While we await the Veterans Committee ballots results on Monday, let's get to the BBWAA's 2009 ballot candidates, in the popular alphabetical order. There are 23 candidates, so three posts breaks it up well. Thirteen candidates are returning from last year's ballot, so I will have little to say about them, except in the one case where I have changed my vote. Links to career stats and previous reviews included.
1. Harold Baines (reviewed for the 2008 ballot)
Years on ballot: 2.
Peak return: 5.3% (2007).
2008 return: 5.2%
Career: 22 seasons, 1980-2001 -- *Chicago White Sox 1980-89, '96-97, & 2000-01, Texas Rangers 1989-90, Oakland Athletics 1990-92, Baltimore Orioles 1993-95 & '97-2000, Cleveland Indians 1999.
Peak season: 1984 -- 29 HR (career high), 94 RBI, .304/.361/.541, 142 OPS+, 109 RC.
Other outstanding seasons: 1989, 1991, 1996.
Primary position: right field for seven seasons, then designated hitter.
Honoraria and claims to fame: six All-Star selections (one start), one Silver Slugger, led the AL in slugging average in 1984. Good postseason hitter (.324/.378/.510 in 31 G, 102 AB). Jersey #3 retired by the White Sox (while he still was an active player). His 1628 RBI currently grant Baines the title of "Most RBI Not In The Hall", a distinction which eventually got Tony Perez in.
Baines was good, but not great. As primarily a DH, he has negligible defensive value to support his candidacy; his hitting is all he's got, and while good, it's not Hall measure. He has twice now just dodged the relegation bullet, and the relatively weak ballot might let him skirt by one more time, but he's never going to adorn a plaque.
Chipmaker's vote: No.
Prediction: Just escapes the cutoff, again, by +3 votes.
2. Jay Bell
Writers ballot rookie.
Career: 18 seasons, 1986-2003 -- Cleveland Indians 1986-88, *Pittsburgh Pirates 1989-96, Kansas City Royals 1997, Arizona Diamondbacks 1998-2002, New York Mets 2003.
Peak season: 1999 -- 38HR, 112 RBI, .289/.374/.557, 131 OPS+, 127 RC.
Other outstanding seasons: 1993. 1997.
Primary position: shortstop.
Honoraria and claims to fame: two All-Star selections (one start), one NL Gold Glove at shortstop, one NL Silver Slugger, led NL in sacrifices twice. Member of the 2001 World Series champion Diamondbacks, and four other postseason teams (1990-92 Pirates, 1999 D'backs).
A league-average hitter for the most of his career, Bell was also a very good fielder, which is important particularly at his position. His one superlative season came during the steroids era, and if he was a higher-profile candidate, there'd probably be a lot more noise about this. Good player, but his offense was not Hall class, and defense only gets a player in if there is some legendary component involved. And there's no legendry here.
This marks the first year wherein I've been consulting the Mitchell Report when considering new candidates. Jay Bell is not mentioned in it.
Chipmaker's vote: No.
Prediction: This will be Bell's first and last ballot. Under 5%, and relegated.
3. Bert Blyleven (reviewed for the 2008 ballot)
Years on ballot: 11.
Peak return: 61.9% (2008).
2008 return: 61.9%
Career: 22 seasons, 1970-90 & 1992 -- *Minnesota Twins 1970-76 & '85-88, Texas Rangers 1976-77, Pittsburgh Pirates 1978-80, Cleveland Indians 1981-85, California Angels 1989-90 & '92.
Peak season: 1973 -- 20-17, 2.52, 258 K, 158 ERA+.
Other outstanding seasons: 1974, 1977, 1984, 1989.
Primary position: RH starting pitcher.
Honoraria and claims to fame: Two All-Star selections, led AL in strikeouts once and shutouts three times. Fifth highest career strikeout total, third highest when he retired. 287 career wins (which, alas, is just short of 300). Member of two World Series champion teams, the 1979 Pirates and the 1987 Twins, and contributed well to both -- excellent postseason pitcher, 5-1, 2.47 in 8 games, 6 starts, 47.1 IP, 36 K, 8 BB.
The worthiest pitcher not in the Hall. Delivered a great deal of on-field value. Bert's 60 career shutouts ranks 4th, behind HOFers Spahn (63), Ryan (61), and Seaver (61), in the post-WWII era, so he's in good company.
Chipmaker's vote: YES!
Prediction: Surpasses 70% but falls short of election, thus entering the Promised Land in 2009 and the Hall proper in 2010.
4. David Cone
Writers ballot rookie.
Career: 17 seasons, 1986-2001 & 2003 -- Kansas City Royals 1986 & '93-94, New York Mets 1987-92 & 2003, Toronto Blue Jays 1992 & '95, *New York Yankees 1995-2000, Boston Red Sox 2001.
Peak season: 1994 -- 16-5, 2.94, 132 K, 170 ERA+.
Other outstanding seasons: 1988 (20-3), 1993, 1996, 1997, 1999.
Primary position: RH starting pitcher.
Honoraria and claims to fame: 1994 AL Cy Young Award, three other Top Five finishes, five All-Star selections, led AL in wins once, NL in winning percentage once, NL in strikeouts twice, and NL in shutouts once. Many other Top Five finishes in good stats in both leagues. Member of five World Series champions -- the 1992 Blue Jays and the 1996 & 1998-2000 Yankees -- and three other postseason teams. Two 20-win seasons. Pitched a perfect game in 1999, only the 16th in major league history.
An excellent pitcher (194-126, .606, 3.46, 120 ERA+, 2668 K, 1.256 WHIP), Cone could produce some brilliant games (crowned, of course, by his perfecto). It took him some years to find himself on the mound, and his best seasons benefited from some devastating offenses (and the 1994-95 strike probably robbed him of some peak stats, though he still took home the Cy Young). But outside of that trophy season, he was never the best -- he'd be among the leaders, but rarely lead, in purely pitcher stats. Cone was a valuable asset and an ideal starter to have in a winning rotation, but not quite Hall class.
Chipmaker's vote: No. I may change this in the future as more 1990s-era starters walk off the diamond and stand before the electorate.
Prediction: 15% -- stays on the ballot, but gives no indication if he'll stay in the low end or build momentum.
5. Andre Dawson (reviewed for the 2008 ballot)
Years on ballot: 7.
Peak return: 65.9% (2008).
2008 return: 65.9%
Career: 21 seasons, 1976-96 -- *Montréal Expos 1976-86, Chicago Cubs 1987-92, Boston Red Sox 1993-94, Florida Marlins 1995-96.
Peak season: 1981 -- 24 HR, 64 RBI, .302/.365/.553 in 103 games (the Expos played only 108 games in the strike-split season, which was the most of any NL East team), 157 OPS+, 83 RC.
Other outstanding seasons: 1980, 1983, 1987, 1988, 1990.
Primary position: center field early, right field later.
Honoraria and claims to fame: 1987 NL MVP, 1977 NL ROY, eight All-Star selections (seven starts, five at CF and two at RF), eight NL Gold Gloves for outfield, four NL Silver Sluggers for outfield, led NL in hits in 1983, home runs and RBI in 1987, and in hit-by-pitch four times (ouch!). Career 438 homers, 1591 RBI, 2774 hits. Jersey #10 retired by the Expos.
Dawson would look good on a plaque, but the Hall is not wanting for his absence. If elected, his .323 career OBP would be the lowest (by about 20 points) by a primary outfielder, which says a lot about how he played his game.
Chipmaker's vote: No. But I could go either way, really, and if he crosses 70% but falls short of election, I'll support him next year.
Prediction: Elected with 76%.
6. Ron Gant
Writers ballot rookie.
Career: 16 seasons, 1987-93 & '95-2003 -- *Atlanta Braves 1987-93, Cincinnati Reds 1995, St. Louis Cardinals 1996-98, Philadelphia Phillies 1999-2000, Anaheim Angels 2000, Colorado Rockies 2001, Oakland Athletics 2001 & '03, San Diego Padres 2002.
Peak season: 1990 -- 32 HR, 84 RBI, .303/.357/.539, 139 OPS+, 109 RC.
Other outstanding seasons: 1991, 1995, 1996, 2002.
Primary position: left field
Honoraria and claims to fame: two All-Star selections (one start), one NL Silver Slugger for outfield, member of six postseason teams.
A good outfielder but not a great one, Gant was a useful piece to have when he was healthy. He always seemed more talent than production, part of which was due to being on the Braves during the 1990s, when they ascended first to miracle status, then to perennial contenders, and seemed to have the magic touch of turning anyone in the Atlanta uniform into gold -- which was hype. Gant played 150+ games only four times (and 139+ only two other seasons), and missed the entire 1994 season with a leg injury -- health was often an issue with him. Good-hitting outfielders are not too hard to find, and many stay off the DL more than Gant did.
Chipmaker's vote: No.
Prediction: one ballot and gone, under 5%, relegated.
7. Mark Grace
Writers ballot rookie.
Career: 16 seasons, 1988-2003 -- *Chicago Cubs 1988-2000, Arizona Diamondbacks 2001-03.
Peak season: 1995 -- 16 HR, 92 RBI, .326/.395/.516, 141 OPS+, 115 RC.
Other outstanding seasons: 1989, 1993, 1997, 1998.
Primary position: first base.
Honoraria and claims to fame: three All-Star selections (one start), four NL Gold Gloves at first base, led NL in doubles once and sacrifice flies once. Member of the 2001 World Series champion Diamondbacks, and three other postseason teams -- including two Cubs playoff teams, and there weren't many other guys since the 1930s who could claim that. Career .303 batting average. Most hits in the 1990s decade (1754), which I do not at all find significant, but this factoid is out there so readers will get annoyed if I don't include it.
Grace was a very good hitter who drew enough walks to maintain excellent on-base percentages. He was an excellent defensive player, but at the least-demanding defensive position. And he didn't have a lot of power, even playing in Wrigley Field for nearly half his career. First basemen just cannot get away with that. He was an above-average hitter but not a great one.
Grace did have a brilliant 1989 National League Championship Series, batting .647/.682/1.118 in the five games, but this got largely ignored because (a) the Cubs lost and (b) NLCS MVP Will Clark actually hit slightly better.
Chipmaker's vote: No.
Prediction: popularity will grant Grace 18%, so he'll stay on the ballot, but he's not going anywhere.
8. Rickey Henderson
Writers ballot rookie.
Career: 25 seasons, 1979-2003 -- *Oakland Athletics 1979-84, '89-95, & '98, New York Yankees 1985-89, Toronto Blue Jays 1993, San Diego Padres 1996-97 & 2001, Anaheim Angels 1997, New York Mets 1999-2000, Seattle Mariners 2000, Boston Red Sox 2002, Los Angeles Dodgers 2003.
Peak season: 1990 -- 28 HR, 61 RBI, .325/.439/.577, 188 OPS+, 137 RC. Even for Rickey, that's a Yow! season.
Other outstanding seasons: 1981, 1983, 1984, 1985, 1987, 1992, 1993... this gets a little tedious.
Primary position: left field.
Honoraria and claims to fame: ...where to start? 1990 AL MVP, ten All-Star selections (seven starts), one AL Gold Glove for outfield, three AL Silver Sluggers. Led AL in on-base percentage once with many other Top Five finishes, runs five times, hits once, walks four times, stolen bases twelve times. Member of the 3000 Hits Club (3055). Major league record holder for runs scored (2295) and stolen bases (1406, with a huge margin, +468 over Brock), and single season stolen bases (130, 1982). Held the ML record for walks for three seasons (2001-03), taking it from Ruth, until Bonds walked past. Member of two World Series champions, the 1989 Athletics and the 1993 Blue Jays, and six other postseason teams.
Rickey was not only supremely great a player, he was entertaining as wildfire. Someone, probably Bill James, once wrote that if you could split Rickey in two, you'd have two Hall Of Fame players. Rickey is best known by his first name, a rare public distinction. Rickey destroyed, destroyed the Blue Jays in the 1989 ALCS. Rickey spoke of himself in the third person more often than not. Rickey made snatch catches in the outfield. Rickey posted a .401 career OBP, which ranks 13th over his career seasons, and is behind a bunch of HOFers or future HOFers (in order, Bonds, Thomas, Edgar Martinez, Giles, Giambi, Boggs, Manny Ramirez, Bagwell, Thome, Abreu, Chipper Jones, Olerud -- and if some of these guys play to age 44, they'll probably drop a good bit). Rickey not only stole by the bushel, he rarely got caught, 80.8% successful. Rickey proclaimed himself "the greatest" when he stole third to break Brock's career mark (a quote largely taken out of context, but for Rickey, it fit). Rickey was Ryan's 5000th strikeout victim. Rickey picked up his 3000th hit on the last day of the 2001 season, teammate Gwynn's last game, and Rickey asked if he should sit out and not possibly upstage the day (Gwynn told him to play). Rickey did this, Rickey did that... I'm sure I'm leaving out a lot of entertaining bits that probably only Rickey ever could have done.
Rickey Henderson could beat you in many ways, and often did. He was an electric player to watch on the diamond, a giver of good and confounding quote in the papers, and you never knew what he might do next, but it would help his team win.
I look forward to the most perplexing acceptance speech in Hall history next summer. God Bless Rickey Henderson. We need another like him in uniform -- but he was a one-and-only.
Chipmaker's vote: Yes.
Prediction: This will be Rickey's only ballot, as he storms in with 93%.
Part 2 soon.
Saturday, December 06, 2008
Wednesday, December 03, 2008
The Golden Anniversary Road Trip -- part 7 & last
Day 7 (Mon. 12/01)
Lubbock to Austin -- home!
The Lubbock sunrise again greeted us with squadrons of sandhill cranes; Val loved it. And again the La Q fed us well. Everyone showered, we packed quickly, and were off for the final push home by 10:30. We decided to follow the same roads home we had taken to reach Lubbock -- which was not the route I mapped out, but was easier (if a bit longer), driving Route 87 all the way to Brady, then 71 to Austin.
Last minute edit #1: this is a fairly new La Quinta, less than a year old, and every bed has a memory-foam style mattresses, a material which was developed by NASA. A clerk told me this is the only hotel in the chain with only these beds. They are quite comfy, but it's easy to sleep without ever rolling, thus cramping an arm, and the mattresses have no "give" at all -- no springs to feedback bounce, so the recumbent individual has to do all the work, scooching over or getting up. It takes getting used to. I'd tried them in stores but never had slept on one before.
South of Lubbock -- well, north as well, really -- is cotton country. I waited for an opportunity, and finally a tiny rest pullover appeared, and we stopped for a bit. We took pictures of the cotton fields and closeups of the cotton bolls. We even picked two small branches with cotton blooming, something I normally do not condone, but this was for Amalie's show and tell so it's educational. It was fun, and a short break from the road is always welcome, but we got dozens of sticker burrs on our shoes and pants.
Amalie stands in not-very-tall cotton.
Puffy!
The sparse towns rolled by -- Tahoka, Lamesa, Big Spring. We pulled over here for lunch, which was pleasant if unmemorable. Off again, we were this time prepared and eager to see the wind farm in the daylight. Sure enough, we soon saw the giant turbines come into view. One row stretched right across the highway, the nearest tower maybe 100 yards to the west (it's hard to estimate the distance, there's nothing for comparison or scale). We stopped for pictures, and just to admire these spinning giants. I couldn't hear them at all. Not only are the turbines efficient and effective, they are majestic. We saw many more for many miles, mostly along a ridge to the west but some eastward.
I love these things.
More power to you.
Last minute edit #2: In addition to the giant turbines, there were plenty of oil pumps, some running (the summer's price hike had made turning on just about any well profitable again, and even with prices down, some are still worth keeping in operation, apparently). So, within just a few acres, it was possible to witness industries from the 19th (cotton), 20th (oil), and 21st (wind) centuries. Cool.
More miles ticked past. Sterling City, then San Angelo. We stopped to tank up, gas below $1.50/gallon. The day was getting long and we wanted to give the kids a stretch. I managed to spot a schoolyard about two blocks off our main road, and found it without too much doubling back. It had a big playscape and a large athletic field. The kids got plenty of air time, running about, Amie doing the monkey bars, Carson finding his treasures -- beads, bits of plastic, and so forth. Val took a stroll down the field, then told me to as well. It was a good stretch, get some blood pumping, and the skies were clear and sunny, though it was still windy. We rounded up the kids after more than a half-hour, and got back in the Civic.
We passed through Eden, and at Brady we turned on to Route 71, which would take us all the way back to Austin. The sun went down, and the evening skies gave us a spectacular show -- the waxing crescent moon riding near to Venus and Jupiter. While astronomically insignificant, it was a delightful show, and gave a good sense of interplanetary scale. (And although it looked like a "frowny face" here, it appeared as a smiley face Down Under.)
Llano appeared just before 7:00, and hurray! Cooper's was still open. Both kids had dozed off, so I placed a take-out order -- beef ribs, brisket, pork ribs, potato salad, and an ear of corn for Carson. We were underway again within minutes, seventy-five miles from home.
We reached the Travis County line, then Austin's city limits. We stopped for cash. We stopped for milk. We didn't need anything else immediately. We turned into our neighborhood, our street, our driveway. It was around 8:30. Home at last, a really great trip, but glad it was over and we were back.
The barbecue was fantastic.
Lubbock to Austin -- home!
The Lubbock sunrise again greeted us with squadrons of sandhill cranes; Val loved it. And again the La Q fed us well. Everyone showered, we packed quickly, and were off for the final push home by 10:30. We decided to follow the same roads home we had taken to reach Lubbock -- which was not the route I mapped out, but was easier (if a bit longer), driving Route 87 all the way to Brady, then 71 to Austin.
Last minute edit #1: this is a fairly new La Quinta, less than a year old, and every bed has a memory-foam style mattresses, a material which was developed by NASA. A clerk told me this is the only hotel in the chain with only these beds. They are quite comfy, but it's easy to sleep without ever rolling, thus cramping an arm, and the mattresses have no "give" at all -- no springs to feedback bounce, so the recumbent individual has to do all the work, scooching over or getting up. It takes getting used to. I'd tried them in stores but never had slept on one before.
South of Lubbock -- well, north as well, really -- is cotton country. I waited for an opportunity, and finally a tiny rest pullover appeared, and we stopped for a bit. We took pictures of the cotton fields and closeups of the cotton bolls. We even picked two small branches with cotton blooming, something I normally do not condone, but this was for Amalie's show and tell so it's educational. It was fun, and a short break from the road is always welcome, but we got dozens of sticker burrs on our shoes and pants.
Amalie stands in not-very-tall cotton.
Puffy!The sparse towns rolled by -- Tahoka, Lamesa, Big Spring. We pulled over here for lunch, which was pleasant if unmemorable. Off again, we were this time prepared and eager to see the wind farm in the daylight. Sure enough, we soon saw the giant turbines come into view. One row stretched right across the highway, the nearest tower maybe 100 yards to the west (it's hard to estimate the distance, there's nothing for comparison or scale). We stopped for pictures, and just to admire these spinning giants. I couldn't hear them at all. Not only are the turbines efficient and effective, they are majestic. We saw many more for many miles, mostly along a ridge to the west but some eastward.
I love these things.
More power to you.Last minute edit #2: In addition to the giant turbines, there were plenty of oil pumps, some running (the summer's price hike had made turning on just about any well profitable again, and even with prices down, some are still worth keeping in operation, apparently). So, within just a few acres, it was possible to witness industries from the 19th (cotton), 20th (oil), and 21st (wind) centuries. Cool.
More miles ticked past. Sterling City, then San Angelo. We stopped to tank up, gas below $1.50/gallon. The day was getting long and we wanted to give the kids a stretch. I managed to spot a schoolyard about two blocks off our main road, and found it without too much doubling back. It had a big playscape and a large athletic field. The kids got plenty of air time, running about, Amie doing the monkey bars, Carson finding his treasures -- beads, bits of plastic, and so forth. Val took a stroll down the field, then told me to as well. It was a good stretch, get some blood pumping, and the skies were clear and sunny, though it was still windy. We rounded up the kids after more than a half-hour, and got back in the Civic.
We passed through Eden, and at Brady we turned on to Route 71, which would take us all the way back to Austin. The sun went down, and the evening skies gave us a spectacular show -- the waxing crescent moon riding near to Venus and Jupiter. While astronomically insignificant, it was a delightful show, and gave a good sense of interplanetary scale. (And although it looked like a "frowny face" here, it appeared as a smiley face Down Under.)
Llano appeared just before 7:00, and hurray! Cooper's was still open. Both kids had dozed off, so I placed a take-out order -- beef ribs, brisket, pork ribs, potato salad, and an ear of corn for Carson. We were underway again within minutes, seventy-five miles from home.
We reached the Travis County line, then Austin's city limits. We stopped for cash. We stopped for milk. We didn't need anything else immediately. We turned into our neighborhood, our street, our driveway. It was around 8:30. Home at last, a really great trip, but glad it was over and we were back.
The barbecue was fantastic.
The Golden Anniversary Road Trip -- part 6
Day 6 (Sun. 11/30)
Angel Fire to Lubbock
Busy packing-up morning. I was up early, like usual, and used the time to remount the roof rack, which I had taken off and stashed in the garage so it wouldn't get soaked by the snow. Most of the cleaning-up was done, but there was breakfast to serve, so we weren't quite done yet. After I had eaten, I went down to our room, and walked in with a "time to get up, sleepyheads!" Val roused first, and the kids slowly surfaced as well. Val had wanted to have a quick walkabout with me, so we bundled up and headed out, over the walkway, down the slope, through the gate and into the lane. At the drive, I noticed the last of Jenny's signs, taped to a rock and almost completely covered in snow, so I collected that. Val wanted to show me the fish hole in the pond ice that she and the kids had observed the day before, but it had frozen over completely. The morning was sunny, the snow bright on the trees, a good time to take some fresh air. Back to the lodge, and Val stopped by the kitchen for coffee while I went down to get more packing done.
Looking down into Angel Fire.
It was time to leave and head for home. We have one distinct disadvantage -- all the other cousins are older. Tell 'em to pack up, and they do. Not so with young'uns, they have to be packed for, so it takes us a good bit longer to be ready to leave. But, in bits and pieces, Val and I got items packed and zipped, and I got most everything out into the garage in one convenient pile. Some things went up in the roof rack, other items into the trunk, fitting together like a puzzle. Some stuff gets parked in the back seat, mostly blankets and pillows and toys and games, and a few things go by Val's feet in the passenger well, including a supply of leftover-turkey sandwiches, courtesy of Jenny, who made several dozen for everyone. After the biggest things were stowed, Val took over, and assorted family members helped haul everything out to the car to expedite our final departure. Just before 11:00 am, I pulled out of the drive and began poking down the snowy mountain road.
We are outta here!
Driving wasn't slick, the snow crunchy, but with only front-wheel drive and the kids aboard, I took it exceptionally easy, pulling over to let the last three vehicles of our caravan pull ahead. About halfway down, we regained the paved road, and the driving was all the clearer, the snow more melted here. Before we reached the town proper, both kids found the Christmas cards Uncle John had secretly stashed, each loaded with two $20 bills. Arriving at the mountain bottom and town, we caught up the others, who were placing the last loads of our trash into a municipal dumpster (we were told this was standard practice in Angel Fire, no collection up the mountains); even burning paper trash in the fireplace, we had many bags of rubbish, but we responsibly did our part and left the lodge clean. We pulled to, and the kids cried out a "Thank you!" to John.
Val wanted to see a bit of the actual town, maybe get some souvenirs, so I turned north on the main road toward a store I had seen while riding to Taos. Unfortunately, being a Sunday, the store was closed, drat. Just as we were about to turn south, the others drove by, Mike giving a two-handed wave (despite being the driver), so that was our final farewell to the extended family.
We headed out of Angel Fire, admiring the snow-covered ski slopes along the way, beautiful tall pine country.
About ten, fifteen miles along, I realized I had completely forgotten something. I told Val what it was, and after discussing it for a few minutes, she sagely advised that, if I was still dithering about whether or not to turn back, it was important enough to turn back. So we did.
Through Angel Fire once again, we turned onto Route 64 toward Taos, and a mile further along, reached my special destination -- a classic National Forest Service sign for, yes, really, Carson National Forest. We took pictures. It was cold and windy, but Carson was a great sport about it, even when I perched him high atop the sign (Val stood behind, helping steady him, though he was at little risk of falling).
Everyone needs a place in the world.
Back through Angel Fire one last time, my mental miscue had cost us not quite an hour; not painful, but not very efficient either. Ah well, onward. The weather delivered us some snow flurries as we motored through the valley, but nothing challenging. Finally 434 twisted back into the tight canyon, but this time we got to see it in fully lit splendor, and it is a gorgeous drive. We started out high on the western side but were soon, without it being at all obvious, down near the canyon bottom, a rocky creek alongside or under us. A bank of very rude huts -- basically shacks with a door and a window -- must be, we reasoned, a fishing camp, because they were the most basic and utilitarian design, for people who are there to sleep and fish. We spotted a beaver dam hard by the road, backing up the creek so much that it swelled and overflowed almost onto the pavement. The canyon eventually gave way to wider valley and tiny towns, but along that stretch, was simply stunning, a driving delight.
Pastoral, frosty canyon creek (Coyote Creek, apparently).
"It's the second week of deer camp, and all the guys are here,
We drink, play cards, and shoot the bull, but never shoot no deer,
The only time we leave the camp is when we go for beer,
The second week of deer camp is da greatest time of year!"
If this is not a beaver dam, it's one huge clump of debris.
Note water foreground, almost flowing on to the road.
The day stayed cold through Mora and Las Vegas, with scattered flurries, and the wind picking up as we left the higher lands and got back to prairie driving. On I-40 we stopped at the lone Stuckey's along our way. I remember this roadside chain mainly from the east coast, where they popped up frequently along I-95 between Connecticut and Florida, during my childhood. My mom loved the coconut patties, but alas, none were to be found here. Carson spent some (too much, in my opinion) of Uncle John's gift on a toy car, because this is what he does at his age, and it is his money. We passed around the turkey sandwiches, which were a treat compared to standard road food, and were back on the road.
Reaching Ft. Sumner, the Valero we had fueled at during the drive up was closed, their computers down (according to the signs), so the gas station across the street was having a boom night. As I fueled up, I listened to fellow drivers; one was complaining that he had enjoyed tee-shirt weather in Albuquerque (we were in jacket-class cold and wind) but was heading east. The other mentioned that there was snow in Clovis, the last town in New Mexico heading east, and she was glad to be heading the other way. This wasn't the happiest news to me, as that was our route for the night (it was almost sunset), but there was nothing for it. Gassed up, and with road snacks to sustain us, we resolved to push on, Lubbock our night's goal.
Carson soon drifted off, assuring we would follow our plan of not stopping for an evening meal.
Approaching Cannon AFB and Clovis, we did run into snow -- flurries again. Heavier at times, but not sticking or accumulating at all. We crossed into Texas, and our road, Route 84, promptly turned to the southeast. The flurries were soon behind us; they were only a nuisance, but one I didn't miss.
We pushed on through the Texas landscape, the cold and wind unabated. Little towns -- Muleshoe, Sudan, Littlefield, Shallowater, mostly cotton country. And then, Lubbock. We took our custom to the La Quinta again (much easier to find this time, just one exit down the loop). We checked in at a robust 9:00 pm (rather than midnight, as on the way up), and I went out to forage for late dinner, which a burger joint provided. At rest for the balance of the evening, appetites satisfied, we one by one fell over, one day still to home.
Angel Fire to Lubbock
Busy packing-up morning. I was up early, like usual, and used the time to remount the roof rack, which I had taken off and stashed in the garage so it wouldn't get soaked by the snow. Most of the cleaning-up was done, but there was breakfast to serve, so we weren't quite done yet. After I had eaten, I went down to our room, and walked in with a "time to get up, sleepyheads!" Val roused first, and the kids slowly surfaced as well. Val had wanted to have a quick walkabout with me, so we bundled up and headed out, over the walkway, down the slope, through the gate and into the lane. At the drive, I noticed the last of Jenny's signs, taped to a rock and almost completely covered in snow, so I collected that. Val wanted to show me the fish hole in the pond ice that she and the kids had observed the day before, but it had frozen over completely. The morning was sunny, the snow bright on the trees, a good time to take some fresh air. Back to the lodge, and Val stopped by the kitchen for coffee while I went down to get more packing done.
Looking down into Angel Fire.It was time to leave and head for home. We have one distinct disadvantage -- all the other cousins are older. Tell 'em to pack up, and they do. Not so with young'uns, they have to be packed for, so it takes us a good bit longer to be ready to leave. But, in bits and pieces, Val and I got items packed and zipped, and I got most everything out into the garage in one convenient pile. Some things went up in the roof rack, other items into the trunk, fitting together like a puzzle. Some stuff gets parked in the back seat, mostly blankets and pillows and toys and games, and a few things go by Val's feet in the passenger well, including a supply of leftover-turkey sandwiches, courtesy of Jenny, who made several dozen for everyone. After the biggest things were stowed, Val took over, and assorted family members helped haul everything out to the car to expedite our final departure. Just before 11:00 am, I pulled out of the drive and began poking down the snowy mountain road.
We are outta here!Driving wasn't slick, the snow crunchy, but with only front-wheel drive and the kids aboard, I took it exceptionally easy, pulling over to let the last three vehicles of our caravan pull ahead. About halfway down, we regained the paved road, and the driving was all the clearer, the snow more melted here. Before we reached the town proper, both kids found the Christmas cards Uncle John had secretly stashed, each loaded with two $20 bills. Arriving at the mountain bottom and town, we caught up the others, who were placing the last loads of our trash into a municipal dumpster (we were told this was standard practice in Angel Fire, no collection up the mountains); even burning paper trash in the fireplace, we had many bags of rubbish, but we responsibly did our part and left the lodge clean. We pulled to, and the kids cried out a "Thank you!" to John.
Val wanted to see a bit of the actual town, maybe get some souvenirs, so I turned north on the main road toward a store I had seen while riding to Taos. Unfortunately, being a Sunday, the store was closed, drat. Just as we were about to turn south, the others drove by, Mike giving a two-handed wave (despite being the driver), so that was our final farewell to the extended family.
We headed out of Angel Fire, admiring the snow-covered ski slopes along the way, beautiful tall pine country.
About ten, fifteen miles along, I realized I had completely forgotten something. I told Val what it was, and after discussing it for a few minutes, she sagely advised that, if I was still dithering about whether or not to turn back, it was important enough to turn back. So we did.
Through Angel Fire once again, we turned onto Route 64 toward Taos, and a mile further along, reached my special destination -- a classic National Forest Service sign for, yes, really, Carson National Forest. We took pictures. It was cold and windy, but Carson was a great sport about it, even when I perched him high atop the sign (Val stood behind, helping steady him, though he was at little risk of falling).
Everyone needs a place in the world.Back through Angel Fire one last time, my mental miscue had cost us not quite an hour; not painful, but not very efficient either. Ah well, onward. The weather delivered us some snow flurries as we motored through the valley, but nothing challenging. Finally 434 twisted back into the tight canyon, but this time we got to see it in fully lit splendor, and it is a gorgeous drive. We started out high on the western side but were soon, without it being at all obvious, down near the canyon bottom, a rocky creek alongside or under us. A bank of very rude huts -- basically shacks with a door and a window -- must be, we reasoned, a fishing camp, because they were the most basic and utilitarian design, for people who are there to sleep and fish. We spotted a beaver dam hard by the road, backing up the creek so much that it swelled and overflowed almost onto the pavement. The canyon eventually gave way to wider valley and tiny towns, but along that stretch, was simply stunning, a driving delight.
Pastoral, frosty canyon creek (Coyote Creek, apparently).
"It's the second week of deer camp, and all the guys are here,We drink, play cards, and shoot the bull, but never shoot no deer,
The only time we leave the camp is when we go for beer,
The second week of deer camp is da greatest time of year!"
If this is not a beaver dam, it's one huge clump of debris.Note water foreground, almost flowing on to the road.
The day stayed cold through Mora and Las Vegas, with scattered flurries, and the wind picking up as we left the higher lands and got back to prairie driving. On I-40 we stopped at the lone Stuckey's along our way. I remember this roadside chain mainly from the east coast, where they popped up frequently along I-95 between Connecticut and Florida, during my childhood. My mom loved the coconut patties, but alas, none were to be found here. Carson spent some (too much, in my opinion) of Uncle John's gift on a toy car, because this is what he does at his age, and it is his money. We passed around the turkey sandwiches, which were a treat compared to standard road food, and were back on the road.
Reaching Ft. Sumner, the Valero we had fueled at during the drive up was closed, their computers down (according to the signs), so the gas station across the street was having a boom night. As I fueled up, I listened to fellow drivers; one was complaining that he had enjoyed tee-shirt weather in Albuquerque (we were in jacket-class cold and wind) but was heading east. The other mentioned that there was snow in Clovis, the last town in New Mexico heading east, and she was glad to be heading the other way. This wasn't the happiest news to me, as that was our route for the night (it was almost sunset), but there was nothing for it. Gassed up, and with road snacks to sustain us, we resolved to push on, Lubbock our night's goal.
Carson soon drifted off, assuring we would follow our plan of not stopping for an evening meal.
Approaching Cannon AFB and Clovis, we did run into snow -- flurries again. Heavier at times, but not sticking or accumulating at all. We crossed into Texas, and our road, Route 84, promptly turned to the southeast. The flurries were soon behind us; they were only a nuisance, but one I didn't miss.
We pushed on through the Texas landscape, the cold and wind unabated. Little towns -- Muleshoe, Sudan, Littlefield, Shallowater, mostly cotton country. And then, Lubbock. We took our custom to the La Quinta again (much easier to find this time, just one exit down the loop). We checked in at a robust 9:00 pm (rather than midnight, as on the way up), and I went out to forage for late dinner, which a burger joint provided. At rest for the balance of the evening, appetites satisfied, we one by one fell over, one day still to home.
The Golden Anniversary Road Trip -- part 5
Day 5 (Sat. 11/29)
Some departures
Today was the BIG family portrait, as some folks were leaving today. Much of the early morning was spent eating pancakes, then getting spiffed up -- faces washed, hair combed -- and then getting the entire clan out on the front steps. I stood at the bottom, composing the crowd -- you move there, you switch with them, and so on. Places fixed, a quick count verified that 23 people were waiting, and I was #24. Cameras were given to the not-quite-family members -- Jake's girl Veronica and Lindy's fellow Hazen -- and I dashed up the back side of the staircase to take up position behind Val (and I'm tall enough to merit the back row anyway). Each camera was used for a few shots, we did a few "act silly" versions, and whew! That was that!
Three generations of the Wenner family.
And then the first departures. Jessica had to get back to college, and was the first away.
Veronica, Jake, Nathan, mom Laura, Jessica.
While playing with some of the balloon bouquets, one of the weights slipped loose, and Carson watched with delight at the cluster floated all the way to the top of the great room, about 20 feet above us, and out of reach of the loft. There didn't seem to be any easy way to get them down (no trailing string attached); we had a ladder but it was nowhere near long enough. Hazen and Lindy provided the solution. They do rock-climbing at their college, and had brought their equipment. Hazen set up a belay rope over one of the massive log beams, swung out into free space, cinch-climbed up, and grabbed the beam. A few attempts with inadequate tools failed to pop the balloons, but then Mike provided an extended broom handle with a nail taped to the end. Hazen lanced away, and after half the balloons were popped, the rest descended quickly. (Another rogue cluster was within reach of the loft.) It made for quite the indoor entertainment. And soon after, they were the next to leave.
Setting up.
Climbing up.
Carson didn't want to hear the pops.
High-flying Hazen nails the balloons.
A crew had inspected the snow-making cannons the night before, but they did not turn them on, so the ski slope had only natural snow, but plenty enough for sledding. Val took the kids out, and several cousins also joined in. Saucers were not very good, but inflatable pool rings rocked in the snow. Carson even did a solo run. The slope evened out enough near the lodge walkway that there was no danger of anyone going on a long, down-mountain run, but there was more than enough fun for all. (I only took pictures. I'm too big for this sort of thing.) Eventually everyone came back in, and Carson soon dozed off, utterly exhausted from the climbing up and sliding down.
Snowy view from the lodge deck.
(Val and Carson are just right of the boulder, Amie is hiking with an inflatable.)
Val watches Carson zoom by.
My snow bunny. Hauling kids up a mountain is work!
Nathan wipes out.
Mike gives Kylene a push, and the snow does the rest.
Carson hikes through a New Mexico winter wonderland.
Simply beautiful.
The balance of the day was quiet, folks reading, watching college football, movies. I set up the MacBook to run a slideshow of all the pictures I had taken on the weekend, and people enjoyed that until the battery went dry. Plans were made for sharing pics later. Dinner was potluck and scavenge style, with more than enough leftovers and supplies remaining. As the evening turned to night, people began taking down the decorations, cleaning up, and packing, for tomorrow, we all depart.
Late-night team Scrabble.
Some departures
Today was the BIG family portrait, as some folks were leaving today. Much of the early morning was spent eating pancakes, then getting spiffed up -- faces washed, hair combed -- and then getting the entire clan out on the front steps. I stood at the bottom, composing the crowd -- you move there, you switch with them, and so on. Places fixed, a quick count verified that 23 people were waiting, and I was #24. Cameras were given to the not-quite-family members -- Jake's girl Veronica and Lindy's fellow Hazen -- and I dashed up the back side of the staircase to take up position behind Val (and I'm tall enough to merit the back row anyway). Each camera was used for a few shots, we did a few "act silly" versions, and whew! That was that!
Three generations of the Wenner family.And then the first departures. Jessica had to get back to college, and was the first away.
Veronica, Jake, Nathan, mom Laura, Jessica.While playing with some of the balloon bouquets, one of the weights slipped loose, and Carson watched with delight at the cluster floated all the way to the top of the great room, about 20 feet above us, and out of reach of the loft. There didn't seem to be any easy way to get them down (no trailing string attached); we had a ladder but it was nowhere near long enough. Hazen and Lindy provided the solution. They do rock-climbing at their college, and had brought their equipment. Hazen set up a belay rope over one of the massive log beams, swung out into free space, cinch-climbed up, and grabbed the beam. A few attempts with inadequate tools failed to pop the balloons, but then Mike provided an extended broom handle with a nail taped to the end. Hazen lanced away, and after half the balloons were popped, the rest descended quickly. (Another rogue cluster was within reach of the loft.) It made for quite the indoor entertainment. And soon after, they were the next to leave.
Setting up.
Climbing up.
Carson didn't want to hear the pops.
High-flying Hazen nails the balloons.A crew had inspected the snow-making cannons the night before, but they did not turn them on, so the ski slope had only natural snow, but plenty enough for sledding. Val took the kids out, and several cousins also joined in. Saucers were not very good, but inflatable pool rings rocked in the snow. Carson even did a solo run. The slope evened out enough near the lodge walkway that there was no danger of anyone going on a long, down-mountain run, but there was more than enough fun for all. (I only took pictures. I'm too big for this sort of thing.) Eventually everyone came back in, and Carson soon dozed off, utterly exhausted from the climbing up and sliding down.
Snowy view from the lodge deck.(Val and Carson are just right of the boulder, Amie is hiking with an inflatable.)
Val watches Carson zoom by.
My snow bunny. Hauling kids up a mountain is work!
Nathan wipes out.
Mike gives Kylene a push, and the snow does the rest.
Carson hikes through a New Mexico winter wonderland.
Simply beautiful.The balance of the day was quiet, folks reading, watching college football, movies. I set up the MacBook to run a slideshow of all the pictures I had taken on the weekend, and people enjoyed that until the battery went dry. Plans were made for sharing pics later. Dinner was potluck and scavenge style, with more than enough leftovers and supplies remaining. As the evening turned to night, people began taking down the decorations, cleaning up, and packing, for tomorrow, we all depart.
Late-night team Scrabble.The Golden Anniversary Road Trip -- part 4
Day 4 (Fri. 11/28)
A side trip to Taos
Third up today -- Dickie Joe and Jenny both beat me by a little, they were still building the fire. I cleared some fresh snow from the main staircase and brought in some extra logs. Sleepers arose, breakfast was cooked and eaten, and general plans were laid for voluntary travel to nearby Taos later in the day. I picked up a paperback Nan had been reading, got quickly hooked, and we began a reading competition, even though she had a 300 page lead on me (she's gonna win).
A little after noon, about half of us left for Taos in three trucks -- the main purpose being to get the celebrants out of the house so it could be fully decorated for the night's dinner party. The road from Angel Fire to Taos is (of course) twisty and uphill, but it was clear of snow and an easy drive. To my surprise, Taos town is not the famous Taos ski resort -- that's about 20 miles northward. The town is an art colony. There did not appear to be a building over two stories, and studios and artsy-craftsy stores (little ones) were in abundance. There was also a crafts fair at the civic center. We reached a group consensus to meet back at the trucks at 4:00, and I was off. Crafts fairs usually don't do a lot for me, but I found some nice gifts for next month. I continued shopping -- two bookstores failed to provide a copy of Val's request, Shogun, and stupid me didn't think of getting her some other trashy airport novel. But I made up for that gaffe by finding her, another request, a belt (she had completely forgotten to bring one, and no one had a spare). It was a bit too large -- my Swiss Army knife solved that (always have a Swiss Army knife handy) -- but handsomely decorated with cowhide trimming. She loved it. Yes!
I rounded up a few other future gifts, and got some marshmallow snowmen as a treat for the kids, who have been very good on this trip. On the whole, Taos was an interesting diversion for the proximity.
Our truck was selected to pick up some needed provisions, so driver Mike found a supermarket, and we were soon back on the road with beer, coffee filters, more beer, aspirin, more beer, olives, toothpaste, and more beer. (I thought the beer volume a bit much, but Mike knows the family better than I do. Besides, most of it was Newcastle Brown Ale, a truly fine brew, which I won't be able to resist completely.)
The sun was setting as we headed back, just escaping under the cloud cover, lighting up the tops of the ridges to our left, golden against the gray-purple skies. Very lovely. As we approached Angel Fire, we saw the first of Jenny's signs, so we pulled over and I removed it, and then we gathered up every other sign we could find, all the way up the mountain. We also collected Mary's balloons, which I attempted to pop, but they were so cold they went "puff" and slowly, slowly deflated. Interesting -- physics and thermodynamics at work.
Icicles are best when eaten raw.
And then, over the footbridge to the ski slope!
While we were gone, Val took Amalie and Carson out to slog about in the snow again. They had a blast, and even saw some deer higher up the ski slope (about which I didn't learn until I reviewed the pictures). When I got back, Carson was totally zonked in one of the comfy chairs -- Val said he hadn't merely fallen asleep, but had essentially passed out, hoping for hot cocoa. She went to prepare it in the kitchen, and returning mere minutes later, he was out; and stayed that way until just before dinner.
Nothing beats an inflatable for belly-flopping.
Carson checks out the wildlife.
Play hard, sleep hard.
Back to the lodge at last, we found many of the grandkids working on the more complicated decorations in the garage, under the direction of Mary, who really is quite good at this sort of thing. Tables upstairs had been arrayed in tablecloths, runners, gold trimmings, candles, and balloons (a helium tank had been brought along). A 20-minute DVD movie crafted by Kyle and Karissa, with pictures supplied by various family members, recounted the happy couple's fifty years of marriage -- it was quite good. And then, dinner.
Champagne balloons galore!
(Carefully weighted to prevent high-rafter escapes.)
Beautiful table centerpiece.
But first, the king and queen had to be arrayed with sashes and crowns, and toasted by eldest offspring Mike. Spaghetti, ziti, meatballs and sausages, salad, and garlic bread were available in ample supply, along with wine and juice. The documentary re-ran all during dinner. Afterward, some gifts -- a gag bag from Mary (candies, pickled herring, a pecan roll -- nice but silly stuff), and the canvas reprint of their wedding picture from Val. Tummies stuffed, the formal celebration over, folks drifted off to books or games or conversation. I fell asleep quite early -- too much spaghetti, probably -- and woke in the middle of the night, read for a few hours, and dropped off again.
The evening's royal couple.
Katrina gets Carson with ticklation!
A side trip to Taos
Third up today -- Dickie Joe and Jenny both beat me by a little, they were still building the fire. I cleared some fresh snow from the main staircase and brought in some extra logs. Sleepers arose, breakfast was cooked and eaten, and general plans were laid for voluntary travel to nearby Taos later in the day. I picked up a paperback Nan had been reading, got quickly hooked, and we began a reading competition, even though she had a 300 page lead on me (she's gonna win).
A little after noon, about half of us left for Taos in three trucks -- the main purpose being to get the celebrants out of the house so it could be fully decorated for the night's dinner party. The road from Angel Fire to Taos is (of course) twisty and uphill, but it was clear of snow and an easy drive. To my surprise, Taos town is not the famous Taos ski resort -- that's about 20 miles northward. The town is an art colony. There did not appear to be a building over two stories, and studios and artsy-craftsy stores (little ones) were in abundance. There was also a crafts fair at the civic center. We reached a group consensus to meet back at the trucks at 4:00, and I was off. Crafts fairs usually don't do a lot for me, but I found some nice gifts for next month. I continued shopping -- two bookstores failed to provide a copy of Val's request, Shogun, and stupid me didn't think of getting her some other trashy airport novel. But I made up for that gaffe by finding her, another request, a belt (she had completely forgotten to bring one, and no one had a spare). It was a bit too large -- my Swiss Army knife solved that (always have a Swiss Army knife handy) -- but handsomely decorated with cowhide trimming. She loved it. Yes!
I rounded up a few other future gifts, and got some marshmallow snowmen as a treat for the kids, who have been very good on this trip. On the whole, Taos was an interesting diversion for the proximity.
Our truck was selected to pick up some needed provisions, so driver Mike found a supermarket, and we were soon back on the road with beer, coffee filters, more beer, aspirin, more beer, olives, toothpaste, and more beer. (I thought the beer volume a bit much, but Mike knows the family better than I do. Besides, most of it was Newcastle Brown Ale, a truly fine brew, which I won't be able to resist completely.)
The sun was setting as we headed back, just escaping under the cloud cover, lighting up the tops of the ridges to our left, golden against the gray-purple skies. Very lovely. As we approached Angel Fire, we saw the first of Jenny's signs, so we pulled over and I removed it, and then we gathered up every other sign we could find, all the way up the mountain. We also collected Mary's balloons, which I attempted to pop, but they were so cold they went "puff" and slowly, slowly deflated. Interesting -- physics and thermodynamics at work.
Icicles are best when eaten raw.
And then, over the footbridge to the ski slope!While we were gone, Val took Amalie and Carson out to slog about in the snow again. They had a blast, and even saw some deer higher up the ski slope (about which I didn't learn until I reviewed the pictures). When I got back, Carson was totally zonked in one of the comfy chairs -- Val said he hadn't merely fallen asleep, but had essentially passed out, hoping for hot cocoa. She went to prepare it in the kitchen, and returning mere minutes later, he was out; and stayed that way until just before dinner.
Nothing beats an inflatable for belly-flopping.
Carson checks out the wildlife.
Play hard, sleep hard.Back to the lodge at last, we found many of the grandkids working on the more complicated decorations in the garage, under the direction of Mary, who really is quite good at this sort of thing. Tables upstairs had been arrayed in tablecloths, runners, gold trimmings, candles, and balloons (a helium tank had been brought along). A 20-minute DVD movie crafted by Kyle and Karissa, with pictures supplied by various family members, recounted the happy couple's fifty years of marriage -- it was quite good. And then, dinner.
Champagne balloons galore!(Carefully weighted to prevent high-rafter escapes.)
Beautiful table centerpiece.But first, the king and queen had to be arrayed with sashes and crowns, and toasted by eldest offspring Mike. Spaghetti, ziti, meatballs and sausages, salad, and garlic bread were available in ample supply, along with wine and juice. The documentary re-ran all during dinner. Afterward, some gifts -- a gag bag from Mary (candies, pickled herring, a pecan roll -- nice but silly stuff), and the canvas reprint of their wedding picture from Val. Tummies stuffed, the formal celebration over, folks drifted off to books or games or conversation. I fell asleep quite early -- too much spaghetti, probably -- and woke in the middle of the night, read for a few hours, and dropped off again.
The evening's royal couple.
Katrina gets Carson with ticklation!The Golden Anniversary Road Trip -- part 3
Day 3 (Thurs. 11/27) -- Thanksgiving
Atop a mountain in Angel Fire
I was the first up. Normally this is not at all unusual, but Dickie Joe is a rancher of long standing and used to rising in the early-early morn, and I actually beat him! He was, however, second up, and I had just gotten the coffee started. While the lodge is appointed with just about everything, it sorely lacks a tea kettle. I made do with boiling a pot of water and using a large serving spoon to make my morning tea. This of course works, but it just isn't the same as having a kettle, and while using the microwave also is another option, that's really cheating. Meanwhile, Dickie Joe went right to work starting the fire, which he had going in minutes.
Third up was Mike, because the phone rang. It was the lodge owner, with advice on how to re-enable the satellite television, which worked out fine, and let football fans indulge later in the day. Soon after, various folks started popping out of corners and creches, and the lodge came fully alive.
Outside, it began snowing.
Carson and Amalie wanted to go outside, so Val bundled them up in cold-weather gear we brought and some small pairs of boots that she found in the lodge. I had been outside already -- it was plenty cold, and the snow was continuous, though small-flaked and not accumulating much on the ground -- looking for the antenna for the Sirius satellite radio receiver in the lodge. Ideally the Sirius would broadcast to the in-house FM receiver, but it wasn't working well, very staticky, and I was determined to sort it out. (It did not help that the receiver had a burned-out display, making tuning to specific frequencies very difficult.) Finally I concluded that the Sirius was apparently working well, but the receiver was not, and with nothing more to be done, stopped fussing with it. Luckily, with the satellite TV back in commission, a holiday-oriented music channel provided thematically correct, grandmother-approved background noise later in the day.
The kids go for the white, puffy, slushy stuff.
I went outside with the kids, jacketed, and helped them with snowballs. There is a very small pond near the house, and I walked them over to it to deliver a Standard Dad Lecture on the dangers of playing near frozen water. We heaved a few snowballs onto the pond -- they were mostly composed of the crusty, icy snow -- and then wandered down the drive, along the lane to the dead end adjacent to the ski slope, and edged around (me), under (Amie), and through (Carson) the gate. We walked about 50 yards up the slope, during which I explained the snow-making cannons, and then over the short walkway bridge directly back to the lodge deck. We entered the back door mudroom, dressed down, and went inside to thaw and enjoy the warmth.
A massive breakfast had been prepared -- scrambled eggs, hash browns, biscuits and sausage gravy -- which went down a treat, along with hot coffee for the big people. And then the football games began, which Grandpa Jack enjoyed at full sprawl in one of the overlarge comfy chairs, along with general loitering-about. Aunt Jenny agreed to escort the kids back out for more snowball practice.
It's good to be the king, even for just a weekend.
The day passed -- the fire was built and stoked, games were played, coffee sipped. Some folks went out for hikes, up or down the ski slope, which is still mostly grasses or mud, the skiing season not yet begun. It's like a gigantic slumber party.
Carson gets backgammon lessons from Ashley.
Thanksgiving dinner got organized. Most of the primary cooking was pre-arranged, but strong arms were conscripted into service as needed. No one told me I was needed in the kitchen, and so kept my distance. Downstairs, an X-box game system provided Guitar Hero for most of the older grandkids, who attacked it in earnest. I found it interesting to watch, particularly that it uses well-known recordings of famous guitar songs -- the licensing must have been very expensive, though apparently it has been recouped in spades.
The feast was delicious -- turkey (standard and smoked), ham, yams, mashed potatoes, rolls, green bean casserole with cracker topping, cranberry sauce (berry style and, my preference, jellied), and gravy. Wine was available, and sparkling apple cider for the younger diners. Very traditional, and satisfying. Later, there were pies -- a huge pumpkin pie (it filled a 9" x 13" pan), apple, berry (super delicious), and caramel apple. With coffee, it filled out the empty corners nicely. A quiet evening of game-playing, mostly cards and Sudoku, let everyone drift off at their own pace.
Sudoku for everyone!
50 years, 1958-2008. And for one long weekend, they still have all seven kids in the house.
Atop a mountain in Angel Fire
I was the first up. Normally this is not at all unusual, but Dickie Joe is a rancher of long standing and used to rising in the early-early morn, and I actually beat him! He was, however, second up, and I had just gotten the coffee started. While the lodge is appointed with just about everything, it sorely lacks a tea kettle. I made do with boiling a pot of water and using a large serving spoon to make my morning tea. This of course works, but it just isn't the same as having a kettle, and while using the microwave also is another option, that's really cheating. Meanwhile, Dickie Joe went right to work starting the fire, which he had going in minutes.
Third up was Mike, because the phone rang. It was the lodge owner, with advice on how to re-enable the satellite television, which worked out fine, and let football fans indulge later in the day. Soon after, various folks started popping out of corners and creches, and the lodge came fully alive.
Outside, it began snowing.
Carson and Amalie wanted to go outside, so Val bundled them up in cold-weather gear we brought and some small pairs of boots that she found in the lodge. I had been outside already -- it was plenty cold, and the snow was continuous, though small-flaked and not accumulating much on the ground -- looking for the antenna for the Sirius satellite radio receiver in the lodge. Ideally the Sirius would broadcast to the in-house FM receiver, but it wasn't working well, very staticky, and I was determined to sort it out. (It did not help that the receiver had a burned-out display, making tuning to specific frequencies very difficult.) Finally I concluded that the Sirius was apparently working well, but the receiver was not, and with nothing more to be done, stopped fussing with it. Luckily, with the satellite TV back in commission, a holiday-oriented music channel provided thematically correct, grandmother-approved background noise later in the day.
The kids go for the white, puffy, slushy stuff.I went outside with the kids, jacketed, and helped them with snowballs. There is a very small pond near the house, and I walked them over to it to deliver a Standard Dad Lecture on the dangers of playing near frozen water. We heaved a few snowballs onto the pond -- they were mostly composed of the crusty, icy snow -- and then wandered down the drive, along the lane to the dead end adjacent to the ski slope, and edged around (me), under (Amie), and through (Carson) the gate. We walked about 50 yards up the slope, during which I explained the snow-making cannons, and then over the short walkway bridge directly back to the lodge deck. We entered the back door mudroom, dressed down, and went inside to thaw and enjoy the warmth.
A massive breakfast had been prepared -- scrambled eggs, hash browns, biscuits and sausage gravy -- which went down a treat, along with hot coffee for the big people. And then the football games began, which Grandpa Jack enjoyed at full sprawl in one of the overlarge comfy chairs, along with general loitering-about. Aunt Jenny agreed to escort the kids back out for more snowball practice.
It's good to be the king, even for just a weekend.The day passed -- the fire was built and stoked, games were played, coffee sipped. Some folks went out for hikes, up or down the ski slope, which is still mostly grasses or mud, the skiing season not yet begun. It's like a gigantic slumber party.
Carson gets backgammon lessons from Ashley.Thanksgiving dinner got organized. Most of the primary cooking was pre-arranged, but strong arms were conscripted into service as needed. No one told me I was needed in the kitchen, and so kept my distance. Downstairs, an X-box game system provided Guitar Hero for most of the older grandkids, who attacked it in earnest. I found it interesting to watch, particularly that it uses well-known recordings of famous guitar songs -- the licensing must have been very expensive, though apparently it has been recouped in spades.
The feast was delicious -- turkey (standard and smoked), ham, yams, mashed potatoes, rolls, green bean casserole with cracker topping, cranberry sauce (berry style and, my preference, jellied), and gravy. Wine was available, and sparkling apple cider for the younger diners. Very traditional, and satisfying. Later, there were pies -- a huge pumpkin pie (it filled a 9" x 13" pan), apple, berry (super delicious), and caramel apple. With coffee, it filled out the empty corners nicely. A quiet evening of game-playing, mostly cards and Sudoku, let everyone drift off at their own pace.
Sudoku for everyone!
50 years, 1958-2008. And for one long weekend, they still have all seven kids in the house.The Golden Anniversary Road Trip -- part 2
Day 2 (Wed. 11/26)
Lubbock to Angel Fire
I awoke first, which is almost always the case. A peek out the window found the roof rack untouched, our faith rewarded. The others slowly rose, and I opened the drapes to let in the early sun. Val came over to have a look, and immediately spotted a huge flock of birds coming toward us. Ducks? Geese? No. As a wing passed almost directly overhead, Val cracked the window and heard their calls -- sandhill cranes, one of her favorite birds. We urged the kids to have a look as well; there were hundreds of cranes gliding above. What a sight first thing in the morning.
I accompanied Amie to the lobby, where La Quinta provided an agreeable breakfast table. I cooked a waffle for Amie and tucked into a yogurt, hard boiled egg, wheat toast, and coffee. Thus fortified, I went back to the room, while Val took Carson to breakfast, giving me a quiet window during which to shower. We packed up the car, wedging in everything without too much effort, but the Civic clearly was full. And, at 10:30, we hit the road.
At about 10:33, we stopped, having happened across a Supercuts, and Val wanted to get her hair done. Fine, better now than later. The kids and I wandered the parking lot (it was quiet) and some discount stores, getting back to the salon just as Val was paying. We re-entered a store, picked out some cheap toys and sundries (hand lotion was a must-have), and were off again... until about 10 minutes later, because I wanted to top off the car before leaving Lubbock. Regular gas: $1.549/gallon, amazing. While I was filling up, a single train engine across the street was doing some maneuvering onto a siding track, sometimes blasting its whistle, so that was entertaining for the kids. And, at last, back on the long road toward New Mexico and family.
The remaining stretch of Texas was pleasantly uneventful -- flat terrain, cotton crops (some blooming, but mostly picked, huge truck-sized bales dotting the fields), tired mill towns, a few wind turbines here and there with one huge wind farm dotting the eastern skyline. At one point, with Val and both kids napping, I pulled over to collect some cotton blooms -- the roadside was clotted with them, and I thought some raw cotton would be interesting, and something Amalie could take to school for show & tell. Aside from being cleaned of debris and washed, cotton blooms feel much like cotton balls from the drugstore. We continued on, departing Texas through the border town of Farwell. A few miles later, in Clovis, the first town in New Mexico, we pulled over for some lunch. A Love's truck stop provided a Subway shop, not my favorite sandwich provider but good enough. Carson was dozing, so Val stretched him out in the back seat while Amie and I went inside. She ordered a six-inch ham & cheese, and ate the whole thing. I brought a sandwich out to Val, we all availed ourselves of the restrooms, and finally were ready to get back underway. Carson was so deeply asleep that we let Amie ride in front, and Val sat in the back with his legs draped over her lap.
We had one turn to make in Ft. Sumner, which was easy to find, two blocks past a gas station. I figured there'd be another station soon on, but not so! I wanted to top off again, so a quick U-turn got us to the filling station. Indicative of the higher elevations we were approaching, the gas sold here was of lower octane than at home, and remembering how badly the Civic's compression gets clobbered in thin air (especially when loaded with people and luggage), I filled up with super ($1.949/gallon). We used the chance to let everyone have a 20-minute stretch, and Carson found a penny.
We kept an eye on the car clock, not that we needed to, but then a thought struck Val -- had we crossed into Mountain time? A quick check of one of the cell phones confirmed it -- they picked up the time change, meaning we had an extra hour (on paper, even if our bodies didn't feel it). So that improved our travel time, at least artificially.
The miles ticked away. In Santa Rosa, we turned on to I-40 for about 20 miles, among numerous cautionary signs about high winds and where to tune for emergency information (not in effect, thank goodness). The big road didn't carry us far when it was time to turn off, heading to Romeroville and Las Vegas.
Yes, Las Vegas, but not that Las Vegas. There was a huge sign outside the town, listing some of its many attributes, which I thought should include "zero casinos" at the bottom. Here we got to travel another interstate, I-25, for barely 15 minutes before we got off in Las Vegas. I pulled over to consult our maps and directions, and a passerby offered her help. It was dinnertime, the sun set but still a bit of light available, so we asked for a dinner recommendation. She named a steakhouse, K-Bob's, a chain which we had enjoyed in Raton during the long August road trip, so that suited us, and it was on our way as well. Minutes later, we were seated and reading our menus.
Dinner was good and filling, and after washing hands and faces and making sure everyone had used the restrooms, we were back on our road, about 70 miles to go. The route, 518, got quickly dark as soon as Las Vegas was behind us -- no street lights. Thirty dark and twisty miles took us to an even smaller town, Mora, where we spotted, missed, and returned to our last major road change, onto 434.
As dark and twisty as 518 had been, 434 was all the moreso. At least it was paved! This was tall pine country, and they grew right up to the roadside. We crossed several small bridges -- probably a switchbacking mountain brook -- which inspired me, each time, to croon a few bars of "...over the river and through the woods..." (as a joke, it wears thin quickly, but I didn't have a critical audience). Except for one house and two cars heading the other way, there were no lights at all. At one point, to let the kids really appreciate the primeval conditions, I slowed to a crawl and momentarily doused the lights, and we were in The Dark.
Well, enough of that. A five-mile stretch along 434, with advisory signs, didn't even have a center stripe -- high cattle country, as we passed over several cow catchers. It was hilly, twisty, hazardous driving; daylight would have helped only a little. Even when the stripe returned, the driving was a challenge -- not nerve-wracking, just the sort you want to be over and get to where you're going.
At last, 434 joined up and turned onto a better road, and soon took us in to Angel Fire. I made a mistake in prepping my driving materials -- I didn't make my own detailed maps of Angel Fire, and relied upon the lower-resolution information provided by the lodge managers. While not confusing, and Angel Fire isn't a big enough town in which to get lost for more than a minute, our necessary turnoff wasn't apparent. But find it we did, and quickly, and at the next turn, while consulting to ensure that we were in the right place, Val noticed a cardboard sign that her sister Jenny had posted. We continued finding these at necessary junctures as we wound up mountain paths that were not merely twisty but actually knotted. Halfway up -- and this lodge is up a mountain -- the pavement ended and we were on graded dirt road. Jenny's signs were joined by third sister Mary's balloons, as well as crusty remains of snow on the north-facing slopes.
Just before the road ran out -- dead-ending against a ski slope -- there, well-lit and a bit back from the road, was the lodge. We pulled in, and various relations came out onto the deck to wave greetings (before ducking back inside against the sub-freezing cold). We made it -- and, amazingly, were not the last to arrive.
We trundled out of the Civic and headed in. I carried Carson, shoeless, and practically first thing introduced him to his Uncles John and Matt, who had never met him. Val was about six months pregnant when we last encountered both of them, at Jenny's wedding, so he was literally a new face. That done, he was off to charm everyone else, the youngest of the clan. Thanks to both naps and attention, he was superenergized and ready to go for hours, which he did. (Later, I told him he could sleep in our room, or get curled up anywhere in the lodge, figuring that some cousin or other would want to cuddle down with him. But, as it turned out, he crashed with us, though it was well after I had bedded down.)
Third brother/uncle Mike, who had made the lodge rental arrangements, helped me offload the car, first into the garage and out of the cold, and then into our bedroom. That done, I was just about to search for hot tea -- this is a coffee-drinking bunch, so I brought two boxes of teabags -- when the dear mother-in-law (and co-guest of honor) Nan brought me a mug of hot water. I quickly deployed a teabag into it, and then by pre-arranged request, showed her the raw cotton. I then got the story on how she broke her hand (it was, as these things usually are, rather a mundane accident, though she had a much more entertaining, made-up version she used first; I recommended she stick with the better story). Arrived, unpacked, kids sent off among the relatives, and hot tea at the ready, I headed upstairs. A roaring fire, general salutations, and fresh potato soup rounded out the evening, and there was much catching-up to do (not so much us, as we had made the grand tour in August to about half the family). Amalie was the first to drop off, but eventually we were all tucked in under thick comforters, snuggled warmly against the cold outside.
A quick family recap, because a scorecard helps:
First generation, (grand)parents (2) -- Jack and Nancy, married 50 years.
Second generation, in chronological order (7) -- Michael, Mary, Laura, John, Valerie, Jenny, Matthew.
Spouses (4) -- Rose (m. Michael), chronicler Thomas (m. Valerie), Dickie Joe (m. Jenny). The rest are unhitched, though Mary has been with a fellow named Bill for many moons, and he's here.
Third generation (11) -- Lindy, Ashley, Kyle & Karissa (twins; all Mike & Rose's), Katrina (Mary's), Kylene (Mary & Bill's), Jessica, Jake, Nathan (all Laura's), Amalie, Carson (both, Val's & mine).
Plus there's a couple of boyfriends/girlfriends accompanying some of the older grandkids. Quite a crowd, 26 in all, 24 staying in the lodge.
Lubbock to Angel Fire
I awoke first, which is almost always the case. A peek out the window found the roof rack untouched, our faith rewarded. The others slowly rose, and I opened the drapes to let in the early sun. Val came over to have a look, and immediately spotted a huge flock of birds coming toward us. Ducks? Geese? No. As a wing passed almost directly overhead, Val cracked the window and heard their calls -- sandhill cranes, one of her favorite birds. We urged the kids to have a look as well; there were hundreds of cranes gliding above. What a sight first thing in the morning.
I accompanied Amie to the lobby, where La Quinta provided an agreeable breakfast table. I cooked a waffle for Amie and tucked into a yogurt, hard boiled egg, wheat toast, and coffee. Thus fortified, I went back to the room, while Val took Carson to breakfast, giving me a quiet window during which to shower. We packed up the car, wedging in everything without too much effort, but the Civic clearly was full. And, at 10:30, we hit the road.
At about 10:33, we stopped, having happened across a Supercuts, and Val wanted to get her hair done. Fine, better now than later. The kids and I wandered the parking lot (it was quiet) and some discount stores, getting back to the salon just as Val was paying. We re-entered a store, picked out some cheap toys and sundries (hand lotion was a must-have), and were off again... until about 10 minutes later, because I wanted to top off the car before leaving Lubbock. Regular gas: $1.549/gallon, amazing. While I was filling up, a single train engine across the street was doing some maneuvering onto a siding track, sometimes blasting its whistle, so that was entertaining for the kids. And, at last, back on the long road toward New Mexico and family.
The remaining stretch of Texas was pleasantly uneventful -- flat terrain, cotton crops (some blooming, but mostly picked, huge truck-sized bales dotting the fields), tired mill towns, a few wind turbines here and there with one huge wind farm dotting the eastern skyline. At one point, with Val and both kids napping, I pulled over to collect some cotton blooms -- the roadside was clotted with them, and I thought some raw cotton would be interesting, and something Amalie could take to school for show & tell. Aside from being cleaned of debris and washed, cotton blooms feel much like cotton balls from the drugstore. We continued on, departing Texas through the border town of Farwell. A few miles later, in Clovis, the first town in New Mexico, we pulled over for some lunch. A Love's truck stop provided a Subway shop, not my favorite sandwich provider but good enough. Carson was dozing, so Val stretched him out in the back seat while Amie and I went inside. She ordered a six-inch ham & cheese, and ate the whole thing. I brought a sandwich out to Val, we all availed ourselves of the restrooms, and finally were ready to get back underway. Carson was so deeply asleep that we let Amie ride in front, and Val sat in the back with his legs draped over her lap.
We had one turn to make in Ft. Sumner, which was easy to find, two blocks past a gas station. I figured there'd be another station soon on, but not so! I wanted to top off again, so a quick U-turn got us to the filling station. Indicative of the higher elevations we were approaching, the gas sold here was of lower octane than at home, and remembering how badly the Civic's compression gets clobbered in thin air (especially when loaded with people and luggage), I filled up with super ($1.949/gallon). We used the chance to let everyone have a 20-minute stretch, and Carson found a penny.
We kept an eye on the car clock, not that we needed to, but then a thought struck Val -- had we crossed into Mountain time? A quick check of one of the cell phones confirmed it -- they picked up the time change, meaning we had an extra hour (on paper, even if our bodies didn't feel it). So that improved our travel time, at least artificially.
The miles ticked away. In Santa Rosa, we turned on to I-40 for about 20 miles, among numerous cautionary signs about high winds and where to tune for emergency information (not in effect, thank goodness). The big road didn't carry us far when it was time to turn off, heading to Romeroville and Las Vegas.
Yes, Las Vegas, but not that Las Vegas. There was a huge sign outside the town, listing some of its many attributes, which I thought should include "zero casinos" at the bottom. Here we got to travel another interstate, I-25, for barely 15 minutes before we got off in Las Vegas. I pulled over to consult our maps and directions, and a passerby offered her help. It was dinnertime, the sun set but still a bit of light available, so we asked for a dinner recommendation. She named a steakhouse, K-Bob's, a chain which we had enjoyed in Raton during the long August road trip, so that suited us, and it was on our way as well. Minutes later, we were seated and reading our menus.
Dinner was good and filling, and after washing hands and faces and making sure everyone had used the restrooms, we were back on our road, about 70 miles to go. The route, 518, got quickly dark as soon as Las Vegas was behind us -- no street lights. Thirty dark and twisty miles took us to an even smaller town, Mora, where we spotted, missed, and returned to our last major road change, onto 434.
As dark and twisty as 518 had been, 434 was all the moreso. At least it was paved! This was tall pine country, and they grew right up to the roadside. We crossed several small bridges -- probably a switchbacking mountain brook -- which inspired me, each time, to croon a few bars of "...over the river and through the woods..." (as a joke, it wears thin quickly, but I didn't have a critical audience). Except for one house and two cars heading the other way, there were no lights at all. At one point, to let the kids really appreciate the primeval conditions, I slowed to a crawl and momentarily doused the lights, and we were in The Dark.
Well, enough of that. A five-mile stretch along 434, with advisory signs, didn't even have a center stripe -- high cattle country, as we passed over several cow catchers. It was hilly, twisty, hazardous driving; daylight would have helped only a little. Even when the stripe returned, the driving was a challenge -- not nerve-wracking, just the sort you want to be over and get to where you're going.
At last, 434 joined up and turned onto a better road, and soon took us in to Angel Fire. I made a mistake in prepping my driving materials -- I didn't make my own detailed maps of Angel Fire, and relied upon the lower-resolution information provided by the lodge managers. While not confusing, and Angel Fire isn't a big enough town in which to get lost for more than a minute, our necessary turnoff wasn't apparent. But find it we did, and quickly, and at the next turn, while consulting to ensure that we were in the right place, Val noticed a cardboard sign that her sister Jenny had posted. We continued finding these at necessary junctures as we wound up mountain paths that were not merely twisty but actually knotted. Halfway up -- and this lodge is up a mountain -- the pavement ended and we were on graded dirt road. Jenny's signs were joined by third sister Mary's balloons, as well as crusty remains of snow on the north-facing slopes.
Just before the road ran out -- dead-ending against a ski slope -- there, well-lit and a bit back from the road, was the lodge. We pulled in, and various relations came out onto the deck to wave greetings (before ducking back inside against the sub-freezing cold). We made it -- and, amazingly, were not the last to arrive.
We trundled out of the Civic and headed in. I carried Carson, shoeless, and practically first thing introduced him to his Uncles John and Matt, who had never met him. Val was about six months pregnant when we last encountered both of them, at Jenny's wedding, so he was literally a new face. That done, he was off to charm everyone else, the youngest of the clan. Thanks to both naps and attention, he was superenergized and ready to go for hours, which he did. (Later, I told him he could sleep in our room, or get curled up anywhere in the lodge, figuring that some cousin or other would want to cuddle down with him. But, as it turned out, he crashed with us, though it was well after I had bedded down.)
Third brother/uncle Mike, who had made the lodge rental arrangements, helped me offload the car, first into the garage and out of the cold, and then into our bedroom. That done, I was just about to search for hot tea -- this is a coffee-drinking bunch, so I brought two boxes of teabags -- when the dear mother-in-law (and co-guest of honor) Nan brought me a mug of hot water. I quickly deployed a teabag into it, and then by pre-arranged request, showed her the raw cotton. I then got the story on how she broke her hand (it was, as these things usually are, rather a mundane accident, though she had a much more entertaining, made-up version she used first; I recommended she stick with the better story). Arrived, unpacked, kids sent off among the relatives, and hot tea at the ready, I headed upstairs. A roaring fire, general salutations, and fresh potato soup rounded out the evening, and there was much catching-up to do (not so much us, as we had made the grand tour in August to about half the family). Amalie was the first to drop off, but eventually we were all tucked in under thick comforters, snuggled warmly against the cold outside.
A quick family recap, because a scorecard helps:
First generation, (grand)parents (2) -- Jack and Nancy, married 50 years.
Second generation, in chronological order (7) -- Michael, Mary, Laura, John, Valerie, Jenny, Matthew.
Spouses (4) -- Rose (m. Michael), chronicler Thomas (m. Valerie), Dickie Joe (m. Jenny). The rest are unhitched, though Mary has been with a fellow named Bill for many moons, and he's here.
Third generation (11) -- Lindy, Ashley, Kyle & Karissa (twins; all Mike & Rose's), Katrina (Mary's), Kylene (Mary & Bill's), Jessica, Jake, Nathan (all Laura's), Amalie, Carson (both, Val's & mine).
Plus there's a couple of boyfriends/girlfriends accompanying some of the older grandkids. Quite a crowd, 26 in all, 24 staying in the lodge.
The Golden Anniversary Road Trip -- part 1
The point of this road trip was the celebrate the 50th anniversary of my in-laws, Jack and Nancy Wenner, married 04-October-1958 in Rome, New York. They have seven kids and 11 grandkids, so it takes serious planning to round up the entire clan, and such reunions are sufficiently rare and complex that they are worth extending for a few days. Thus, Thanksgiving Weekend is a perfect opportunity. Eldest son Mike found a rental ski lodge in Angel Fire, New Mexico, and that is to where we are heading.
Day 1 (Tues. 11/25)
Austin to Lubbock
As is typical for our little clan, we hit the road bright and early at the crack of 2:30 pm. And as is true of any road trip we undertake, simply getting out of Austin is the worst part of the drive. Once we reached the mostly-open road, emotions cooled, toys were unpacked, snacks were deployed, and we started putting many miles of pavement under and, more importantly, behind us.
Our ultimate destination was a rented ski lodge in Angel Fire, New Mexico -- a place roomy enough for the dear wife's entire family side, which works out to 23-or-so people. The reason -- in October, my in-laws, Jack and Nancy, had the 50th wedding anniversary, the rare golden, and this gathering would be the official celebration thereof. Hey, gathering over a score of people who live all over the place (from Mississippi to Alaska), many of whom need time off, takes some planning.
Our drive mapped out around 720 miles, and that's too much for us in one day, so we aimed for Lubbock, a bit more than halfway. Unfortunately, because of our late start, it would take us half the night to get there -- but onward.
After an hour and a half, making good time ex-Austin traffic, we approached Llano, home of Cooper's Barbeque, one of the finest practitioners of the fine art of smoking meats. I hadn't planned on stopping, but the timing was right for an early dinner, I hadn't really had any lunch, and a stretch was welcome. Plus Cooper's was right along our way. We parked, wrangled the kids, bathroom breaks first and foremost, and then placed our orders. Cooper's has several brick pits, though I've only ever seen the first two going -- cooking on the second one, heating and serving from the first. It's warm standing hard by the pit, with its generous arrays of ribs, sausages, chicken halves, brisket, pork... yum. Tell the pit master what you want, he cuts it quickly, dips it in drippings if you want (I recommend it), then inside for drinks, side dishes, desserts, and weighing your pit selections. Amie had sausage, Val had brisket and beef ribs, while I went with sausage and one rib and more brisket. Carson isn't much for meat at his age, so he got a pickle and a corn on the cob. Along with small sides of potato salad and cole slaw, beans, and white bread, we feasted.
I wanted to top off the gas tank, so Val took the kids on a roadside ramble while I took care of that, then zipped past and let them catch up. This way the little ones get to burn off some energy. Gas prices have still been dropping in Austin, now into the mid-$1.60s range, but in Llano it was back up in the $1.80s. Still a welcome relief from the summertime prices we faced.
Back on the road, and now it was dusk, sundown, sunset. We completely misnavigated one of our few major turns, in Eden -- I blame myself -- and continued on into the night, through San Angelo, Sterling City, Big Spring, Lamesa. At one point, south of Big Spring, we noticed blinking red lights in the distance. This was puzzling; there were too many for radio or cell towers, and we were nowhere near an airport. As we continued on, there were more, until suddenly the entire western horizon was bedecked with red lights, blinking in unison. What the heck? Val guessed at it first -- a massive wind farm, blinking red lights alerting aircraft to their presence. And in fact, when looking just to the side of a red light during the on cycle, a turbine blade could be just glimpsed turning along. I love watching wind turbines, and even though I could not see this huge array, I was delighted to know it was there.
The kids had run both laptops dry playing movies, and Carson got very quiet, drifted off. Amie was also tired, and decided to nap until we got to the hotel. We drove through Tahoka, and finally, into Lubbock. I turned on to the city loop, 289, and finally found our exit. The night's destination: a La Quinta, one of my preferred chains, where I have nearly always been pleased and treated well. I hadn't made a reservation, since I was never sure we'd make it to Lubbock, but they had rooms, no problem. None with two queens, ah well, but we got a king and a foldout sleeper sofa. Carson woke up, energized, and so did Amie, though she stayed just sleepy enough to get a ride inside on the luggage trolley. They both are night owls under the right circumstances, and a hotel always perks them up.
By both being exhausted and not worried about the neighborhood (largely undeveloped), we left the roof rack on the car. It contained nothing but blankets, pillows, and some cheap kid toys, so risk of theft loss was minimal.
The La Q had a heated, indoor pool, but it was closed and we planned to leave before it reopened in the morning, so that was no help. Val had the kids run (quietly!) up and down the hallway, just to help them drain, day-long car rides being akin to a covered pot aboil, no matter how many stretch breaks we take. They are good travelers, but childhood imposes certain demands for chaotic release. No one complained, which is to everyone's credit. I set up in the lobby to take advantage of the wireless for a while -- the room signal was poor -- and after checking a few things, we all settled down for some well-earned rest, long past midnight (which is not at all unusual for us; you get used to it).
Day 1 (Tues. 11/25)
Austin to Lubbock
As is typical for our little clan, we hit the road bright and early at the crack of 2:30 pm. And as is true of any road trip we undertake, simply getting out of Austin is the worst part of the drive. Once we reached the mostly-open road, emotions cooled, toys were unpacked, snacks were deployed, and we started putting many miles of pavement under and, more importantly, behind us.
Our ultimate destination was a rented ski lodge in Angel Fire, New Mexico -- a place roomy enough for the dear wife's entire family side, which works out to 23-or-so people. The reason -- in October, my in-laws, Jack and Nancy, had the 50th wedding anniversary, the rare golden, and this gathering would be the official celebration thereof. Hey, gathering over a score of people who live all over the place (from Mississippi to Alaska), many of whom need time off, takes some planning.
Our drive mapped out around 720 miles, and that's too much for us in one day, so we aimed for Lubbock, a bit more than halfway. Unfortunately, because of our late start, it would take us half the night to get there -- but onward.
After an hour and a half, making good time ex-Austin traffic, we approached Llano, home of Cooper's Barbeque, one of the finest practitioners of the fine art of smoking meats. I hadn't planned on stopping, but the timing was right for an early dinner, I hadn't really had any lunch, and a stretch was welcome. Plus Cooper's was right along our way. We parked, wrangled the kids, bathroom breaks first and foremost, and then placed our orders. Cooper's has several brick pits, though I've only ever seen the first two going -- cooking on the second one, heating and serving from the first. It's warm standing hard by the pit, with its generous arrays of ribs, sausages, chicken halves, brisket, pork... yum. Tell the pit master what you want, he cuts it quickly, dips it in drippings if you want (I recommend it), then inside for drinks, side dishes, desserts, and weighing your pit selections. Amie had sausage, Val had brisket and beef ribs, while I went with sausage and one rib and more brisket. Carson isn't much for meat at his age, so he got a pickle and a corn on the cob. Along with small sides of potato salad and cole slaw, beans, and white bread, we feasted.
I wanted to top off the gas tank, so Val took the kids on a roadside ramble while I took care of that, then zipped past and let them catch up. This way the little ones get to burn off some energy. Gas prices have still been dropping in Austin, now into the mid-$1.60s range, but in Llano it was back up in the $1.80s. Still a welcome relief from the summertime prices we faced.
Back on the road, and now it was dusk, sundown, sunset. We completely misnavigated one of our few major turns, in Eden -- I blame myself -- and continued on into the night, through San Angelo, Sterling City, Big Spring, Lamesa. At one point, south of Big Spring, we noticed blinking red lights in the distance. This was puzzling; there were too many for radio or cell towers, and we were nowhere near an airport. As we continued on, there were more, until suddenly the entire western horizon was bedecked with red lights, blinking in unison. What the heck? Val guessed at it first -- a massive wind farm, blinking red lights alerting aircraft to their presence. And in fact, when looking just to the side of a red light during the on cycle, a turbine blade could be just glimpsed turning along. I love watching wind turbines, and even though I could not see this huge array, I was delighted to know it was there.
The kids had run both laptops dry playing movies, and Carson got very quiet, drifted off. Amie was also tired, and decided to nap until we got to the hotel. We drove through Tahoka, and finally, into Lubbock. I turned on to the city loop, 289, and finally found our exit. The night's destination: a La Quinta, one of my preferred chains, where I have nearly always been pleased and treated well. I hadn't made a reservation, since I was never sure we'd make it to Lubbock, but they had rooms, no problem. None with two queens, ah well, but we got a king and a foldout sleeper sofa. Carson woke up, energized, and so did Amie, though she stayed just sleepy enough to get a ride inside on the luggage trolley. They both are night owls under the right circumstances, and a hotel always perks them up.
By both being exhausted and not worried about the neighborhood (largely undeveloped), we left the roof rack on the car. It contained nothing but blankets, pillows, and some cheap kid toys, so risk of theft loss was minimal.
The La Q had a heated, indoor pool, but it was closed and we planned to leave before it reopened in the morning, so that was no help. Val had the kids run (quietly!) up and down the hallway, just to help them drain, day-long car rides being akin to a covered pot aboil, no matter how many stretch breaks we take. They are good travelers, but childhood imposes certain demands for chaotic release. No one complained, which is to everyone's credit. I set up in the lobby to take advantage of the wireless for a while -- the room signal was poor -- and after checking a few things, we all settled down for some well-earned rest, long past midnight (which is not at all unusual for us; you get used to it).
Tuesday, December 02, 2008
The Hall's 2009 Writers Ballot -- Introduction
The Baseball Hall Of Fame released its 2009 candidate ballot for voting by the eligible members of the Baseball Writers' Association Of America (BBWAA).
I'll be doing full player reviews over the next few days, but for now, the candidates on the ballot by name. At a headcount of 23, this is the smallest ballot in Hall history.
Returning candidates: Harold Baines, Bert Blyleven, Andre Dawson, Tommy John, Don Mattingly, Mark McGwire, Jack Morris, Dale Murphy, Dave Parker, Tim Raines, Jim Rice, Lee Smith, Alan Trammell.
First time candidates: Jay Bell, David Cone, Ron Gant, Mark Grace, Rickey Henderson, Jesse Orosco, Dan Plesac, Greg Vaughn, Mo Vaughn and Matt Williams
This will be the 15th and final BBWAA ballot for John and Rice.
Voting results will be announced on January 12, 2009.
I'll be doing full player reviews over the next few days, but for now, the candidates on the ballot by name. At a headcount of 23, this is the smallest ballot in Hall history.
Returning candidates: Harold Baines, Bert Blyleven, Andre Dawson, Tommy John, Don Mattingly, Mark McGwire, Jack Morris, Dale Murphy, Dave Parker, Tim Raines, Jim Rice, Lee Smith, Alan Trammell.
First time candidates: Jay Bell, David Cone, Ron Gant, Mark Grace, Rickey Henderson, Jesse Orosco, Dan Plesac, Greg Vaughn, Mo Vaughn and Matt Williams
This will be the 15th and final BBWAA ballot for John and Rice.
Voting results will be announced on January 12, 2009.
Monday, November 24, 2008
The Hall's 2008 Veterans Committee Ballot Review
Heading into the extra-long Thanksgiving weekend, which will be a family (on the dear wife's side) celebration of my in-laws' 50th wedding anniversary (the actual date was in early October, but gathering the whole clan takes effort).
My folks reached 47 years this summer past, so they've got another three years to the golden. I look forward to it, though at this early date have absolutely no notions or plans whatsoever. I suppose I should start plotting with my sibs sometime early next year....
Anyway... it's a break time! Major League Baseball holds its winter meetings during the second week of December, which is not at all far off, and that starts off with a bang on day one (Monday, Dec. 8) with the announcements of who, if anyone, will be inducted into the Hall Of Fame in 2009, from the Veterans Committee ballots. I've already had my say on these -- there are 20 candidates on two different ten-man ballots, sorted by those who made their major league debut before the 1943 season, or later. Convenient links to my ballot reviews, something basebally to think about while watching football and digesting.
* == candidate I would vote for.
Pre-1943 ballot -- Bill Dahlen, Wes Ferrell, *Joe Gordon, *Sherry Magee, Carl Mays, Allie Reynolds, *Vern Stephens, Mickey Vernon, Bucky Walters, *Deacon White.
Post-1943 ballot -- *Dick Allen, Gil Hodges, Jim Kaat, Tony Oliva, Al Oliver, Vada Pinson, *Ron Santo, Luis Tiant, Joe Torre, Maury Wills.
The Hall's on-line biography profiles (incomplete as of this writing; new ones are posted every day or two; the pre-1943 candidates are available, the post-1943 candidates are still rolling out).
Root for Santo.
My folks reached 47 years this summer past, so they've got another three years to the golden. I look forward to it, though at this early date have absolutely no notions or plans whatsoever. I suppose I should start plotting with my sibs sometime early next year....
Anyway... it's a break time! Major League Baseball holds its winter meetings during the second week of December, which is not at all far off, and that starts off with a bang on day one (Monday, Dec. 8) with the announcements of who, if anyone, will be inducted into the Hall Of Fame in 2009, from the Veterans Committee ballots. I've already had my say on these -- there are 20 candidates on two different ten-man ballots, sorted by those who made their major league debut before the 1943 season, or later. Convenient links to my ballot reviews, something basebally to think about while watching football and digesting.
* == candidate I would vote for.
Pre-1943 ballot -- Bill Dahlen, Wes Ferrell, *Joe Gordon, *Sherry Magee, Carl Mays, Allie Reynolds, *Vern Stephens, Mickey Vernon, Bucky Walters, *Deacon White.
Post-1943 ballot -- *Dick Allen, Gil Hodges, Jim Kaat, Tony Oliva, Al Oliver, Vada Pinson, *Ron Santo, Luis Tiant, Joe Torre, Maury Wills.
The Hall's on-line biography profiles (incomplete as of this writing; new ones are posted every day or two; the pre-1943 candidates are available, the post-1943 candidates are still rolling out).
Root for Santo.
Friday, November 21, 2008
The most wonderful time of the year
I'm an XM Radio subscriber. I first signed up with XM a few years ago, 2004 I think it was, for one basic reason -- XM had practically the entire Major League Baseball schedule. I've never been an every-night listener, but I do appreciate listening to the games called by the local broadcasters. Hey, one can never get enough Vin Scully (Dodgers) or Dave Niehaus (Mariners). And there's nothing like hearing the Red Sox called by some flinty New England voice.
XM offers a lot more, and very recently combined operations with (former) rival satellite radio concern Sirius. I find XM well worth the price.
Last year, holiday season 2007, XM had a raft of Christmas-centric programming -- individual channels for Christmas standards ("your mother's Christmas music", I thought of it), full-blown gospel/praise Christmas music, one channel for Christmas comedy music. I think there were one or two others, plus a channel for Chaunukah music during that festival as well. I'm enough of a sucker for childhood nostalgia that I can appreciate Christmas music -- traditions, some of the tracks -- without feeling clammy after a while. Plus the comedy channel was a riot.
Not so this year. XM is carrying one Christmas channel, "Holly", featuring "contemporary holiday hits". Yeah, fine, the traditional tracks are there, but it is a poor substitute for the 2007 bonanza. And Christmas music suffers from one huge flaw -- a lot of it is crap. There's plenty of good stuff, but given the limited window and narrow band of subject material, pretty much anything that relates to Christmas (which is, no secret, the only holiday involved) will get some airtime no matter how good or bad it is. And there is a lot of awful Christmas music -- either genuinely bad songs, or badly-reinterpreted versions of true classics.
I don't know why XM cut back so severely this year. Maybe the 2007 programming was a flop (is XM even subject to ratings? It's a subscription service). Maybe the recent merger with Sirius put everything in turmoil, and this is what little escaped. Maybe the cratered economy forced the move to reduced programming. Maybe the people at XM are just being grinches. They don't respond to emails except with form-letter replies. (While my XM unit typically remembers whichever channel it was last tuned to, it doesn't do this with the Holly channel, always rebooting to the noxious Preview channel, where you can be told that XM and Sirius are now Sirius-XM, it's great, and you can be told this 24/7.)
So I'm listening, but it was better back in the days of 2007.
XM offers a lot more, and very recently combined operations with (former) rival satellite radio concern Sirius. I find XM well worth the price.
Last year, holiday season 2007, XM had a raft of Christmas-centric programming -- individual channels for Christmas standards ("your mother's Christmas music", I thought of it), full-blown gospel/praise Christmas music, one channel for Christmas comedy music. I think there were one or two others, plus a channel for Chaunukah music during that festival as well. I'm enough of a sucker for childhood nostalgia that I can appreciate Christmas music -- traditions, some of the tracks -- without feeling clammy after a while. Plus the comedy channel was a riot.
Not so this year. XM is carrying one Christmas channel, "Holly", featuring "contemporary holiday hits". Yeah, fine, the traditional tracks are there, but it is a poor substitute for the 2007 bonanza. And Christmas music suffers from one huge flaw -- a lot of it is crap. There's plenty of good stuff, but given the limited window and narrow band of subject material, pretty much anything that relates to Christmas (which is, no secret, the only holiday involved) will get some airtime no matter how good or bad it is. And there is a lot of awful Christmas music -- either genuinely bad songs, or badly-reinterpreted versions of true classics.
I don't know why XM cut back so severely this year. Maybe the 2007 programming was a flop (is XM even subject to ratings? It's a subscription service). Maybe the recent merger with Sirius put everything in turmoil, and this is what little escaped. Maybe the cratered economy forced the move to reduced programming. Maybe the people at XM are just being grinches. They don't respond to emails except with form-letter replies. (While my XM unit typically remembers whichever channel it was last tuned to, it doesn't do this with the Holly channel, always rebooting to the noxious Preview channel, where you can be told that XM and Sirius are now Sirius-XM, it's great, and you can be told this 24/7.)
So I'm listening, but it was better back in the days of 2007.
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
Three , Two, then One...
Remember this summer's fun gas prices? I first paid over $3/gallon back in late February. Austin prices peaked around $3.90 that I can recall, $3.75 for certain. And on the road trip, in remote parts of Utah, we saw prices crest $4.50. Austin was still well above $3 when we got back.
It was sometime in September, around the middle of the month, when I saw the "2" again, paying $2.999/gallon. And prices kept dropping -- $2.82, $2.71, $2.39, $2.12, $2.07. An easy trend to spot, and then -- yes! -- $1.99. The two was gone. I had reason to visit a warehouse store yesterday, not my usual one but one with a filling station, and when I saw the member price -- $1.769/gallon -- I filled up (the car was getting low anyway). Checking later on AustinGasPrices.com, I found that I had happened upon one of the lowest prices in town.
To the pocketbook this is a pleasant thing, sure, but two things keep playing in my mind.
One, even an honest supply/demand curve shouldn't be this volatile, to swing up +100% and then go back down again in just a few months' time. We as a customer base are being played.
Two, it's nice to have the pricing pressure off, but we must not let this distract us as a nation or a world from pursuing alternative energy sources. We need energy, I don't doubt that, but there are other options to explore and develop. And it's better to move forward that direction in the days when the pressure is off than when it will be on again. Lower gas prices give us some breathing space, but this is at best a coffee break, not a sabbatical.
It was sometime in September, around the middle of the month, when I saw the "2" again, paying $2.999/gallon. And prices kept dropping -- $2.82, $2.71, $2.39, $2.12, $2.07. An easy trend to spot, and then -- yes! -- $1.99. The two was gone. I had reason to visit a warehouse store yesterday, not my usual one but one with a filling station, and when I saw the member price -- $1.769/gallon -- I filled up (the car was getting low anyway). Checking later on AustinGasPrices.com, I found that I had happened upon one of the lowest prices in town.
To the pocketbook this is a pleasant thing, sure, but two things keep playing in my mind.
One, even an honest supply/demand curve shouldn't be this volatile, to swing up +100% and then go back down again in just a few months' time. We as a customer base are being played.
Two, it's nice to have the pricing pressure off, but we must not let this distract us as a nation or a world from pursuing alternative energy sources. We need energy, I don't doubt that, but there are other options to explore and develop. And it's better to move forward that direction in the days when the pressure is off than when it will be on again. Lower gas prices give us some breathing space, but this is at best a coffee break, not a sabbatical.
Tuesday, November 04, 2008
Election Day 2008
Travis County holds early voting for the two weeks preceding Election Day. I took advantage of this on October 23, Val last week on the last day. So we didn't have to go to our precinct polling site today.
(Our polling site has moved around a lot since I settled at this home address in late 1993. For a while, it was the building at the local city recreation center. Then it moved to a church, and stayed there a while. Then, thanks to the Delay-driven redistricting of Texas, we wound up as part of Texas Congressional district 21, which is mostly San Antonio, by about 1000 feet -- and that time, our redrawn voting precinct had no public facilities whatsoever, so for two years we voted in the garage of a home down the street. In fairness, it was a very clean garage, easy walking distance, and it was nice of the neighbors to volunteer their space. And then, when that redistricting was thrown out and we got re-re-drawn, our polling site moved to an elementary school. Not the one Amalie attends, as that would make sense, but one about twice as far away -- maybe a mile and a half, it's not a burden, but geez, who plans this stuff?)
Carson felt sick last night and slept late into the morning, but when he awoke he felt better (and has shown no signs of relapse, which is all to the good). We decided to take an afternoon walk coincident with Val picking up Amalie on the extendabike. I thought Carson might get tired on the way home -- we planned to visit the rec center and kick around a soccer ball -- so I took out the wagon. Carson decided this meant he got to ride the whole way. Drat. That wasn't my plan, but off we went.
And then I decided to walk all the way to the school and see how the voting was going. It's a good hike, and even pulling the wagon it didn't tax me. We got there, and as I was parking the wagon in the shade, one of the election marshals (or judges, or proctors -- whatever) -- they were both quite young, early 20s at a guess -- asked if I was there to vote.
"No. I voted two weeks ago." I was hardly alone in this distinction; Travis Co. has around 609,000 registered voters, and almost half -- 299,000 or so -- used early voting. Austin is the state capital, and politics of any stripe is like a sport here, but this sort of turnout was unprecedented. The other marshal riffled through the precinct registry for me -- and yep, about half of the names had an "EV" mark next to them. This election really matters to a lot of people.
I told them I just wanted to see how things were going. It was not at all crowded at the moment -- if there was a wait, it was probably no more than a minute, and there was no line outside the door. The marshals said they'd been at the poll since 5:45 am (it was around 3:00 - 3:15 when we stopped by) and, while there had been a line early in the morning, that ended rather quickly and it had been calm and steady since. We agreed that there might be a late crowd but nothing they couldn't handle. I mentioned that I tried to attend the Democratic caucus back in March at the same school, and the line was simply impossible -- I never got in the door, and reportedly the line inside still stretched far down a hallway. Today was a more peaceful sight, and a highly encouraging one.
Carson and I moseyed on. We stopped at the local 7-11 for refreshments (Diet Coke for me, a yogurt smoothie for him), and finally got around to the rec center. Carson romped on the playscape for a bit, played ball with another kid, and finally we went down to the field and kicked around the soccer ball. (He plays on a 3-year-old team in a rec center league on Saturdays, and is quite good at it.) Finally, he was ready to head home, so he saddled up and the team of oxen (me) moved on. Just as we were getting home, Amie and Val rode up on the bike -- Amie loves playing on the school playground after school, and this explained their delay in getting home and our completely coincident timing. My back is a bit stiff from the walk -- the distance didn't trouble me but pulling the wagon (with Carson aboard) for that long did wear me some -- but it'll recover soon.
Big day. Important day. And the real work begins tomorrow.
Vote while you still can.
(Our polling site has moved around a lot since I settled at this home address in late 1993. For a while, it was the building at the local city recreation center. Then it moved to a church, and stayed there a while. Then, thanks to the Delay-driven redistricting of Texas, we wound up as part of Texas Congressional district 21, which is mostly San Antonio, by about 1000 feet -- and that time, our redrawn voting precinct had no public facilities whatsoever, so for two years we voted in the garage of a home down the street. In fairness, it was a very clean garage, easy walking distance, and it was nice of the neighbors to volunteer their space. And then, when that redistricting was thrown out and we got re-re-drawn, our polling site moved to an elementary school. Not the one Amalie attends, as that would make sense, but one about twice as far away -- maybe a mile and a half, it's not a burden, but geez, who plans this stuff?)
Carson felt sick last night and slept late into the morning, but when he awoke he felt better (and has shown no signs of relapse, which is all to the good). We decided to take an afternoon walk coincident with Val picking up Amalie on the extendabike. I thought Carson might get tired on the way home -- we planned to visit the rec center and kick around a soccer ball -- so I took out the wagon. Carson decided this meant he got to ride the whole way. Drat. That wasn't my plan, but off we went.
And then I decided to walk all the way to the school and see how the voting was going. It's a good hike, and even pulling the wagon it didn't tax me. We got there, and as I was parking the wagon in the shade, one of the election marshals (or judges, or proctors -- whatever) -- they were both quite young, early 20s at a guess -- asked if I was there to vote.
"No. I voted two weeks ago." I was hardly alone in this distinction; Travis Co. has around 609,000 registered voters, and almost half -- 299,000 or so -- used early voting. Austin is the state capital, and politics of any stripe is like a sport here, but this sort of turnout was unprecedented. The other marshal riffled through the precinct registry for me -- and yep, about half of the names had an "EV" mark next to them. This election really matters to a lot of people.
I told them I just wanted to see how things were going. It was not at all crowded at the moment -- if there was a wait, it was probably no more than a minute, and there was no line outside the door. The marshals said they'd been at the poll since 5:45 am (it was around 3:00 - 3:15 when we stopped by) and, while there had been a line early in the morning, that ended rather quickly and it had been calm and steady since. We agreed that there might be a late crowd but nothing they couldn't handle. I mentioned that I tried to attend the Democratic caucus back in March at the same school, and the line was simply impossible -- I never got in the door, and reportedly the line inside still stretched far down a hallway. Today was a more peaceful sight, and a highly encouraging one.
Carson and I moseyed on. We stopped at the local 7-11 for refreshments (Diet Coke for me, a yogurt smoothie for him), and finally got around to the rec center. Carson romped on the playscape for a bit, played ball with another kid, and finally we went down to the field and kicked around the soccer ball. (He plays on a 3-year-old team in a rec center league on Saturdays, and is quite good at it.) Finally, he was ready to head home, so he saddled up and the team of oxen (me) moved on. Just as we were getting home, Amie and Val rode up on the bike -- Amie loves playing on the school playground after school, and this explained their delay in getting home and our completely coincident timing. My back is a bit stiff from the walk -- the distance didn't trouble me but pulling the wagon (with Carson aboard) for that long did wear me some -- but it'll recover soon.
Big day. Important day. And the real work begins tomorrow.
Vote while you still can.
Thursday, October 30, 2008
Congratulations, Phillies!
The unusual (to say the least), screwy, fealty-unto-television 2008 World Series ended last night -- for real -- and the Philadelphia Phillies emerged victorious over the Tampa Bay Rays (who should nonetheless hold their heads high, as they delivered a smashing season which was great, great fun to observe).
So... Phillies Phans... this message is for you.
Do you know what to do in your new world?
I'm old enough to remember the 1980 championship, and while that's two generations ago in terms of baseball fandom (and more than a lifetime for many phans), I could never feel that bad for the Phils. Not even 30 years? Please, CMAFR. But I accept that the city entire had been bereft of a champion from any corner, which eventually gets tiresome.
Well, there ya go, you got one. Welcome to your new world, and it comes with New Rules. Do you know these? Fans of a newly crowned champion have different, in some ways greater, responsibilities. Follow:
1. You gain bragging rights, but have forfeited bitching & moaning rights. Bragging rights tend to last but one year; B&M rights last for years, decades, even (in one high-profile case) a century or more. You get probably only the one year to brag, so grab it with both hands (and lungs), soak it up, revel in it. When the Phils get eliminated in 2009, you do not regain B&M rights. Those are put on hold for at least ten years. Got that? NO bitching & moaning! (Put another way, demonstrate a higher standard than Yankees fans do, who are perennial B&Mers, and have been on the job since the last title way back in, gosh, 2000. Eight years deprived, oh woe, the agony, the suffering. They boast of the team holding a full 26 titles*, but that is merely a defensive posture, cold comfort against their brief standing drought, isn't it? Honestly, Yankees fans need forty years in the metaphoric desert. Be better than Yankees fans. This isn't asking for so much, really.)
(* The next time a Yankees fan bellows "26!" in your face, ask him or her to, right then, list all 26 championship years. If they get more than five from earlier than 1977, that's probably a real Yankees fan and not some 1990s bandwagoner.)
2. Your "curse" (1987? A building too tall? Please!) is gone. Toast. History. Pushin' up the daisies. Broken. Pinin' for the fjords. GONE! It is an ex-curse. This is non-negotiable. You can remember the curse, recall it (even fondly), think back and laugh -- but you cannot ever again cite it in real time as an excuse for ineptitude, incompetence, misfortune, or on-field failure. Curse broken, all done. Devise a new mythology if the need arises, but leave poor Wm. Penn alone forevermore. If the Phillies don't win again for another two generations, or the Eagles or Sixers or Flyers continue to flail and fail and suck -- it is because they DO suck. No curse. It is gone, and please, do let it go. (Speaking as a Red Sox fan of long standing, let me add that, while an active curse is mildly stupid fun, and marketable, remembering the championship that broke it is far more satisfying.)
3. Think kindly about sharing the wealth. Be magnanimous to fen of those teams still paddling through the darkness, for longer than you did. Those 28 years were not that bad in comparison; there were even two other World Series in the interim. So; memorize this list, teams that have been trophy-bereft for longer (some much longer) than the Phils, and cheer on their efforts as a matter of fellow-fan noblesse obligé. Even if it is a rival team, reach deeper and think well of them when their chances come around. (This does not mean to consider rooting against your Phillies when they are head-to-head. It's a goodwill alliance outreach, not a call for treason.)
Team -- championship drought (years)
Pittsburgh Pirates -- 29.
Seattle Mariners -- 32 (never won, never reached World Series).
Washington Nationals -- 40 (never won, never reached World Series).
San Diego Padres -- 40.
Milwaukee Brewers -- 40.
Houston Astros -- 47.
Texas Rangers -- 48 (never won, never reached World Series).
San Francisco Giants -- 54 (and never in SF).
Cleveland Indians -- 60.
Chicago Cubs -- yep, you know it -- 100, a full century. Ouch.
Don't pity; encourage.
The sun rises today on a world for you only slightly different but in such a significant way. Enjoy the dream fulfilled, the glory, the memories, and use them for proud and noble deeds.
I miss baseball already.
So... Phillies Phans... this message is for you.
Do you know what to do in your new world?
I'm old enough to remember the 1980 championship, and while that's two generations ago in terms of baseball fandom (and more than a lifetime for many phans), I could never feel that bad for the Phils. Not even 30 years? Please, CMAFR. But I accept that the city entire had been bereft of a champion from any corner, which eventually gets tiresome.
Well, there ya go, you got one. Welcome to your new world, and it comes with New Rules. Do you know these? Fans of a newly crowned champion have different, in some ways greater, responsibilities. Follow:
1. You gain bragging rights, but have forfeited bitching & moaning rights. Bragging rights tend to last but one year; B&M rights last for years, decades, even (in one high-profile case) a century or more. You get probably only the one year to brag, so grab it with both hands (and lungs), soak it up, revel in it. When the Phils get eliminated in 2009, you do not regain B&M rights. Those are put on hold for at least ten years. Got that? NO bitching & moaning! (Put another way, demonstrate a higher standard than Yankees fans do, who are perennial B&Mers, and have been on the job since the last title way back in, gosh, 2000. Eight years deprived, oh woe, the agony, the suffering. They boast of the team holding a full 26 titles*, but that is merely a defensive posture, cold comfort against their brief standing drought, isn't it? Honestly, Yankees fans need forty years in the metaphoric desert. Be better than Yankees fans. This isn't asking for so much, really.)
(* The next time a Yankees fan bellows "26!" in your face, ask him or her to, right then, list all 26 championship years. If they get more than five from earlier than 1977, that's probably a real Yankees fan and not some 1990s bandwagoner.)
2. Your "curse" (1987? A building too tall? Please!) is gone. Toast. History. Pushin' up the daisies. Broken. Pinin' for the fjords. GONE! It is an ex-curse. This is non-negotiable. You can remember the curse, recall it (even fondly), think back and laugh -- but you cannot ever again cite it in real time as an excuse for ineptitude, incompetence, misfortune, or on-field failure. Curse broken, all done. Devise a new mythology if the need arises, but leave poor Wm. Penn alone forevermore. If the Phillies don't win again for another two generations, or the Eagles or Sixers or Flyers continue to flail and fail and suck -- it is because they DO suck. No curse. It is gone, and please, do let it go. (Speaking as a Red Sox fan of long standing, let me add that, while an active curse is mildly stupid fun, and marketable, remembering the championship that broke it is far more satisfying.)
3. Think kindly about sharing the wealth. Be magnanimous to fen of those teams still paddling through the darkness, for longer than you did. Those 28 years were not that bad in comparison; there were even two other World Series in the interim. So; memorize this list, teams that have been trophy-bereft for longer (some much longer) than the Phils, and cheer on their efforts as a matter of fellow-fan noblesse obligé. Even if it is a rival team, reach deeper and think well of them when their chances come around. (This does not mean to consider rooting against your Phillies when they are head-to-head. It's a goodwill alliance outreach, not a call for treason.)
Team -- championship drought (years)
Pittsburgh Pirates -- 29.
Seattle Mariners -- 32 (never won, never reached World Series).
Washington Nationals -- 40 (never won, never reached World Series).
San Diego Padres -- 40.
Milwaukee Brewers -- 40.
Houston Astros -- 47.
Texas Rangers -- 48 (never won, never reached World Series).
San Francisco Giants -- 54 (and never in SF).
Cleveland Indians -- 60.
Chicago Cubs -- yep, you know it -- 100, a full century. Ouch.
Don't pity; encourage.
The sun rises today on a world for you only slightly different but in such a significant way. Enjoy the dream fulfilled, the glory, the memories, and use them for proud and noble deeds.
I miss baseball already.
Monday, October 27, 2008
21st Century Robotics
Now in first grade, Amalie had a great assignment a few weeks ago -- build a robot, using recyclable materials. We try to do our part in recycling -- plastics (type 1 and 2, all that Austin collects at present, but this is supposed to expand to all types by the end of the year), glass, cans, paper and cardboard, even home electronics. There's always something each week over which to pick.
Amie was not especially enthused until I mentioned that she can build any type of robot. It need not be humanoid -- in fact, it could look like WALL·E, the star of this past summer's Pixar animated film. At that notion, the penny dropped, and Amalie was highly engaged to do the robot project.
Amie and Val rummaged our current recyclables and picked out several boxes, cardboard tubes, cans, pieces of plastic, and also some chunks of styrofoam (which we cannot recycle, alas). Val scrubbed everything clean, Amie made a conceptual sketch, and I bought some duct tape to lend that silvery-gray, robotic sheen to the construct. I then cobbled together most of the little robot, using two different cardboard tubes to let his head rotate. Amie and Val added the arms. (The picture below doesn't show the tank treads, which were built with soup and soda cans.)
We took it in to school on Friday, as requested, and the other kids were impressed with it (and immediately discovered that WALL·E's head could be removed -- fortunately without damage). All the robots were cute, but I think Amalie's WALL·E was the coolest.
Check it out:
Our home-built analogue.
Pixar's Hollywood superstar.
Amie was not especially enthused until I mentioned that she can build any type of robot. It need not be humanoid -- in fact, it could look like WALL·E, the star of this past summer's Pixar animated film. At that notion, the penny dropped, and Amalie was highly engaged to do the robot project.
Amie and Val rummaged our current recyclables and picked out several boxes, cardboard tubes, cans, pieces of plastic, and also some chunks of styrofoam (which we cannot recycle, alas). Val scrubbed everything clean, Amie made a conceptual sketch, and I bought some duct tape to lend that silvery-gray, robotic sheen to the construct. I then cobbled together most of the little robot, using two different cardboard tubes to let his head rotate. Amie and Val added the arms. (The picture below doesn't show the tank treads, which were built with soup and soda cans.)
We took it in to school on Friday, as requested, and the other kids were impressed with it (and immediately discovered that WALL·E's head could be removed -- fortunately without damage). All the robots were cute, but I think Amalie's WALL·E was the coolest.
Check it out:
Our home-built analogue.
Pixar's Hollywood superstar.Haircut
Carson gets downright shaggy when he goes an extended period without a haircut. Thing is, he looks good with hair short or long, so we tend to dawdle between cuts. But we finally did take him in to get his ears lowered back in September. Check it out:
Before.
After.
He's gotten a bit longer since this cut, but still far from the "before" style. But, yeah, he'll likely get there again.
Before.
After.He's gotten a bit longer since this cut, but still far from the "before" style. But, yeah, he'll likely get there again.
Closing The Backyard
Austin is known for its live music -- and while I'm not a huge fan of going out and partaking, it's nice to know there's plenty of choices.
One, The Backyard, was particularly excellent. Set on the outskirts of west Austin when it opened in 1992, it was -- is -- an open-air theater, nestled amongst the live oaks, with huge swaths of hill country as background. I've been there only a handful of times, including a great show by Bruce Hornsby and the Range.
But development has been encroaching, as it does, and the scenic hill country landscape around The Backyard is now shopping centers and parking lots. So, the owner decided to close it down and move on; he has plans for a new venue, this time with the surrounding landscape kept intact, but still isn't sure if that's the way to go.
Last night, 26-October, was the last show. Willie Nelson was the headliner, and among the opening acts was Kelly Willis' band, which includes Amalie's piano teacher, Mr. Sweeney. So Val wanted to take Amie. Tickets were not cheap ($80 general admission), but thanks to Craig's List I was able to find a pair for face value, and off they went.
The show officially began at 4:00 pm. Since the primary goal was to see the Willis band, Val and Amie didn't actually enter The Backyard until after 5:30... but they stayed, and stayed, and Amalie was still going strong. They found an uncrowded balcony, Amie took a late nap, Willie came on stage, and eventually, well, they were there at closing time. I was still awake (barely) when the ladies stumbled in the door around 1:30 am. Amie was hungry, but we were all down by 2:15, and we're letting her sleep in (and miss school) this morning. It was a cultural and social experience not easily replicated, and that was pretty valuable. And fun.
One, The Backyard, was particularly excellent. Set on the outskirts of west Austin when it opened in 1992, it was -- is -- an open-air theater, nestled amongst the live oaks, with huge swaths of hill country as background. I've been there only a handful of times, including a great show by Bruce Hornsby and the Range.
But development has been encroaching, as it does, and the scenic hill country landscape around The Backyard is now shopping centers and parking lots. So, the owner decided to close it down and move on; he has plans for a new venue, this time with the surrounding landscape kept intact, but still isn't sure if that's the way to go.
Last night, 26-October, was the last show. Willie Nelson was the headliner, and among the opening acts was Kelly Willis' band, which includes Amalie's piano teacher, Mr. Sweeney. So Val wanted to take Amie. Tickets were not cheap ($80 general admission), but thanks to Craig's List I was able to find a pair for face value, and off they went.
The show officially began at 4:00 pm. Since the primary goal was to see the Willis band, Val and Amie didn't actually enter The Backyard until after 5:30... but they stayed, and stayed, and Amalie was still going strong. They found an uncrowded balcony, Amie took a late nap, Willie came on stage, and eventually, well, they were there at closing time. I was still awake (barely) when the ladies stumbled in the door around 1:30 am. Amie was hungry, but we were all down by 2:15, and we're letting her sleep in (and miss school) this morning. It was a cultural and social experience not easily replicated, and that was pretty valuable. And fun.
Saturday, October 04, 2008
TV Star
Driving Amalie to school on Friday morning, she mentioned that she was going to be on television. This was news to me, and on rather short notice.
No, nothing on the networks. Her school does a live cast on Friday mornings, from the library to all classrooms, selected students reciting the Pledge of Allegiance, the Texas Pledge (which is almost the same text), and the school's crocodile theme song. I walked her to her room and checked with the teacher -- yes, Amie had been selected for this week's telecast, by being such a good and well-behaved student. I escorted her back to the library.
We filed in with a bunch of other students and two librarians or teachers, who were in charge of production. I decided to stay and watch. It took a minute or two to organize all the kids -- arrange by height, get the stragglers in position, separate the younger ones who were not concentrating. There were two or three other parents beside me, and as I glanced over I noted they had their cell phones out, ready to take pictures.
Foo. Well, I can do that, too -- I just never think of using the cellcam. Pulled it out, flipped it open, and took a few shots.
Friday's school ensemble, ready to recite.
Our young star-in-progress.
Later, I tried downloading it through the USB port, and either by design (intended to be proprietary) or incompetence, this effort became insane and perhaps impossible. I don't know whether to blame manufacturer Motorola (through which direct experience I can readily credit the "incompetence" theory) or service supplier Verizon, but trying to get the right software and drivers and sorting out the right configuration ended up wasting 3-4 hours and getting nowhere. I finally, simply emailed the pic off the phone to my netmail. Feh. Feh, braindead tech companies. You can do better, and have no excuses not to do so.
No, nothing on the networks. Her school does a live cast on Friday mornings, from the library to all classrooms, selected students reciting the Pledge of Allegiance, the Texas Pledge (which is almost the same text), and the school's crocodile theme song. I walked her to her room and checked with the teacher -- yes, Amie had been selected for this week's telecast, by being such a good and well-behaved student. I escorted her back to the library.
We filed in with a bunch of other students and two librarians or teachers, who were in charge of production. I decided to stay and watch. It took a minute or two to organize all the kids -- arrange by height, get the stragglers in position, separate the younger ones who were not concentrating. There were two or three other parents beside me, and as I glanced over I noted they had their cell phones out, ready to take pictures.
Foo. Well, I can do that, too -- I just never think of using the cellcam. Pulled it out, flipped it open, and took a few shots.
Friday's school ensemble, ready to recite.
Our young star-in-progress.Later, I tried downloading it through the USB port, and either by design (intended to be proprietary) or incompetence, this effort became insane and perhaps impossible. I don't know whether to blame manufacturer Motorola (through which direct experience I can readily credit the "incompetence" theory) or service supplier Verizon, but trying to get the right software and drivers and sorting out the right configuration ended up wasting 3-4 hours and getting nowhere. I finally, simply emailed the pic off the phone to my netmail. Feh. Feh, braindead tech companies. You can do better, and have no excuses not to do so.
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