Uneducated Yanqui Birds

I have a (at least to my wife) weird habit of feeding the birds (must a May Poppins hangover). I like to fill a bird feeder and watch the different wild birds patronize it. I usually put it where it can be seen while I eat. Buddy and I team up to disabuse the local squirrels from assigning themselves to the avian phyla. That partnership has a spotty history. We have a couple of very large hawks patrolling our hilltop which is more effective in keeping the squirrels at bay than the Wonder Pooch. Unfortunately they take breaks or are eating one of the furry pests so there are times when Buddy goes ballistic and throws himself at the door to get to the bird feeder and I know one of his grey clad friends is outside at the feeder.

Meanwhile - Out in California

I say all this because this past weekend my wife took up the calling. She tried a technique they use down in Panama when she spread slices of papaya out on the deck. She proudly claimed this would attract hordes of birds. After twenty four hours and not a single bird sampling the offered fruit she was a little upset with our local fowl, claiming they were completely uneducated. Even the squirrels didn’t seem to be interested and I thought they ate anything (I probably shouldn’t have mentioned that to her). She took the whole thing as a personal affront. She’s holding out hope the birds that flew south for the winter and appreciate a good papaya layout will arrive and rescue her tarnished reputation for bird husbandry.

My Wife's Under-appreciated Papaya Slices

Yesterday was our first day in a while back at home for the entire day and since the Maine Musquetera is arriving tonight, for their NYC thunder run tomorrow, a lot of time was spent on house cleanliness. The magic of the roses proffered upon her return are waning because I received a series of lectures yesterday on my failure to maintain certain levels of cleanliness during her absence. She’s also full into planning mode for our move across the street in a couple months. The flower beds there are in for a huge surprise when she arrives, they’ll never know what hit them.

Winged Crisscrossing

Yesterday was spent bouncing around the southern corners of New England for very good reasons. We started out with a journey south into the traffic quagmire known as Connecticut with a new destination in mind. Instead of our usual trip to New Haven to catch a NYC bound train we veered north of Hartford to pick up Wingman who’d caught a red eye flight from L.A. He flew back to support a friend who lost his father unexpectedly (kind of who he is). He had a couple of free hours so we trekked down to spend time with our favorite son in law.

Wingman Sporting his New 'Stache Following Our Kidnapping of Him

I’d forgotten the Hartford airport is in reality nowhere near Hartford so the trip took longer than expected. Wingman had used the ensuing time to scout out lunch venues and expertly pinpointed a nearby barbecue smoke house which fell victim to our foray. Wingman was sporting a new moustache, tailored to honor the departed father of his friend. He was full of updates on his upcoming farewell tour with the band and of course, his peerless daughter. I could tell he was missing her a lot. It brought back some memories for myself sitting in a jungle bohio in Panama missing the mother of his daughter. He’d spent some time at LAX waiting for his plane watching the video baby monitor and saw his daughter wake up and start her day. Things have progressed a little bit in that arena since 1983.

After a Very Full Lunch

After reluctantly releasing Wingman to his memorial duties we set out for Rhode Island and a visit with our next door neighbors from 1990s. They’re a great couple and we actually lived with them for a few months when I first retired from the Army. He’s Japanese, she’s Portuguese so you throw in the odd Panamanian and a gringo we have our very own melting pot. Even though we’re less than fifty miles apart we’ve done a bad job of staying in touch. Her elderly parents live with them and my wife spent the first hour or so after we arrived showing them pictures of guess who. Once they were thoroughly pummeled with images of my granddaughter my wife moved on to our hosts who received similar treatment. This was topped off with a FaceTime call from my daughter and the object of our serial photo viewing.

My Wife Showing More Pictures to our Hosts Last Night

It was a great evening spent sitting around the dinner table after a scrumptious feast, catching up with friends. My wife had been lured south by a promise of dancing but that fell by the wayside in the face of the serial conversions at play. It struck me at one point in the evening at how interconnected our dual lives had been since first meeting each other back in 1989. They and their boys had always been one of our stops during our holiday trips back to New England from wherever the Army had me stashed. A very fun evening, time with old friends cannot be underestimated.

Granddaughter had Several Friends Over Yesterday to Play

Winds from the South

We could certainly use some of that as this fairly brisk April proceeds. I need to point out the very important birthday that took down yesterday. My wife’s brother celebrated his birthday in typically understated fashion. Luckily the women in his life, starting with his daughter, were not going to allow that to pass unchallenged. He’s the only son in a family growing up with four sisters, some of them of a very potent variety. I should know having been married to one for over three decades. He’s one of Panama’s leading environmentalists authoring a couple books along the way. He’s one of the people I really look forward to seeing every time I go to Panama and I’m so happy that he met the love of his life a few years ago, the fabulous Lulu. It’s so much fun to see them together, he deserves to be happy.

My Brother in Law and Birthday Boy

I raised a beer to him (well several if we’re going to be literal) at First Friday. My wife was AWOL as she was reacquainting herself with the local Macy’s and TJ Maxx which I’m sure had some sort of corporate celebration when they heard she had returned. She had a bunch of gift cards burning a hole in her purse and was assisted by her next door enabler, the Mafioso. By the time she returned home I was safely situated in Couch Potato Position #1 watching the Red Sox being destroyed by the Blue Jays. We finished off our DVR backlog of Jane the Virgin and rejoined the massacre to find the Red Sox mounting a spirited comeback. I know it’s more than way too early but at least offensively the Sox look okay; starting pitching is an entirely different matter, a very good win though.

ABFA and Son at the Boston Garden
(What I'll Always call it!)

Elsewhere in the sports world my favorite son and ABFA were in Boston last night to watch a Celtics game. They took the ABFA’s parents there as a Christmas gift and it was my son’s first ever Celtics game. That failure on my part as a parent can be directly linked to my complete disinterest in an NBA that bears no resemblance to the game it claims to play.

ABFA with her Awesome Parents

I rushed through and finished yet another Joe Pickett novel, Cold Wind by CJ Box, yesterday. These books are falling beneath my voracious appetite at a disturbing pace; a comment on their outstanding quality. This one was a little out of the usual milieu for Joe and plays more like a direct detective novel, albeit in the wilds of Wyoming. Its also a dual tracked plot with Joe’s Reacher like friend Nate Romanowski chasing down some villains that invariably intersect with Joe’s investigation. The intersecting point was a taut reunion for the old friends. Joe’s mother in law from hell, Missy, is charged with murdering her husband and Joe is called upon to help exonerate her although she’s his least favorite person in the world. As I said, different, but a truly engrossing read.

Here are some of Box’s words as Nate ruminates about his friend Joe, “Joe could help, he knew. Joe and Marybeth, especially. They were in the main of sorts and Nate’s only real connection to the world of loving couples, growing children, mortgages, pet dogs, lawns, and social mores. It was a world he wished he understood an hoped he could enter some day, but it was still as foreign to him as daily life in Outer Mongolia. But because Joe and Marybeth were his only true connection to that world, he wanted to nurture them and keep them away from what he knew to be out there. Not that Joe wasn’t capable of protecting his family - he was, and in surprising ways – but Joe still seemed to believe in his oath and duty and in innocence and the law’s brand of justice. Nate didn’t want to be there if and when Joe learned otherwise, because it wouldn’t be pretty.”

Mafioso Celebration

The white blanket that uncharacteristically covered the area all week was vanquished yesterday in all day rain that produced as dreary a day that I can remember. You add an overlong (aren’t they all?) meeting with the politicos downtown and you have a recipe for a down day. My wife was charging around Worcester all day reconnecting with friends and even stopped by the office a couple of times. I’d like to think it was to bask in glow of our spousal love but I think it had more to do with driving directions.

The Birthday Girl and My Favorite Panamanian

We completed the voluminous documents required for the mortgage application which along with the supporting paperwork required a trip to FEDEX to ship it all back to USAA. I usually use UPS so I was amazed at the difference. At UPS I’m usually in and out in minutes but FEDEX was a completely different story. The personnel seemed to know their computer system well but it still took nearly ten minutes to service the person ahead of me with a simple transaction. By the time she did get to me the line had grown to ten people. I had a simple pre-paid envelope to drop off and that took nearly three minutes to process. I don’t ship enough to know, but if this is indicative, then UPS must be kicking FEDEX’s ass in a big way.

Cake and Granddaughters

The day took a definitive turn for the better at dinner time. It was the next door Mafioso’s birthday and we dodged though the rain to join them for dinner and birthday cake. We used this opportunity to put our heads together to come up with a scenario for filling the house next door with an appropriate replacement once we move out. The consensus from the ladies was that it should be someone from Panama (go figure!). The Mafioso’s granddaughters were flitting around both dinner and birthday cake which added to the fun.

Here Kitty, Kitty
I Venture to Guess the Cat's Life is going to Change when She Becomes Mobile

After dinner and the departure of the younger generation another contingent of the Worcester Chapter of the Panamanian mafia showed up to celebrate the birthday. This turned out to be the best part of the night as we laughed almost constantly after their arrival. I even broke my self-imposed prohibition against “school night” beer drinking. I cannot think of a higher form of entertainment than spending an evening laughing with good friends. Yesterday was certainly rescued.

Already a Big Reader

Gremlin Attack

I’m facing a determined gremlin-wave attack this morning so this will be a short posting. You’ll have to make do with just pictures of my singularly gorgeous granddaughter. The other picture (below) is of the “Roothuggers” back in our heyday. I’ve written before about this bunch with whom I’ve enjoyed a couple reunions during the past few years before. At certain points in an Army career the Army sends officers to professional schools for an entire year, the Command and General Staff College and later on the War College. This has the dual effect of professionally educating officers while also providing a break from service in tactical units which can be consumptive (and almost too much fun).

The Roothuggers after a Performance
I'm in Middle Holding a Pitcher

The Roothuggers are my group from Command and General Staff College at Fort Leavenworth, Kansas. We’ve stayed in touch over the years and I still count them as very good friends. I missed the last reunion due to the whole granddaughter arrival era but hope another comes up soon. We would dominate karaoke night at the officer’s club on Friday Night back in 1992-93 (see – Frist Friday roots run deep). They did all the singing while I formed a rabid cheering crowd in the audience (I’m not allowed to sing, even in church – it’s a measure towards preserving everyone’s sanity). One of them sent out this photo, I’m in the middle, somewhat uncharacteristically holding a pitcher of beer.

We had a very long conversation via FaceTime with the California contingent last night where the First Blog Reader was particularly entertaining despite a warning from her mother that she was deficient in the napping arena for the day. Some sad news came up that the father of one of their good friends passed away this past weekend in Connecticut. In a silver lining development, Wingman is flying in for the funeral this weekend and we’ll run down to Hartford to have lunch with him. Got to go, gremlins have breached the outer defenses.

Confused Robins and BoSox

Indignant Robin This Morning

I looked out the front door this morning and saw some very confused robins. They were hopping around the driveway obviously looking for nest building material. They had to use the driveway because snow still covers the entire yard. Even last year’s humongous snow pack had pretty much fled by this time. I have it on good authority the snow will be vanquished by the end of the week and we can get back to the whole “spring” thing.

Sox Are Back!

A certain sign of spring manifested itself yesterday when the 2016 edition of the Boston Red Sox took to the frigid Cleveland field to win going away. I think my generation will be the last New Englanders who remember when the Sox defined the sports scene around here and yesterday would have been akin to a regional holiday. The Sox’ success has led to complacency and the emergence of the Patriots as the dominant franchise has redefined the environment.

Fortunately I’m still a member of that generation so I’m predictably juiced about the return of the BoSox. This could be a very entertaining team if they keep fat boy on the bench and play truly hungry players. David Price looks like a bargain as the highest paid pitcher in baseball and Mookie Betts, who homered yesterday, could be their next superstar. I know it’s only one game, but as a true Red Sox fan, I’m now convinced they’ll win the World Series this year.

I explored another facet of the internet yesterday as I was dragooned into securing Broadway tickets and hotel reservations for a musquetera reunion in New York City next week. Apparently a full week’s worth of exposure to me required a vacation for my beleaguered wife. In reality her friends have missed her almost as much as I did and want to get together. They’ll be seeing the Gloria Estefan based musical, On Your Feet. I think it’s a safe bet to predict there’ll be some dancing in the aisles in a certain section of the audience.