Harvard University (MA, PhD).  She’s tenured faculty at Johns Hopkins. She wrote this thing.

Do you see the conspiracy yet?  Can’t discern from the CSO website how much Chinese support they get.  They do have a number of Chinese nationals as key players.  Does the Red Dragon supply pressure to feature certain shows?   For sure you can make us put ‘em up, but we ain’t gonna like it.  There’s reason Thayrone Exington like to comment in the right situation “screwed up like Chinese music.”   Save us!  “Just say no” would be a good start.  Who knows what sublimable stuff they have buried.

China is our enemy.  Never forget!

References

1. Detroit Institute of Arts.  https://dia.org

2. Detroit Symphony Orchestra.  https://dia.org

3. Orchestra Hall.  https://www.dso.org/about-the-dso/our-history/orchestra-hall

4. Chicago Symphony Orchestra.  https://cso.org/?gad_source=1&gclid=CjwKCAjwwr6wBhBcEiwAfMEQswSbyOa_LZ7O0Ah3u0n7nWl5QOexnxpM0IhXV1R0DA8sj12TjVgEmxoCCEwQAvD_BwE

5. Du Yun.  Johns Hopkins Peabody Institute.  https://peabody.jhu.edu/faculty/du-yun/

6. Pipa.  Heilbrunn Timeline of Art History.  https://www.metmuseum.org/art/collection/search/500625

still musing

Yes, this is a shameless plug for an Amazon book, but also created to help readers that book to connect with all that is written. I ended up making 5 books out of blogs I’d posted during the pandemic. Musing through a Pandemic they were. In my haste to get them out in 2021, I omitted a considerable section of Musings II. Interpersonal relationships. It was supposed to contain a bunch of musings on my medical career, subtitled in the book “My brilliant career”. Well, I finally added those in, plus a few others that came in after the pandemic “ended”. The musings haven’t stopped, so they’re will surely. be more. With the panemic behind us, a new title was in order: Still Musing: Pondering Interpersonal Relationships.

I post here the table of contents for the new book. I’ll create a tiny URL from/ the URL for this post and include it in the book. Each of the 65 essay titles here is hyperlinked to the original blog, so readers of the paper book have a way to access the links in the original blogs.

Table of contents

friends – musings about those close and dear to me

Goodbye Sam. My first post. Sam, I’m sure, would have become my best friend had he lived. Tho’ our paths had intertwined back to high school, it took Facebook to bring us together. God, how I miss him.

1/12/20 ………………………………………………………………………… 13

see Sam. Collected pictures of my late friend Sam.

1/14/20…………………………………………………………………………. 15

on the list? Something I sent to all those I notified of my new blog.

1/30/20………………………………………………………………………… 25

dinner with the McCarthys. Tall, willowy, athletic, and impossibly cute, plus a neighbor! A relationship smashed by my shyness grows now as mature couples interact.

2/1/20………………………………………………………………………….. 27

flowers. Ya know how when a band reissues an album they find things “in the vault” that weren’t on the original pressing? Here’s a Valentine’s Day story I’ll wait till next VD to post*

2/15/20*……………………………………………………………………….. 29

for Annie Banannie. My fave of all of Kathy’s old school friends.

5/2/20………………………………………………………………………….. 33

missing Nathan. Boy, do I. What a doc. What a guy.

5/11/20…………………………………………………………………………. 35

goodbye, Sue. She led my way through my first book and inspired our village in a long life we all wish could have been longer.

6/5/22………………………………………………………………………….. 51

hey, Tim. From Alaska, right by Denali, comes an old teammate’s request for an update on Michigan sports.

3/15/21…………………………………………………………………………. 55

TDP. My attending who recommended me to the boss, my best man, my chief, and always my friend. So sad to see you go, Tommy

9/1/20………………………………………………………………………….. 71

connections. There could be an old friend deep in that dusty film roll. 6/20/22.         75

Nurse!.  My ‘burg buddy Ott snagged hisself a cute little nurse! And boy, does he need one!

3/6/12…………………………………………………………………………… 75

bye, Barb. Words said at her memorial service sum up my affection, respect, shared last name.

6/7/23………………………………………………………………………….. 85

Cap’n Cosine. Driving, math, and golf. The good Captain taught me all, ever with a smile on his face, and what else do you need?

12/22/23……………………………………………………………………….. 87

“my brilliant career” – reflections on a career in rheumatology

varsity jacket.  Of course, it starts in high school. And sports are a headier achievement than academics, at least back then.

4/14/22…………………………………………………………………………. 93

make it add up, doc. Why an accounting journal would solicit an article from me is beyond understanding, but here’swhat they got, an unforgettable series of events in high school.

4/28/21…………………………………………………………………………. 95

a letter to my English teacher. My first stab at updating my high school English teacher on the last 50 years.

2/10/20………………………………………………………………………… 103

why rheumatology and, um, death?  My high school English teacher asks me why I chose rheumatology and how I confronted death.

3/29/20………………………………………………………………………… 107

Here Comes My Career.  Riffing on an Andy Breckman song, I put to my high school English teacher how my brilliant career unfolded.

5/4/20………………………………………………………………………….. 111

lab prattle. Talk about all that ree-search I was supposed to be doing. 10/1/22.          123

Hyde’n’seek. A romp through those old, cold, gray med school stomping grounds, not seeming so these days.

4/28/23………………………………………………………………………… 125

London ’79. Two magical months among garbage and disorder. And no, Dr. Johnson, I was never tired.

11/10/21………………………………………………………………………… 147

A Proud Line. My link to Britain’s greatest cardiologist through 2 of his students, one my Professor.

4/7/21…………………………………………………………………………… 151

pair-o-docs. It’s all about the clothes.

9/3/22………………………………………………………………………….. 159

flea in the O.R. An account of my role in developing arthroscopy as a tool of the rheumatologist.

11/20/21………………………………………………………………………… 161

all that doctorin’.  Some snaps from my young doctor days.

7/4/21…………………………………………………………………………… 169

thanks, Timbo!  A tribute to a dear colleague for an innovative arthroscopic intervention and a great recipe!

3/29/21…………………………………………………………………………. 171

Bend me, shape me. Reflections on an entertaining medical boondoggle meeting in San Diego.

7/10/20…………………………………………………………………………. 175

Dear Dr. Ripps. My appreciation of pharmacist Andrew Ripps’ efforts to remake rheumatology practice.

1/22/20…………………………………………………………………………. 175

come back West, old man? Gavin Newsome gives this here doc with a lapsed California license a chance to go back to work!

4/5/20………………………………………………………………………….. 177

what kind of Army is this? The California Health Corps takes shape. Without me.

5/17/20…………………………………………………………………………. 179

news for Sara. News to my favorite former fellow and current co-author about the state of affairs at her old institution early May ‘20.

5/5/20………………………………………………………………………….. 183

Gesundheitsgier (“health greed”). The Germans have a word for it. Here’s an urge we should heed more often.

6/29/21…………………………………………………………………………. 189

Oxford. My big paper on arthroscopy was accepted by the world’s premier rheumatology journal and here’s the link

12/27/21………………………………………………………………………… 193

Nayef. I explain to one of my better former fellows who my role models were (and still are), and why.

4/5/21…………………………………………………………………………… 195

Michigan chairs. Yes, it is possible to sit on your accomplishments.

6/1/22…………………………………………………………………………… 199

show-off. I like seals. Follow them and know my history.

10/8/22………………………………………………………………………… 201

stressed and depressed. A Michigan faculty earns a retort from someone who’s been there.

10/28/22……………………………………………………………………….. 211

third phase. Reflections on retirement.

12/11/20………………………………………………………………………… 215

stroke: rheum for improvement?  My cousin asked me about treatments for his brother’s stroke,and I learned maybe thereare some new things we could be doing

9/10/24…………………………………………………………………………. 223

“this life” – miscellaneous musings

a more perfect Union. Coming away impressed after a visit to the refurbished Michigan Union.

1/13/20…………………………………………………………………………. 229

Ann Arbor evening. Home by the fire after 10 days in the Golden State. 1/27/20       233

cross quarter. There’s more to it than the silly groundhog.

2/1/20………………………………………………………………………….. 235

feed my worms. It was time for a new hobby.

2/23/20………………………………………………………………………… 237

on Harbal. Welcome to my beautiful home. Links will give you a good tour around. I’m so lucky.

9/21/20…………………………………………………………………………. 243

I like being old. Yep. And here’s why.

10/2/20.  ………………………………………………………………………. 245

simplify, simplify, simplify. Inspired by my high school homecoming

queen, I reflect on how COVID may be helping us feel better about

some things.

11/18/20……………………………………………………………………….. 251

commandments. From my brother Nick, 12 Commandments for the 60+.

11/29/20……………………………………………………………………….. 253

more third phase.  Reflections in retirement, again.

12/11/20………………………………………………………………………… 255

thank you, Jeff Bezos. What would we do without Amazon?

12/19/20……………………………………………………………………….. 259

dandy dozen. More than just a refrain in a silly Christmas carol, 

there really are 12 days! Celebrate them all!

12/25/20 ………………………………………………………………………. 261

an ode to 2020. Maybe not so bad after all.

12/31/20……………………………………………………………………….. 265

50 years. I relate to a high school friend what’s been happening.

1/22/21…………………………………………………………………………. 267

unsubscribe! Frenzied phone focus in a bar upon learning of an e-mail

option to keep them away.

2/19/21…………………………………………………………………………. 269

happy 90th, Cap’n!  Who doesn’t love Captain Kirk!

3/25/21…………………………………………………………………………. 271

batch. I learn some etiquette for the digital age

4/1/21…………………………………………………………………………… 277

da vinner. Ya got your award-winning writer here.

6/29/24………………………………………………………………………… 279

makin’ t-shirts. A manly activity

1/10/24…………………………………………………………………………. 285

hooked. Hang-ups can be helpful.

1/11/24………………………………………………………………………….. 305

certifiable. May I see your papers, please?

4/9/24………………………………………………………………………….. 315

home improvement. Secrets to a tidy home

1/11/24………………………………………………………………………….. 322

guldhøj. “Mid-century modern? How about Bronze Age!

3/29/23………………………………………………………………………… 325

marmota monax cometh. a little update on our dear groundhog

2/1/24…………………………………………………………………………… 331

hi!  Did you think you could buy a book out of Ann Arbor and not 

read about dope?

4/13/24…………………………………………………………………………. 333

shocked!  So you eyin’ one of those Teslas? Read what you’re getting 

into 6/22/22…………………………………………………………………… 337

ironic. There can be peace in mundane household chores

2/24/24………………………………………………………………………… 347

critics. They’re everywhere!

2/2/24………………………………………………………………………….. 349

Meet the author ………………………………………………………………. 351

rustic pie

You know you’re retired when you wake unsure of what you’ll do with the day then deciding to make a “torta rustica” (“rustic pie” in Italian) for breakfast.  Neither Kathy nor I had ever heard of the dish when we saw it on the brunch menu of Sauces, Italian bar/restaurant attached to the not bad Hilton Garden Inn where we’d stayed after seeing Boz Scaggs the night before at the Capitol Theater in Flint, last August.  They’d not made any tortas yet, so Kathy and I settled for an Italian version of frittata and eggs Benedict respectively, washed down by a couple of nice tall bloody Marys.  But I vowed to check out that dish to see if it was something I could make.

The morning I first wrote this (8/7/23) was the time for that.  Dr. Google had several recipes and I made an amalgam I would try.  Good old open-at-6 Kroger made it possible to pick up the spinach, parsley, and cheeses I lacked.  

The dish is a staple at Italian Easter tables.  I held off on this blog so it would hit in Easter season.  I can see why, as the layered ingredients make for a lovely display.  I could find no Christian symbolism other than that Tortas, with their elaborate meat and cheese display, make a great way to end the 40-day fast of Lent.

And not just for Easter anymore!  This is a dandy, fancy dish that would impress company anytime.  As a pie, it begs some comparisons to quiche (which real men still won’t eat), but that’s pretty egg based whereas Torta gets its substance from cheese and vegetables, maybe one egg in the whole recipe.

All the layering makes it seem kinda fussy, but it’s really a pretty easy recipe, and so impressive at table!

So, you wanna make one?  Here’s what you do.  Let’s go ahead and start with the recipe card.  If you want to see how the pros do it, check out (1).

See here a spread of all the ingredients (except the crust).  Maybe some you may not have laying around the house.  Roasted peppers?  Pancetta/prosciutto?  And a lotta cheese (parmesan, mozzarella, feta, ricotta).  Spinach?  I’m strong to the finich cause I eats me spinach (2).

Those frozen pie shells make it a whole lot easier than it could be, If you envision yourself as a pastry chef, knock yourself out!  But still some TLC is required.  See here as my pastry chef wifey spreads out those shells into the springboard pan.  The latter is kind of important, as you don’t get those tall sides of the pie without it.

After that comes the layering.  Take care with this step as you want those beautiful layers showing when you cut the pie.

She’s a beauty sitting in the oven, and even more when it comes out.

La piece de resistance comes at table.  Now, Italian chefs cool their tortas to room temperature before serving.  But the cutting and service deserves at least a drum roll, and maybe a little snip of Vivaldi.  So you can make this a while in advance and let it set.  A dish that’ll make your Easter table soar, even if you’re not Italian.  Buon appetite! (that’s “bon appètit” in Italian).

References

1. Michele.  Pizza Rustica – A Delicious Easter Treat.  Our Italian Table.  3/23/23.  https://ouritaliantable.com/pizza-rustic

2. PAIP.  Popeye Spinach Compillation.  YouTube. https://youtu.be/gxO758l7JVM?si=ynYexrlQ4pgkKNqy

Auntie KC

So you know where it goes: years of NASA immersion, a decade of telling undergrads how to write, it can only come out as Children’s Books!  That’s where my sweetie dove, big time, and we’re getting ready to reap the efforts.  She’s dabbled in children’s books before, writing 2 that featured her nieces and nephews and their stuffed animals (1).  But with her retirement, she’s had more time to think about the project.  Word of her plans got some interest, and she went serious by joining a writer’s group and employing an actual illustrator for her books.  Yes, books.  She now plans 10 books showing kids across the solar system.  That’ll keep her busy.  The first is just about ready to go.  See the cover below.  

There’s even a “launch date”.   She’ll be publishing on Amazon/Kindle, but is allowed a release date.  That’ll be May 5th, “space day” (the day Alan Shepherd went to space).  She’ll give a talk at the UofM Natural History Planetarium.  Her plans are to deliver her message to elementary school groups far and wide.  Should you want her to visit, contact auntieKC.com.  With kids in the woke sexual sewer these days, it will be great to have them reaching for the sky.

Let’s wish her good fortune as she trains again her eyes upon the stars.

References

1.Auntie KC.  https://www.amazon.com/stores/Auntie-KC/author/B0CTGGKL5T?ref=ap_rdr&isDramIntegrated=true&shoppingPortalEnabled=true

shameless plug

Three years ago, I wrote and published a little book about a tragic incident from my youth. I’ve recently updated it with more illustrations and have just put the update on KDP Amazon. It’s too skinny to be a paperback, but is available on Kindle for a buck. You’ll laugh you’ll cry. Take a chance.

https://author.amazon.com/books/editionsMaster?marketplace=ATVPDKIKX0DER&titleset=B095CPHMKH

Certifiable

The germ may have been planted by my dear late Uncle Jim, my mom’s baby brother.  That’s him on the left.  

He was never given to boast, although he had much to boast about.  He played cornet in Michigan State’s marching band in their first ever Rose Bowl in 1954.  He took his honors management degree to Columbus, where he earned his PhD from The Ohio State University while starting up what would become a very large family.  After dabbling in academia for a year at Louisiana Tech, he took his brood back north to test the waters of the Potomac.  A 32nd degree Mason, like his dad, he credits the secret handshake he gave to his interviewer for securing his post at the Department of the Interior.  The job let him get outside, which he loved, but still led him into some serious bureaucratic work.  

He expanded his family to 10, adopting the last two, calling them all “rugrats”.  When he finally retired after 30 years in Interior, he bought a small farm in Kings County and maybe there found his true self.  His grandparents had been farmers, his dad bolting for the more secure and far less strenuous urban job of fireman.  Uncle Jim grew all sorts of things.  His peaches were prized at the local farmers’ market.  Apples, too.  He loved his sweet corn, and now could enjoy it fresh picked from his own field.  He grew you-cut Christmas trees and had his farm designated a Station Stewardship site for local youth groups to come learn about proper care of the land.  It was there Kathy and I met up with him and wife Joan for the last time.  It was 2002 and Kathy’s time at NASA was running short.  Part of the tour, besides the tractor ride through the property and review of the barracks he and son Rick had built for visitors, was a trip downstairs in the main house.  It was there Uncle Jim had what he called his “braggin’ wall”.  In those decades of public service, he’d bumped into a lot of important people, and their pictures were up there, usually with him.  I don’t think he had the pic my Aunt Dorie (Jim’s younger sister) liked to show: Jim sitting with some Saudi potentate, legs crossed, showing off his white socks atop his wing tips.  Impressive looking certificates abounded, too.  While I came away impressed my Uncle Jim had been a serious and accomplished person, I carried no notion home of replicating the display.  Uncle Jim lived 27 years on that farm before moving in with children on the west side of the state.  He died nearly 5 years ago at age 87.

Then came COVID and Kathy and I realized we each had extensive poster collections that could be displayed.  Hers were space related, of course, and mine leaned to music, particularly the concert posters I’d snatched off walls back in college.  We had a few up already, but now we can count in our living room 15 space posters (including a charming pic of 8-year old Kathy with John Glenn) and 10 music posters, and that’s just the upstairs.  To spice up things, we have a few Michigan posters, like a print of a wolverine in the wild, signed by Don Canham and Bo Schembechler, and an aerial shot of Michigan Stadium and Crisler Arena.  Downstairs, we have such things as a signed portrait of Neil Armstrong in his space suit, a composite of the 137 astronauts active in 1998, a group picture, signed, of the original 7 NASA astronauts, and a composite of mementos from Apollo 11, including a first day cover and several pins and medallions.  Side rooms upstairs, especially Kathy’s office, have more.

From there we came up with an idea as I muttered to my wifey that maybe we should take the bare walls in the back hall from our bedroom to the bathroom and plaster them with the various certificates we’d garnered over the years, creating a “hall of memories”.  Uncle Jim’s “braggin’ wall” was clearly the inspiration.  As 2 academic strivers at it for half a century, we had plenty of impressive-looking paper.  I’d framed and hung my diplomas and other medical certificates in my UofM office, so I had the head start.  They were just sitting in a box waiting to go.  But I don’t think I was prepared for the beast I stirred.  Not only does Kathy have 3 UofM degrees to my 2, she spent some time with an outfit you may have heard about: The National Aeronautics and Space Administration (NASA).  Besides taking us to the moon and Mars and maintaining the satellite systems that make modern life possible, they excel in producing posters, patches, and pins, of which my wife I think owns every one.  Add to that she earned certificates of appreciation right and left while there, some even in Russian.  The notion of a “hall of memories” followed that deep dig into our amassed poster collections, which now hang throughout our house.  I’m thinking of having 1611 Harbal designated a gallery and charging admission.

But the “hall” took a little longer, and still is a work in progress. Even though Kathy got a larger area than me, she’s got it more than covered.  Our bathroom has a sliding “barn” door, which Kathy discovered has enough clearance for thinly framed objects, and they’re going up as I type.  Our first “viewing” was from Cora and Barb, my dear nurses from back in the day who were over for dinner.  They seemed to get their biggest kick out of the line of i.d. cards I’d plastered up, letting them see the young handsome doc before they knew him.  To keep up with my missus, I had to revisit my very youthful youth.  

Of course, I’d saved everything.  Up there now are a certificate acknowledging my service as a lieutenant in the school safety patrol in 6th grade (I actually was captain briefly) and one I earned by winning the biological sciences division in the Kalamazoo science fair when I was a junior.  I’ve just framed some others to go up, including my certificate for completing the State of Michigan Pleasure Boating Safety Course in ’67, and mining the rich lode of achievements as I graduated from little Vicksburg: a general Certificate of Award from the service clubs of the ‘burg, my certificate of merit as a National Merit Scholar, recognition from the State of Michigan for outstanding performance in the state scholarship competition, and my first one from U of M, designating me as a Regents-Alumni scholar.  Yes, 1970 was a very good year for me. 

It’s not all certificates.  Besides the i.d.s, there’s a ribbon from that science fair, the shoulder patch from the security guard uniform I wore for 4 summers at Fisher Body Comstock, the union card I carried for that job (solidarity forever!)  pictures of me with my mentors Bill Arnold and Giles Bole, and the cover from Musculoskeletal Medicine which had some nice art work for my article on arthroscopy.  I snuck in a pic of me with my star fellow Sara and dear colleague Ruben.

In the middle, between the two walls by the window, sits a neutral zone sharing some of our treasures.  Above the window hang 3 canes, given to me by patients who no longer needed them after my treatments.  Below is a bookcase containing our yearbooks (and parents’ yearbooks) plus other things, like a binder containing all my scientific papers, and another 3 binders containing all my best medical slides.  On the top shelf of the bookcase sit our 2 prized trophies: Kathy’s Golden Apple for best Kinesiology teacher in 2019 and my crystal trophy from the American College of Rheumatology for my Clinical Scholar Educator Award 2003-5.  I have a much bigger trophy from the 1968 Kalamazoo Science Fair Kathy wants me to display, but it’s pretty garish, and would tilt the trophy balance in my favor.  Knowing Kathy, she’d find a way to go out and win or discover one to even up.  There’s nothing pretty about an arms race.

Kathy’s walls blow mine away.  Besides the usual certificates, there’s one from then Governor Engler and others in at least 2 languages, and of course her All America certificate (swimming), plus pictures with astronauts and celebrities (Jay Leno, Jean-Michel Cousteau).  Then there’s my favorite, using the space above the transom to display her sports letters and implements.  I’m looking for a spot for her swim goggles to complete the triad of her 3 sports career at College of Wooster.  Wadda gal.

No, it’s not boasting at all.  I look up at that wall and feel all warm and fuzzy for the many years I put into this.  If you come to my house, you’ll see this only if you want to.  It’s off the beaten  path.  But I’ll be proud to show it to you and guide you through it.  It can’t match the razz-ma-tazz of my spacey wifey, but it’s me and I did it all.  Better it’s up on the wall than stuck in some box or binder.  Uncle Jim never got to see my wall, but his kids will.

tall’n’all

I met my buddy Juwan at Pretzel Bell (1) Monday night. I asked him for a picture, reminding him we’d taken one together 3 1/2 years ago. I also mentioned all the mileage I got by the pic seemingly showing me taller than him. I’d maxed out at 6’8″ while Juwan was listed 6’9″ or 6’10” when playing. He stood up and snapped to full height like he was prepping for a playoff game. The new pic tells the story, and I accept it. I’ve seen my compression fractures. More concerning is how we’ve both aged. You’d think with all the stress he’s under, Juwan would show it more.

Also there was our spitfire of a woman’s basketball coach, Kim Barnes Arico. Her girls are having a better time of it this season than Juwan’s boys (18-12, 9-9 Big10 vs 8-22, 3-16 Big10). Kathy knows Kim a little and she says she’s in awe of our height. I had to remind her that Kathy is out of eligibility.

We’re still lovin’ our Wolverine hoopsters, regardless of records. Go Blue!!

Reference

  1. The Pretzel Bell. https://www.thepretzelbell.com