State Of The Union

Have you ever actually attended a Presidential State of the Union address - at the Capitol Building in Washington DC, that is? Not on television, now, but right in the chambers of the U.S. House of Representatives?

I did - one time - along with our son John, in what I believe was the first year of President Jimmy Carter’s term of office.



President Carter

I attended the Convention of the National Religious Broadcasters in Washington DC every year from 1966, through 1990.

Each year I went, I tried to contact our 7th Ohio District Congressman, as well as one of our Senators from Ohio. Over those years, I didn’t make it every time, and with different members, but the year we attended the State of the Union address, Clarence J. Brown, Jr. (Bud) was our 7th District Representative in Congress.

When I visited his office this time, he said, “Would you like to sit in the audience when President Carter gives the State of the Union address?”

(It happened that year during the NRB Convention.)

“Absolutely”, I said. “Can you arrange that?”

“Of course”, he said.

“Could my son attend also?”

“Sure”, he said. “You and your son meet me in my office at (whatever time he suggested), and, together with CBS Reporter Ike Pappas, we’ll ride the Congressional subway over to the Capitol.”

(Bud’s office was, at that time, in the Longworth House Office building, across the street from the Capitol, toward the south side of it.)



Longworth Building, south of the Capitol.

(Double click on the picture, and you can see that designation on the "map".)

John and I were both thrilled. This MAY have been John’s first - of many - times to go to the NRB Convention, representing Moody Bible Institute there.

We arrived in Bud’s office, and he and Ike Pappas were already there. We were introduced, and chatted for a little while, until Mr. Brown indicated that we should “mount” the Subway. He gave us our tickets, and “away we went”.

I just now sent John a “First Draft” of this piece, and he replied, saying he was impressed that when we were sitting in Bud’s office, we all four watched a piece on TV that Ike Pappas had just done. He was sitting there with us while we watched it.

Arriving in the Capitol, we took an elevator to the top of the building, outside the Visitors’ Gallery. While waiting there, Speaker of the House, Tip O’Neill walked through, preceded by what appeared to be a Congressional Page, saying, “Make way for the Speaker. Make way for the Speaker!”

We did, of course.

It seemed to us an interminable amount of time before anyone came to us, looking at our tickets, and starting to admit us to the Chambers. Our tickets indicated that we had “Step Seats”. “What are those?”, I wondered.

It turned out that where we sat was not in a “theater-type” seat, but rather, on one of the steps from the top, down to the spot where Rosalynn Carter and her entourage sat, in the Visitors’ Gallery. We were on President Carter’s left, as he faced the Chamber. Pretty high up, actually. No problem with seeing him, though.

I enjoyed the experience very much, as we “sat in on” a bit of history.

It just now comes to mind, that Congressman Brown introduced in Congress a bill for me one time - somehow concerning the affairs of Christian and Religious Broadcasters. Can’t remember the specific subject now, but my bill was introduced. (Never heard from it since!)

Just another moment in history.

Another year, I visited Senator William B. Saxbe, in his Senate Office Building. I knew Bill when he was in High School in Mechanicsburg. Also, when I sold “Maddex Radio & TV” to Joe Hinton, Bill wrote up the contract, copying it out of a law book he had on his shelf.

While in his office, Bill and I discussed various things, as well as how well WEEC was heard in Mechanicsburg. He could hear it well there.

While talking about visits to Washington DC, and the National Religious Broadcasters Convention, I’d like to brag that, in different years at the Convention - mostly while I was an Officer (Secretary) of the Association, I was able to see up close, speak to, and/or shake hands with Presidents Nixon, Ford, Carter, Reagan and Bush.

Someplace, we have pictures of me, with President Reagan and Vice President Bush. Another, with President Reagan at the podium, and me on the front row of the platform beside him.

With President Carter, the experience was unusual, to say the least. This was one of the years that I was an Officer in the Association.

It should be noted, that when Presidents spoke at the Conventions, the members, officers and crowd were in a roped off area, about 15 feet from the dais. Being an officer, I was right in the front row, just behind the “rope”.

Right after President Carter spoke, he stepped off the platform, and headed right for me, shaking my hand. Others too, of course, but I was the first.

Later, I saw a former co-worker of mine a few years back at Moody, and I walked up to her and said, “Do you want to shake my hand?”

She said, “You didn’t!”

“Oh yes I did!” I said.

“You lucky dog!”

Luck was what it was.

On the occasion of shaking the hands of President Reagan, and Vice President Bush, they were in a small side room, while each of us officers, and some “VIPs” in NRB - mostly noted Television speakers - walked in, and shook their hands, individually, while a Photographer took our pictures.

For several years at the Convention (which ran from Saturday into the next week), my two closest friends in NRB (Bob Ball and Brandt Gustavson) and I attended Church services at either the National Cathedral or the National Presbyterian Church. One year, Bob’s son came to the Convention with his dad, and he went with us. The next year after that, he told his dad when he left home, “Be sure to greet Mr. Gustavson and Mr. Maddex for me.”

Sadly, both of these friends are now in the Presence of the Lord, in Heaven. I STILL miss them both!

Some experiences you remember, and some you don’t. I’ve been amazed that in almost 10 months of reminiscing for this blog, I often can’t think of the right thing, but later - while doing or thinking of something else - it breaks in upon my mind.

Did you know that everything we have ever said, heard, or thought is STILL residing in our brains? That’s memory!

I’ve often said that my memory is not my problem - it’s perfect.

MY problem is RECALL.

Something else amazing: When I indicated on this blog that this was a NEW posting, the site informed me that this one is number 100 of the postings I have made here since last November.

Unbelivable!

Salt Water Taffy

You know what that is, don’t you?

The stuff that sticks to your teeth?

Sure you do, but, BOY IS IT GOOD!

“What is YOUR favorite flavor, Mike?”, you say.

Well, I do like MOST of the flavors, but when you eat the REAL, home made Salt Water Taffy, especially if it’s “dragged” right off the puller, I like VANILLA best. In chunks, not just in “kisses”. They’re OK, but to get a big “glob” of Vanilla, right off the puller, you can’t beat it, for my money.

(That is, if it’s Stanley’s vanilla! What you get in stores these days, all wrapped up nice, not too sticky and all, DOES NOT “hold a candle” to Stanley Powell’s Vanilla Salt Water Taffy. In my opinion, of course.)

Oh……Strawberry is good; Black Walnut tastes fine; and, I like Mint some.

But, did I tell you that Vanilla right off the puller is the best? Well, I meant to.

I never knew much about Salt Water Taffy, until my sister Miriam married Stanley Powell from Springfield. He was a partner with his brother-in-law Bill Coffelt (the founder of the Coffelt Candy Company), and he and Bill (along with Bill’s son, Dwight, in later years) visited various State and County Fairs each summer, making, and selling, Salt Water Taffy, right on the Fairgrounds.

After some years, Stanley split off from the Coffelts, and went out on his own. He and Miriam spent nearly all summer every year, going from one site to the other, mostly here in the Midwest.

When they WERE in this Midwest area, Jean and I - along with our “kids”, would occasionally visit the Powells at some of the Fairs.

I remember one year at the Ohio State Fair when we visited, one of the parts on Stanley’s Candy Wrapping Machine broke and he had to get it fixed. Couldn’t shut down the place, since selling the candy was what “made the wheels go ‘round”, as they say.

He found a place on North High Street in Columbus that could either fix, or replace that part (I don’t remember which), so he asked me to go pick it up.

He stayed, and made more candy - to be wrapped when the wrapper was fixed.

He had a special recipe he used in the candy that made it taste special. It was a secret recipe, and though later on when I helped them for maybe a week at a time on my vacations, I had to know what went into the candy, but for the life of me I can’t remember what were the ingredients, but I followed his instructions to the “tee”. So, I couldn’t reveal the recipe, even if I wanted to.

The first time I went out with them, the biggest problem I had was keeping the syrup (main ingredient) from sticking on the floor. Actually, I found out that the easiest way to keep it off the floor was to NOT SPILL IT! For that first week, Stanley spent a good bit of his time, either cleaning up the syrup on the floor, or eventually, having me do it. He NEVER spilled it, by the way.

A feature that I NEVER got on to, was how high to cook the “batter”, depending on the heat and/or humidity on the Fairgrounds. The humidity really determined the temperature on the big Candy Thermometer stuck in the mess.

Stanley would say, “We’ll cook it at 248 today”, or whatever temp he thought was best.

The Thermometer was not a little glass thing like Jean used when she made caramels at Christmastime. This one was BIG, attached to a long, wide wooden “paddle” that stayed in the candy until just the right time. At the beginning, it was stirred. When the time came, (whenever that was, I never figured out), there was to be NO MORE STIRRING. Just watching the thermometer on the “paddle”, determining when to “turn off the gas”.

When that time came, the candy had to be poured out in a buttered pan for cooling (twenty pounds at a time, actually). When it cooled enough (I didn’t know when that was either), it was lifted off the pan and “loaded onto” the “puller.

Here is picture of plans for a puller:



You’ve probably seen a puller. It has these four crooked arms that rotate, (on some models, a stationary arm as well) and “pull” the taffy until it becomes the right consistency (whatever that was). Loading it onto the puller was a big task in and of itself. If the taffy was too soft, or even too hard, it didn’t “load” properly.



Actually, now that I think about it. You could partly tell when it was “pulled” long enough, by the color and texture of the candy.



I’ll never forget the first time I “tasted” a glob of that Vanilla after Stanley reached into the puller cabinet, and pulled off a big chunk for me. I don’t remember when that was, or where. That wasn’t important. What WAS important, was the taste of that Vanilla Taffy.

Whew!

After the taffy is “pulled”, and of the right consistency, the puller was stopped, and a worker (eventually me) took it off, formed it into something like a long “python”, making the end smaller and smaller, until it would fit into the “wrapper”.



The Wrapper was one of the most ingenious machines I’ve ever seen. It was noisy “as all get out”. It had a large roll of waxed paper on one side that was fed into the wrapper just right, and when it came out the other side, it had been cut; placed in one of the “jaws” of the machine, then as the wheel rotated, a knife cut off just the right amount of candy to be placed in that paper. Then as the wheel was rotating, a pair of wire “twisters” reached over and twisted the paper around the candy.

By the time that piece made it 'round the wheel, it was “pushed out” into a basket, all wrapped and ready to sell - and EAT.

My recollection of it is that there were not too many of those Candy Wrapping Machines in the country, and Stanley and Bill had several of them. When parts were needed, one of the older machines was “cannibalized” for parts, and he was back in business again.

The wrapped candy was then laid out on a long table in front - each flavor by itself - waiting to “mouth water” some kid, or adult.

Though most people had favorite flavors, the most popular was a mixture. Those of us down by the table gathered up a variety, or whatever the customer wanted, put it in a box on a scale measuring a pound, then closed and put it in the customers’ hands.

A favorite question the Fair Goers had was: “Got any samples?” We didn’t - generally.

One of the results of my several trips with them (one fair at a time, actually), is that I now sleep on a relatively hard bed.

When I was with them at the Michigan State Fair in Detroit the first time, Stanley put a mattress right on the floor of the truck, beside the puller and wrapper for me, and I “slept like a log”. There was some noise on the Fairgrounds, even at night, but I still slept right through. Since I took their mattress in the truck, they went to a Motel.

Ever since, I require a relatively hard bed. In fact, in Chicago after that, Jean and I put a plywood board under our mattress. Felt just like the one at the Fair.

Where we lived in Chicago was in an apartment on the second floor. Right across the hall from us was an elderly couple. Mr. Libkeman was in his nineties, and though his wife was elderly, she worked some time during the day at Smucker’s. At that time, Jean kept watch over him for her.

Jean and Mrs. Libkeman got to talking one day about beds, since she had back trouble.

Jean told her about putting the plywood in the bed, so somehow, she arranged to put one in their bed. They got it themselves.

The next morning, Jean asked her how they liked their bed this way, and she said, “It was OK, but the board was so hard, it made my back sore”. Jean checked, and lo and behold, she had put the plywood ON TOP of their mattress, rather than underneath, and they tried to sleep on that board!

We all had a good laugh about that.

I guess Mrs. Libkeman’s bed had very little to do with the story I was telling about Salt Water Taffy, but as I do so many times, I just wrote what came into my mind at that time.

That’s called “free association” writing.

free as·so·ci·a·tion

n
1. spontaneous expression of thoughts: the spontaneous and uncensored expression of thoughts or ideas, in which each one is allowed to lead to or suggest the next

Encarta ® World English Dictionary © & (P) 1998-2005 Microsoft Corporation. All rights reserved.

I do it all the time on this blog. YOU know it!

Granddaghters to Canada

If you’ve only known about the International Travel Restrictions in recent months, or maybe years, this story will seem incongruous to you.

Why?

Because it’s about Jean and me taking Molly and Kelly with us to Canada years ago, without visas, passports, or even very much of a problem.

I can’t recall the year it was, nor the ages of the girls, but I’m assuming it was at ABOUT the age that this picture shows them to be:

Kelly on the left; and Molly on the right.



Kelly thinks they were 2 or 3 years older than these pictures. Probably right.

We often took our grandchildren with us on trips - as some of my previous postings on this blog indicate.

I don’t remember the occasion, nor the reason for it this time, except we “gloried” in doing so.

I may have mentioned here before, but if not, I HAVE nearly everywhere else:

“Jean was the BEST Grandma I have EVER run on to!”

I saw and heard her up close. These forays with ANY of them were SPECIAL for her.

How we happened to decide on Canada, I don’t remember. I think it’s entirely possible that we just “set out”, and “followed our noses” as we went. I know for sure we hadn’t made any Motel reservations ahead of time.

As would be expected in traveling from Springfield to Canada, the most direct route - and we took it - was to go north to Detroit, and then take the Tunnel into Windsor, Ontario.

We MAY have driven around the City of Detroit before we entered the tunnel, but I don’t know for sure. I imagine both Kelly and Molly would remember some things, but I hate to bother them again. I’ve done so, so many times in the last few months, digging in their memories about the things we did with them.

Jean and I had been to Canada before - in fact, many times. We even drove from Montreal across Canada to Toronto one time. It was on National Highway 401, I think. (At least that’s its present designation.)

I also just now remember that I wondered about my CB radio in the car, not knowing if it were allowed there. Or, was it my in car Mobile Telephone? Probably the latter. We had no problem with it, however.

Naïve as we were, we were a LITTLE shocked that the Immigration officials just inside Canada looked a little “askance” at these two middle aged folk taking two pre-teen girls across the border.

Not shocking now, right? Even adults have to have a passport to cross these days.

But, as I said, we were naïve.

At one time in our travels with our grandchildren, either we, or one of our “kids” got the idea of providing for us a written description of their children, as well as written permission for “Myron B. and Wilma J. Maddex” to care for their children - including any medical care they might need.

However, I don’t think we had done that yet this time. My guess is that this experience may have helped to “trigger” such written statements from their parents.

At any rate, we were “pulled over”, asked to show identification, and asked to “prove” that we were, in truth, their grandparents. The girls saying so, I think, didn’t “cut the mustard”.

I’ve just “broken down” and called Molly, for her memory. She’s just getting in the car to pick up her son Ben from some activity he’s in, and will call me back.

After Molly got in her car, she called me back.

She thinks that the statements from the parents had already been made, and that was why they eventually let us go, BELIEVING that we were their grandparents. That makes sense, and gives a reason for the officials to even let us go, though they had stopped us. I don’t remember coming back to the U.S. as being so hard.

Though Molly thinks not, I do believe we rented a Motel Room in Windsor - spending the night.

How far inland we may have gone, neither of us is sure, but Molly said she remembered that we were traveling in our Station Wagon.

Molly said, “I remember riding in that station wagon a lot when we were young”.

JUST NOW, I talked to Kelly, and she agrees with Molly that I showed some kind of paper to the authorities to attest to our position, and that would be the statements from the parents, of course.

Also, Kelly agrees with Molly that, though we probably drove around Windsor, neither of them thought we were in a Motel, nor drove out of Windsor, very far, at least. The two of them have convinced me that we DID NOT stay over night.

Also, Kelly definitely remembers calling her mom, FROM CANADA, just to say that she was calling from another country (collect, one would presume.)

By the way, as is with “the way of all flesh”, they didn’t stay that young. Now, I have to use TWO pictures for them, because Molly lives in Indiana, and Kelly in Florida. And, THESE are current!

In THIS picture, Molly is on the left, and Kelly the right.















They each have a “blog” on the Internet, that I check daily (Sometimes more frequently!):

http://mollysabourin.typepad.com/

http://kellyjeanfarmer.blogspot.com/

Wonderful memories - even though they’re often incomplete.

Old age does that to you, you know!

Maybe right here I should admit that I’m probably obsessive in telling about my being old - and especially, 85 - since I mention it so often.

I am, after all, a BLABBERMOUTH!

(Look it up in the Dictionary. My picture is there!)

Arts In The Park

I’m going to TRY to recall some details of the three times I rode the Grand Court Bus down to Cliff Park here in Springfield in July.

(It seems to me that another name for this series was “Summer Arts Festival”.)

I had not been to one of these affairs since Jean and I took some of the grandchildren there, years ago.

When I saw on the Activity Schedule that several “shows” would be visited by the Bus this summer, I wasn’t very interested. Oh, Jean and I enjoyed the times we went, but we could never get there early enough to get seats very close to the front - and, all the “lawn chairs” put there on the morning of the event to save seats, kinda bothered me. (Was I just jealous because OUR chairs weren’t there?)

When I saw the July Activity Schedule, I noticed that Meredith Willson’s Broadway play “Music Man” was scheduled for July 5. I had seen that as a movie several years ago, and I really enjoyed it. Why not take it in?

I asked our Activity Director (Oh…I know that’s not her RIGHT title, but I can’t think of it right now) how this worked. She said, “Well, I take our lawn chairs down real early in the day - reserving a place for us when we arrive. Then, at 6:45PM, we all get on the bus and ride down there. The show starts at 8PM, so we’re there in plenty of time. Be sure to ‘sign up’!”

Works for me!

Early arriver that I am, I was in the Lobby at 6:30, but no one was there. The bus wasn’t even in the front parking lot. “Oh well”, I thought, “They’ll be here before long.”

Shortly, Timi (that IS her right NAME) came by and said, “Let’s load up!” I think nine of us got on - just before 6:45. We “loaded up”, and took off for the Park.

Going down Fountain Boulevard, Timi said, “Oh Mike! Does your BlackBerry have an alarm on it? I have to give Betsey her pills at 8PM, and I don’t want to get out my phone while I’m driving.”

“Of course”, I said.

So, I set my alarm to ring at 7:55. (Good thing, because an announcement was made that phones/pagers should be turned off during the show.) The alarm sounded at the proper time. Timi heard it and gave Betsey her pills.

We got to the Park, and drove right through the barrier (the attendant permitted it) to the Bus parking lot, near the seating. We all got out and headed for our “already set up” chairs, while Timi pulled along the ice chest (for snacks).

Our chairs were just in front of the paved walk, and we were set for the evening.

Prior to the show, there was recorded music played over the PA system, while people were being seated.

The show began on time, and we were treated to an enjoyable evening by excellent local talent. At times, I had a little difficulty hearing all of the dialogue (I may not have taken along my hearing aids.), but the music and singing were excellent, and the plot was well understood.

The ice chest produced potato chips, barbecue chips, Reese’s Peanut Butter cups, another snack I don’t know the name of, and bottled water.

After about an hour, there was an Intermission, and “the hat” was passed for contributions to offset the shortfall in the budget for the summer. It was announced that it “appeared” that this crowd was maybe the largest ever in the history of several years of these Festivals.

At the end, I was VERY glad I had come. It was very enjoyable. While there, I saw several friends of former years that I hadn’t seen for a long time.

Three nights later, the Festival featured the “Paragon Ragtime Orchestra”. Someone told me that old time silent movies would also be shown. Sounded intriguing to me, but since I hadn’t signed up, I probably couldn’t go, because of no room.

I went to the lobby anyway, along with a light jacket and my cap, being on standby in case someone didn’t show up. Sure enough, not everyone came, so there was room for me. (The bus holds about a dozen people.)

At precisely 8 o’clock, the Ragtime Orchestra came on stage, and after an introduction by the Conductor, they started playing.

I noticed a movie screen behind the stage, and the Conductor said that his orchestra resembled the Movie Theater Orchestras of the 1920’s that played while silent films were shown.

“When it gets dark,” he said, “We’ll watch Buster Keaton, Harold Lloyd and Charlie Chaplin in old time silent movies.”

They played some music circa early 1900’s, and it was pure “ragtime”, as I remember the sound repeated in the 20’s.

At just before dark, the Conductor introduced a Buster Keaton silent movie comedy, and the orchestra accompanied it, providing, in some cases, sound effects occurring there. Just like in the early 1900’s, he explained.

Following that, a Harold Lloyd film was shown, also a comedy, with the usual accompaniment. When the orchestra was silent sometimes, I forgot that it had been THIS orchestra providing the background for the film.

At intermission, workers “passed the hat” again this time, receiving gifts to help offset the deficit.

By this time, it was total darkness, and a Charlie Chaplin comedy routine and movie was shown, again accompanied by this “Ragtime” orchestra.

All very enjoyable.

The final time I went, was for a program featuring Warren Hill, a Jazz saxophonist. I was not as enthralled with the “show” as I had been with the other two. Totally determined, I am sure, by my dis-interest in this “modern” Jazz being played. The talent and presentation of the music was outstanding, and MANY in the crowd stood, clapped, and danced to the music.

Just NOT my “cup of tea”, as we say.

When we arrived, there was a “set-up group” playing Jazz, but, as it turned out, was not as loud and heavy “jazzy” as the last one. Though the music was not my type, I did enjoy the talent and expertise displayed. It was Jazz, but not as “radical” as the later group, in my opinion.

Our group stayed until the Intermission of the Warren Hill group, but two of our folk returned to the Bus EARLY in the program.

On the bus while returning home, I asked our group how many enjoyed the “first” group better than the “second”. Several raised their hands.

Oh………the last time, we didn’t have our chairs set up before hand, since Timi thought it MIGHT rain. We took the chairs with us. Getting them out of the bus and into the crowd required a little additional help, so I picked up some chairs, and the “pull along” ice chest to help. Same at the end. Fortunately, the bus has a hydraulic lift at the back, so walkers, wheel chairs and lawn chairs could be “lifted” up and down.

An additional feature was that I left my jacket on the ground near where my chair was sitting. I thought of it after we had re-loaded the bus. Timi went back and got it. I was a LITTLE nervous, since my check book was in the pocket.

"All's well that ends well",an old Mechanicsburg saying.

Looking back, I rather wish I had started attending these affairs earlier than I did. I apparently missed some good ones.

Besides the enjoyment, the trips provided a diversion from my computer, and the books I’m reading. I have taken, and still will be taking, some more trips on the bus, and I MAY write about some of them, “if the spirit moves me.” (A good old Mechanicsburg phrase.)

Random Memories IV

Here’s part of what I wrote at the beginning of Random Memories:

I think I’ve mentioned before that when different stories, or “memories” come to mind, I jot them down - either here on the computer; or in my BlackBerry if I’m out of the apartment (or in bed!); or even on any piece of paper available, if I have a pencil.

WARNING! I’m going to start relating one “short” incident after another, including what I can remember about it, then move on to the next one. I don’t mind admitting, that if more incidents on that subject come to mind, I very likely will extend that into its own “posting” on this blog.

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Cell Addiction

This morning, right after breakfast, I headed out to the Speedway Station on Upper Valley Pike, to get cash from the Chase ATM for my trip to Florida tomorrow, when I’ve planned a visit with our granddaughter Kelly and her family.

I left in kind of a hurry, since I’ve got a lot of things to do today - not the least of which is to finish packing my “pull along carry-on” suitcase. But, I didn’t want to miss breakfast!

Since it was a little “chilly” this AM, I got out my light jacket and my blue cap, and “rushed” out the door. I wanted to get back in time for our daily exercise program. I’ll miss a week of it starting tomorrow, while I’m on vacation.

In addition, I have an 11:00 o’clock appointment with the ENT clinic for a check up and adjustment of my Unitron hearing aids. And, some time today, I need to write a check for my monthly stay at The Grand Court. (The other bills basically are paid automatically by my bank - when due.)

So, I was in a hurry. (I have to explain my goof some way)

About half way there, something caused me to reach for my Cell Phone, normally connected to my belt. Probably a bell ringing on the radio, or something.

Whoa!!!

Where is it? It wasn’t on the side seat of the car. It hadn’t fallen on the floor.

Where IS it?

Suddenly, as if a light went on over my head, I recalled plugging in the battery charger to the phone after coming back from breakfast. Dummy me, I left it OFF the charger all night, and the battery was very low. Uncharacteristically, I then went out the door without my BlackBerry!

“Oh well”, I thought. “I won’t miss it for a half hour.”

Ya wanna bet?

“Wow”, I thought. “This would make a nice story for my blog. I’d better note it on my BlackBerry so I don’t forget. (Beat) Oh……I don’t HAVE my BlackBerry, It’s at home on the charger.” What’ll I write it on? Nothing.

So, all the way there and back I kept saying to myself “Cell addiction”, “Cell addiction. Cell addiction."

I thought I might suffer some withdrawal symptoms, since I am definitely addicted - but I didn‘t. At least I don’t think I did.

What ARE the “withdrawal symptoms”? How would I know if I had them?

Maybe a “nervous twitch”? Or a “runny nose”? Or constantly saying, “Cell addiction”, “Cell addiction”, “Cell addiction“. How would I know?

I did make it through the ATM withdrawal OK.

I thought I should check my “Shopping List” on my BlackBerry, as I do every time I go out. I find it is helpful for a “forgetting” guy like me to have a “list” to follow for shopping purposes. I started to check it - it wasn’t there!

What else is going on today? I’d better not forget. Check my daily “date book” on the BlackBerry. Oops, no BlackBerry.

Check to see if I’d missed any calls. No phone!

(Can you take anything for this nervous “tick” in my right cheek?)

Is someone missing? I seem so alone.

When I finally got back to the apartment, I grabbed up the BlackBerry right away to check. No phone calls. No e-mails. No text messages. Not even any “daily reminders”, such as five minutes before Exercise time. (It was too early for that.) It was just sitting there on the bedside table, “not doin’ nothin’”. Calm as could be.



I guess I DID get along for a half-hour without it, AND, the phone got along OK without me, sad to say.

I MIGHT have said, IF I was hooked, “Did you miss me? I’m terribly sorry I left you right here by yourself.”

I didn’t, and I wasn’t missed.

But, WOW, it sure seemed strange to not have that “crutch” hanging from my belt - ringing or not. Just knowing it’s there, gives me a sense of “belonging”.

Hold it right there! I’m not THAT “bonkers”, am I?

Don’t answer that.

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Jenny

Jean and I “inherited” a cute little French Poodle named “Mademoiselle Genevieve” - a French name, of course, but we right away called her “Jenny”.

She belonged to our 2 year old second grandson, Bobby. His mom and dad bought her from George and Kathy Key, here in Springfield.

She was a cute, fluffy doggie with gray hair.

I think Bobby liked her, at first. However, after a fairly short time, he got so he didn’t like her. I THINK it might have been her breath, since he called her “Yukky, yukky Jenny.” It might also have been because of where they lived at Cleveland, or the neighborhood, or something else. I’ve asked him to tell me what he remembers.

“Under-bite and bad breath”, he said.

For whatever reason, he gave her to Grandma Jean, and she was DELIGHTED to get her! I thought she was a real cute and nice dog, but I didn’t get as attached to her as Jean did.

Jean held her in her lap quite a lot, even when she was reading, or watching television, or telling me how much she loved me. She DID do that, you know. We told each other that - OFTEN! (How do you think we stayed married for 65 years?)

Jenny was not always the nice, cute little creature that we loved so well. Sometimes, especially when we were not home, she seemed to get real angry, because she began “tearing up” our sofa. We thought it was because she was angry with our leaving her. Who knows?

One especially bad time, was when she tore up the sofa while we were at the Dayton Airport, picking up Mel Johnson - for meetings and the WEEC SHARATHON. We came home, and the sofa was a mess!

Jean was chagrined! Especially just before such well known company had arrived.

In later years, Mel always stayed at the Holiday Inn when he came. I hadn’t thought about it, but was it because of Jenny? Nah…..I’m sure it wasn’t.

As poodles go, Jenny was a rather small dog, but when she realized a dog (large or small) was walking by on the sidewalk, she became almost berserk. We’d open up the door, and she would go “tearing” across the porch to the ground, never even using the steps, but would stop before getting to the sidewalk where the dog was. They were ALL larger than she was.

Over time, Jenny became a real buddy to Jean - like when I was gone to the Office all day, and especially when I would go away to NRB in Washington DC for nearly a week.

On New Year’s Eve, when we had our grandchildren here, Jenny joined right in for the celebration of banging on pots and pans at midnight. She would run outside right away, looking for who knows what.

I don’t know how many years Jean had Jenny, but they were joyful for her, for sure.

I enjoyed her also.

Mademoiselle Genevieve was a nice dog!

Hot Air Balloon Ride

Not by me, thank the Lord - but by one of my fellow residents at The Grand Court. Here is Betty Bohn (bone), realizing a life-time ambition, to soar in a balloon, now, on her 81st birthday:



She didn’t do it by herself, no sirree. We were there, along with Betty’s family, and about a dozen Residents and Staff of The Grand Court. That is, we all gathered together in our front reception lobby, with our coats/sweaters, in case the weather got cold. No rush.

The bus was scheduled to leave between 3:15 and 3:30PM. Several of us had gathered in the Front Lobby waiting to get on the bus. Timi, our Intrepid Activities Director went to the back parking lot to bring around the bus. Long pause…….no bus arrived.

Shortly, Timi came to the lobby from inside, and announced a short delay. The bus gearshift somehow came off in her hand, as she tried to put it in gear. Couldn’t get it to engage again.

She said “not to worry”, and mentioned that she and Judy Falloon, our Marketing Director, were working on borrowing a bus from The Sterling House, a sister facility also belonging to Brookdale Living, which is the umbrella corporation with several similar facilities in the US. Sterling House is 4 or 5 blocks down Middle Urbana Road.

Great idea, except that Sterling House announced that recently, their bus had been driven under a canopy too low for the bus, and that it was stuck there.

Judy and Timi worked for 30 minutes or so, to get another bus.

Finally, someone suggested that we could maybe take 3 or 4 private automobiles - “piling us all in”, for the ride to Pickerington, just east of Columbus. Several cars were volunteered.

Then, Timi remembered that it is the Policy of Brookdale Living that, for safety and legal reasons, NO RESIDENT is to be placed in a private automobile for any outing.

Makes sense, from the liability standpoint.

The two ladies worked for another 15 minutes or so, to find a solution.

The final deal: Betty’s family will pick her up, while Timi and another Staff Member would drive separately, to provide coverage of the event, and some of the pictures shown here. I had planned to take my own pictures for this, as well as a possible video of the whole shebang.

Not to be!

Betty was loaded into her family’s car; Timi and Staffers Donna Holbrook and Judy Falloon took off in Timi’s car, and these pictures are the result. I found out the next day that staff member Judy Roberts was there also.

An interesting thing is: there were no “cry babies” in the group who had not been permitted to go.

We all agreed that the old Quaker saying, “It’s better to mind the checks, than to go off on your own”, was in play here. That is, a “check in the spirit”, like an unforeseen obstacle in the way, MIGHT be sufficient reason to “back off” from the project. One of the residents said that she would rather wait here, than have to wait along the road, or even in Columbus, AFTER a breakdown.

That’s what we did.

We all sang Happy Birthday to Betty one more time before she left, and we bid the two car loads Godspeed. And, I’m told, as the balloon started to ascend - with her in it - those on the ground sang it for her again.

Now, the next day, we discovered that Timi had taken 102 photos of the event, along with a separate video. I suggested a Town Meeting of all the residents, where Betty and Timi could narrate all the pictures, and we would watch the video also.

We’ll see.

Here’s a montage of several (not 102) of the pictures - before, during, and after the ride.:

Balloon starting to fill up with hot air:





Patiently waiting (Daughter with her.):



Family waiting:




Don’t panic! It’s how they get the balloon to fly:



Inside the basket:



Up, up, and away!



Thar she blows!




Actually, far away from the High Tension wires:




Up and down, but never real low:



Coming lower:



Coming down:



45 minutes from the start, nearly down:



Grab the basket!




Back to the walker - SAFE AND SOUND!



Here‘s all of our group who attended, with the family. (Except Timi, who took the picture.)



Now we learn that they couldn’t ascend from the original location, but rather, several miles south. And, for the “ground crew” (family, etc.) to follow, it took them over some rather treacherous back roads. Who knew where the darn thing would go?

The ride lasted 45 minutes, and to Betty, it was the thrill of a lifetime. We other residents wanted to share it with her, but it was not to be.

All 102 of these pictures will hopefully be seen by all of us, narrated by Betty and Timi, as well as a video of the whole thing.

For the rest of us who didn’t get to go, we can remember what the Chicago Cubs fans have said for over 100 years: “Wait ‘til next year!”

Here’s Timi, our photographer, and Intrepid Activities Director, up close:

Sister Bay

Ever hear of this place? I hadn’t until we started attending the Addison Street Baptist Church in Chicago. Addison Street had a “Swedish” background, and was a member of the Chicago based Baptist General Conference.

The pastor there when we started attending was Aymond Anderson, a several generation Swede, I think. I don’t know much about his background, except that prior to coming to Addison Street, he had pastored a General Conference Church in Door County, Wisconsin - in the town of Ellison Bay, actually. Though their retirement home was in “next door” Sister Bay.

I say, “Pastor Anderson was a Swede”. Actually, in comparison to a few families in the church, he was almost an outsider. WE certainly were.

We NEVER felt it, though. We felt right at home. Our kids were in the Youth Group there - at least the boys were. Martha was real young. Jean attended the Ladies’ Group, and taught Sunday School. I was Sunday School Superintendent, then Christian Education Director, followed by Choir Director. We felt right at home.

Because of Pastor Anderson’s experience at the small Conference Church in the Sister Bay area, he, Mildred, and their four boys felt like that was their home. As soon as they left Sister Bay, he planned his retirement there.

They went there on their vacations, and he sometimes “took meetings” there, at the same time.

He talked about it so much, that we actually “longed” to go there. It sounded like an ideal location.

Because of my association with him in the Sunday School, Christian Education and Choir, he recommended me to the Ellison Bay Church for a week long “Series of Meetings”, in which I would preach, teach and sing.

It turned out to be, really, a paid vacation.

There was fishing, swimming, boating, miniature golf and sight seeing.

The pastor there, Harvey Clark, had a small row boat, or skiff or whatever it was called. It was a sail boat, actually, Jim remembers. He took us out on the boat whenever we wanted.

And, Jim also reminds me, we went “water skiing” for at least, MY first time. Bud and Dot Larson, members of Addison Street, also spent their vacations there. They provided a boat, long rope and several water skis.

Here’s what “Wikipedia” says about water skiing:

Water skiing usually begins with a "deep water start" or a dock start. The skier crouches down in the water (knees bent, arms straight, leaning back), with the ski tip(s) pointing up and the ski rope between the skis or, if using one ski, on either side of the ski.

When the skier is ready, the driver accelerates the boat to pull the skier out of the water. The key to getting up is patiently staying in the crouched position, letting the boat create enough force against the ski to pull the skier out of the water. Common mistakes are trying to stand up too early and breaking the straight backed, bent knees position.

In addition to the driver and the skier, a third person known as the spotter/observer must be present. The spotter's job is to watch the skier, and inform the driver if the skier falls. Communication between the skier and the occupants of the boat is done with hand signals. It is also the spotter's job to watch the skier's hand signals and pass on the messages to the driver. Speeds and length of the rope will vary with skill and competition events.

I didn’t know all of that, but I have to tell you, not knowing a thing about it, I was shocked at how EASY it was to be pulled up straight, and follow the boat through the water. It was so easy, that the first time, I pitched head first into the water.

We all had on life jackets, of course. I SURELY needed one, if I was going to live through this.

When Jim went out one time, his life jacket came off, so he had to let go of the rope, and then “tread water”. Though there was some concern, we remembered that Jim was an excellent swimmer, and in fact, had been a Life Guard at our Chuch Camp at Round Lake, IL. We were a little anxious until the boat actually picked him up, though.

Sometimes there are consequences from our good times, especially if we have not prepared properly for them - such as adequate sun screen and covering for the bare parts of our bodies.

While we were there in the “meetings”, we were provided a small “barracks” for our family to sleep in.

The problem that night, was, that we were ALL badly sunburned. Sleep with a burning back? No way. We were up and down all night.

In addition, a pair of raccoons showed up at our door, tipping over the garbage cans, and banging on the lids. Sounded like New Year’s Eve. It seems to me like they were there every night, though we tried to be sure the cans were well covered and protected.

There was a Cherry Canning Factory there in Sister Bay, or was it rather, Ellison Bay? THAT was where the church was located. Right next door to Sister Bay.

Anyway, we were given a tour of the canning factory, and watched the cherries being “pitted”, de-stemmed (proper term?), washed, sugared and canned. Kinda awesome. Pastor Anderson always said that he would never eat a “maraschino cherry”, since they were made from the rejects. Ooh. I could never quite accept that condemnation of his. I had seen too many “whole” maraschinos.

But what did I know?

We had a wonderful family vacation there, and the sun burns finally assuaged.

We’d go back again, if we weren’t so old, and maybe if the opportunity presented itself.

Oh……….I think the boys and Martha had their first experience with a “driving range” there. Somewhere, we have a picture of Jim swinging the club.

You’d love it if you could see me trying to water ski!

We REALLY enjoyed our stay there, and actually, hated to come home to Chicago.

Sister Bay.....WE LOVE YOU!