After watching this new series, I’m convinced. I’m going to drag my old, creaking, body parts to the Miyagi Do karate center; I’ll plead for help. I know Mr. Miyagi wouldn’t turn me down.
I was going to head to the Cobra Kai Dojo, but I think that they are too badass for me. Besides, they don’t have any members my age, and I surely don’t want a tattoo. This series is enjoyable to watch; it reunites Johnny (the previous loser) and Daniel (the winner) for a karate-thon. In the new series, both Daniel and Johnny are in their 40s, dying to face off again, hardly spring-chickens, but super-enthusiastic. I’ll start working out in advance of my application to Miyagi. Perhaps I’ll start tomorrow or the day after. I’ll take Tylenol just in case.
I stood alongside members of Fred’s family and friends to honor my friend for the last time. He was a neighbor, church companion, daredevil driver, an enthusiastic gardener, and a wonderful dad and husband.
He lived right up the street from me; he and his lovely wife, Ruth, drove by endless times each week. If they could see my car in the driveway, they’d invariably stop by to “visit,” as they say in the South. In Church, Ruth would often sit behind me, and Fred, in his self-appointed role of photographer-in-chief, would busy himself snapping photos of anyone who came into his view. They were loved and respected by everyone.
While Fred had so much to be proud of, he spoke most enthusiastically about an “Honor Flight” that he and other veterans were able to take to Washington, DC. The flight and all expenses are paid by a local merchant. The group flies round-trip to DC on a chartered plane and is met by volunteers who take them on extended guided tours of the military monuments and sites in Washington.
He simply could not stop talking about the trip and what it meant to the group, as well as to him personally. I happened to be at the airport here when one of the flights was boarding for a trip (not Fred’s). Before boarding, the veterans were like children on their first outing; they were so excited they couldn’t sit still. When the plane taxied out for take-off, two airport fire trucks came alongside, giving them a gigantic 2-barrel water cannon send-off. It was a beautiful sight; everyone around me cheered as loudly as possible for them.
Fred, I miss you; I am so proud to have been a part of your final ceremony.
In a city like Rome, art, history, and the Spiritual World are all intertwined. or most visitors to Rome, Ground Zero is St. Peter’s. This is a Church that soars and surprises. While the dome is legendary, in a quiet alcove, you’ll see Michelangelo’s most famous sculpture, carved from a block of Carrara marble, The Pieta.
This sculpture radiates an incredible sense of peace, even from behind the protective glass. After a horrible incident in 1977 where an individual damaged the Pieta with a hammer, it was encased in bulletproof glass.
It wasn’t always protected like that, and when I first visited to see it, I could stand right next to it, feeling the smooth marble and touching the small marble band where Michelangelo had chiseled his own signature for all to see. This is the only sculpture he signed. I took this photo during my last visit to Rome. While I couldn’t touch it again, I could certainly feel its power.
In a few months, the US Open Tennis Championships will take place. Since I was on a rant recently about the cost of food and feeding families, take a look at this. The event has a signature cocktail (of course) named the “Grey Goose Honey Deuce” cocktail. A key component of the drink is a garnish of two honeydew melon balls. Last year, they sold over 400,000 drinks at $22 each. That’s $8.8 million in Honey Deuce sales. The prices will likely be higher this year,
Moving on to other statistics, attendees will consume 90,000 pounds of beef (equivalent to 225,000 hamburgers and hot dogs), 85,000 pounds of poultry, 9,000 pounds of crab, lobster, and shrimp, 400,000 individual berries, and 12.5 tons of lettuce. They will consume 35,000 pounds of tomatoes, 66,000 bananas, and 7,000 specialty tennis ball cookies.
When I think of a recent posting from Costco, none of the above should come as a surprise. Apart from the drinks sold, the statistics resemble what Costco sells to fans for tailgating and barbecues before a football home game in Knoxville, between Tennessee and Alabama.
Before I moved to the South, I had no idea that the State of Alabama had terrific beaches. Although people often think of other destinations, I’ve come to love Orange Beach, Alabama. It’s a bit of a drive from where I live; however, we don’t need a Passport, a plane ticket, or anything else to get there.‘
Once there, you’ll discover wonderful beaches (I took this photo early one morning). The sand is like talcum powder, and while the surf isn’t pounding away at high tide, you won’t miss it. While the Gulf Coast offers many, many other beaches along the way, this, my friends, is my favorite place.Give it a try; perhaps it’ll become your favorite as well.
Each year, I angst about whether hummingbirds will return to my feeder. Around the time they are supposed to be in our area, I put the feeder out; this morning, I saw the first one of the season. It’s a small thing, but it gives me great joy.
By accident, I found the only photo of me, dressed perfectly in a tuxedo (rented for the occasion) and bow tie, heading to my junior prom. At the time, everyone was listening to the song “a white sport coat and a Pink Carnation.”
Boy, I look great. The photo is in terrible shape, but my smile, crewcut, and cummerbund are visible. It was a night to remember, even though it was decades ago.
My date, Diana, and I went to dinner beforehand at A Sabella’s restaurant on Fisherman’s Wharf in San Francisco. She looked terrific; we were the perfect prom couple, sitting by the window, looking as grown-up as possible while clearly teenagers.
Two especially memorable things happened at the restaurant. One, Diana ordered mahi-mahi fish as her entrée. When our meal arrived, she looked at her plate and asked me: “Is this the same fish as Flipper”? I said it wasn’t, but she wouldn’t eat it, so she ordered some other local fish and was happy again.
The second thing happened as we were leaving the restaurant. The entry (and exit) involved a kinda’ long stairway. Being the polite date I am, I was behind Diana as she descended. She slipped about a quarter down, sailing down the remaining steps to land at the entrance.
It was a spectacular sight; fortunately, the only damage was to her pride. Yet, through her tears, she blamed me for the accident. Probably because when she slipped, I confess: I burst out laughing. That was not very gallant of me.
We got through that incident and had a super time at the prom and throughout high school. We’ve been in touch a few times over the years through that dumb site “Classmates.” I guess she’s forgiven me; she told me that she told her granddaughter about the entire event and how much fun it was.
Buenos Aires was always at the top of my bucket list, and one weekend, I flew down from Miami to see why. When I landed, I fell in love. As my taxi moved towards my hotel, I couldn’t wait to see, smell, explore, and enjoy a city I’d longed to visit. Every moment of the taxi ride was magical, and I loved it; I felt I was somewhere where I belonged, even in an earlier life.
I arrived at my hotel, and within 20 minutes, I was walking, exploring, and enjoying. I chose a familiar path for part of my walk, the area in Buenos Aires known as San Telmo (I bought the ceramic piece in the photo there). Everyone who sees Evita will recognize this immediately. It’s the heart and soul of old Buenos Aires, and I felt entirely at home. Mind you, at this time, I’d been in the Country for about 90 minutes,
I walked down an ancient street and saw the open door of a bar welcoming me. I hadn’t had breakfast, but this was the perfect location for my entry into Argentina. The bar was long, shining, and accommodating. I sat down, and the bartender, without a word, went to make a cortado (like an espresso with a bit of milk) and brought it to me with a small glass of a liquor I didn’t recognize; hey, this was no time to reflect, so I immediately drank both. I instantly felt like a local.
A few minutes later, an older couple moved to the dance floor. With a soaring tango playing in the background, they danced like they were soulmates. Sweeping, dipping, turning, all in perfect time to the Tango beat, at that moment, I wanted nothing more than to be a Tango champion myself, turning to the lovely older lady for a turn around the barroom floor to the beat of the music.
Alas, it didn’t happen. However, it was a marvelous, perfect welcoming present for me, a first-time visitor to an incredible city.
Not long ago, I was in Arlington National Cemetery celebrating the services of a family member. As I walked through the cemetery, I felt a sense of calm; all around me, more than 400,000 people were resting. Their grave markers tell who they are, yet not what they did. No matter the case, these are the true Champions of our Nation. They share a space with no bounds of discord, only a lovely, peaceful home where each one is honored and respected. It’s a powerful place. It was my honor and privilege to be there with them.
I usually write about fun travel stuff and places that I’d love to visit again. For a moment, my mind went back to the worst flight of my life and the worst airline seat, ever. By the way, this image isn’t of that seat, but it comes pretty darn close in my opinion.
It all began in Cairo, Egypt. This is a city that is crammed with millions of people, going to and fro every moment of every single day. It’s bedlam everywhere. Even a simple taxi ride becomes something that at every moment you fear instant death, or at the least becoming a part of some massive traffic jam.
Anyway, imagine my happiness about finally heading to the airport, and home. After another rocket-ride, I was deposited at the airport with no real idea of where the departure area was. Inside was another riot of people all talking at the top of their voices rushing from counter to counter. Hey, so far a typical day in Cairo.
I’ll skip the process of getting through their immigration and customs. Safe to say, it was another epic adventure. I arrived at the departure gate with my crumpled boarding pass, only to be told the flight was oversold (who knew?) and I’d have to wait for a seat. To protest was fruitless, to say the least.
At the end of this process, someone finally gave me a boarding pass, and I headed to the aircraft. Knowing what I do now, I should have volunteered to stay behind for another flight or another week. Alas, I went into the aircraft and was met by a teeming mob, all trying to cram their life possessions into any possible remaining space. I joined the scrum and spied one empty seat, the one assigned to me. Just my luck.
My seat was at the beginning of a row of middle seats located at the aircraft bulkhead. Which means that the wall was about 6 inches away from the edge of my seat. There was no way to lean back or put my feet up, even a few inches. And this wasn’t the worst part.
While I had an aisle on my left side, there were two aircraft lavatories against the bulkhead ahead of me. The doors of these lavatories were about 3 feet away from me. From the moment the seat belt sign came off, hordes of people rushed forward to use one of the bathrooms. It was like a tidal wave of people, all dying to use the lavatories at the same time.
Of course, they congregated in the small aisle and lavatory area, jabbering and yelling like they were negotiating for something in a local bazaar. Again, bedlam. And, I was about 2 feet away from the center of this action, trapped in my eternally uncomfortable seat.
For the entirety of the flight, the aisle was crammed with people, and the lavatories occupied continually. It’s a miracle that the equipment worked at all. There must have been tons of refuse in their tanks.
It was as if I was seated on a broken chair in front of a public toilet for 12 hours. Now that gave economy seating a new perspective. I hated every single second of that flight. It became a test of my will to keep from screaming out in frustration. Although, had I done so it’s unlikely anyone would have noticed.
On arrival at JFK airport, the second the aircraft doors were opened, I ripped through people, bags, kids, and debris for the exit. I couldn’t wait another moment. I still remember bursting out of the plane gasping for air and thrilled that at last, I was free from that confinement. It seemed like the tube of the aircraft spit me out and down the exit stairs at last. But you know, none of that mattered to me anymore.
