"Let me say to you now that to do nothing at all is the most difficult thing in the world, the most difficult and the most intellectual." Gilbert, Intentions, Part II by Oscar Wilde
"I hate to advocate drugs, alcohol, violence, or insanity to anyone. . .but they've always worked for me." Hunter S. Thompson, quoted in Life, Jan. 1981
I went to the Stoddard Cancer Center yesterday. Got a CT taken, as well as blood counts, and went to see my oncologist. The tentative plan was to do another round of chemo unless the cancer had spread so far in the lung as to make chemo irrelevant.
I had been antibiotics for the previous 10 days ending Sunday and the cough and hacking I had was gone. After I stopped the antibiotics, the cough has come back some, but I'm no longer coughing up the white crap.
So we go in to see Dr. Heddinger, and he said that after reading the CT I have a partially collapsed right upper lung lobe and I could do one of three things: have chemo again, do a bronchoscopy (the procedure where they stab you in the back with a humongous needle), or do nothing. The CT showed stable tumor (at least in the lung), so he wasn't going to recommend chemo. The bronchoscopy is highly invasive, hit or miss on results, and in all likelihood would only reveal the partially collapsed lung which we can't do anything about. That left option three: Do nothing.
As an attorney, this was often my advice especially in criminal cases. It's hard for the attorney to give, because he or she isn't making any money doing nothing. It's hard for the client, because they want to feel like they (or their attorney) was hard at work on their case. So usually, they were too dumb to follow the advice and would either open their mouths as soon a cop asked them a question, or often, would actively seek out the police to "tell their side of the story." They ended up screwing themselves, of course, whereas the people who followed the advice often ended up with their cases dropped by the county attorney, or sometimes (if they came to me early enough) not even being charged.
Similarly, doctors don't make much if they are not performing procedures or surgeries and only running diagnostic tests. It's hard advice to give and to take. So I admire Dr. Heddinger even more for giving this advice.
This doesn't solve the brain mets problem upon which I'll probably have stereotactic surgery (again) in mid-May. But for now, it's morphine, Crown Royal and Smithwick's. Breakfast of Champions (with apologies to Kurt Vonnegut).
Wednesday, March 28, 2007
Friday, March 23, 2007
St. Valentine's Day
February 14, 2007
[You can't ] "wallow with the eagles at night and then soar with the pigs in the morning." --Hunter S. Thompson, The Great Shark Hunt
We wake up having got our best night's sleep in God knows how long. The shower is hot and there is plenty of water. We call room service and have them bring us coffee and a soda while we are getting ready. It is a rested casual morning. We go down to breakfast. We get a great window seat in the restaurant. Service is marginally better than we've had. They at least fill our coffee and other drinks and bring us soda bread. The buffet itself is very good, but frankly, after seven days, I'm ready for a chocolate doughnut. We have to track down the waitress to get her to bring more juice and coffee. Ben is not feeling well this morning. Apparently, too much booze and rich seafood has done in he and his stomach. Wendy tells us this. My wife and Megan immediately volunteer to stay another night in this beautiful hotel, but I'm non-plussed. If we weren't on such a tight schedule, I'd go along with staying another night, but if I miss stuff now, it's not like I can come back next year or some other time. I indicate to Wendy that we are pressing on. Wendy says that if we give Ben until 11:30 a.m. he can move on. We're not on that tight of a schedule, so we give Ben an opportunity to man up.
My wife bought me underwear and t-shirts at a Target type store yesterday, so I use the additional time to return my 60 Euro underwear. The dollar is falling so fast against the Euro that I actually make $0.24 on the exchange. Ben, does in fact, man up, and we move on shortly after the noon hour. It is not a long drive to Dingle, but it is beautiful. Cattle laying down right by the shoreline. Damnedest thing I've ever seen, except maybe the cattle on the mountains on our right. The cattle are negotiating the mountains!!
We stop at Tom Crean's South Pole Inn in Annascaul or "Áth na Scal" (Ford of the Heroes). Most people in the pub speak Gaelic. It helps that Gene does too. Crean went the South Pole twice, once each with the well known explorers Robert Scott and Earnest Shackleton. He also single handedly saved a member of the expedition when most people would have left him for dead. If you're really interested, a link is here:
We then head into Dingle, where we check in at Walsh's Townhouse B&B. We are actually warmly greeted by the owner, and she doesn't complain about the fact that we are early. Good first impressions are usually correct, and in this case they turn out to be. The Rooms are small, but clean. The shower has American type controls on it. The breakfast room has been recently redone, and the lights work. We meet across the street at the an drocied beag (Gaelic for "the small bridge"). Ben, Wendy, Bruce and Megan decide to take Gene up on his offer to show them the "beehive" huts. Melissa and I decide to stay back at the pub where we are seated by our usual spot near the fireplace because neither of us have much interest in the beehive huts and it is getting cold and windy out. After awhile, Melissa and I walk up and down Main Street during which we discover that Doyle's, the place where I was planning on taking everyone to dinner, is closed. We stop at another Pub (Sheey's) and ask for a recommendation from the owner for dinner and she mentions Ashes, down Main Street.
We then head down Main, window shopping, until I spy a place called Foxy John's Bar and Hardware. I insist on stopping in, and damned if it isn't a bar on one side and hardware shop on the other. While I'm drinking a pint, two people actually make hardware purchases. You can see Foxy John and I in the photo above. I'm the ugly one on the right. Note the girl's bicycle in the left window in the lower photo on the left.
We meet back up with gang at "the small bridge" and are also told by the people there to go dinner at Ashes.' Dinner is very good, one our best in Ireland. We finish the night at the Small Bridge where they have live Irish music every night. You'd be surprised how many places have only American rock'n'roll. I'm pretty tired, so Melissa and I call it an early night.
Sunday, March 18, 2007
My Greatest Albums (CDs) of All Time
Okay. I admit it. This is a cheap easy column to substitute for actual thoughtful reporting that I usually (try to) do. Yet it is sure to engender a lot of discussion. Please feel free to add your top 25 (or top ten or five) of all time, too. I assume that most people noticed I included a couple of bootlegs you probably haven't heard. If you want copies let me know.
Only two rules: (1) No anonymous lists or anonymous criticism of mine; and (2) no greatest hits or boxed set compilations. Without further ado:
My 25 Favorite Albums of All Time as of March 18, 2007 (In no particular order)
1. Van Morrison Street Choir
2. Alanis Morrisette Jagged Little Pill
3. The Who Who Are You?
4. Pink Floyd Dark Side of the Moon
5. Bruce Springsteen The Saint, the Incident and the Main Point Shuffle (Bootleg 2/2/75)
6. John Cougar Mellencamp Pink Houses
7. The Band The Band
8. Van Morrison Into the Music
9. Delbert McClinton One of the Fortunate Few
10. Warren Zevon The Wind
11. Run DMC Raisin’ Hell
12. The Beastie Boys Licensed to Ill
13. Little Feat Waiting for Columbus
14. Shelby Lynne I Am Shelby Lynne
15. John Lee Hooker Live in Montreaux (Bootleg 7/15/83)
16. AC/DC Back In Black
17. Led Zeppelin Physical Graffiti
18. Indigo Girls The Indigo Girls
19. Norah Jones Feels Like Home
20. Jackson Browne Running on Empty
21. The Beatles Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band
22. R.E.M. Document
23. Matchbox 20 Yourself or Someone Like You
24. Bob Dylan Blood On the Tracks
25. The Pretenders Learning to Crawl
Hopefully back to Ireland and cancer next column.
Only two rules: (1) No anonymous lists or anonymous criticism of mine; and (2) no greatest hits or boxed set compilations. Without further ado:
My 25 Favorite Albums of All Time as of March 18, 2007 (In no particular order)
1. Van Morrison Street Choir
2. Alanis Morrisette Jagged Little Pill
3. The Who Who Are You?
4. Pink Floyd Dark Side of the Moon
5. Bruce Springsteen The Saint, the Incident and the Main Point Shuffle (Bootleg 2/2/75)
6. John Cougar Mellencamp Pink Houses
7. The Band The Band
8. Van Morrison Into the Music
9. Delbert McClinton One of the Fortunate Few
10. Warren Zevon The Wind
11. Run DMC Raisin’ Hell
12. The Beastie Boys Licensed to Ill
13. Little Feat Waiting for Columbus
14. Shelby Lynne I Am Shelby Lynne
15. John Lee Hooker Live in Montreaux (Bootleg 7/15/83)
16. AC/DC Back In Black
17. Led Zeppelin Physical Graffiti
18. Indigo Girls The Indigo Girls
19. Norah Jones Feels Like Home
20. Jackson Browne Running on Empty
21. The Beatles Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band
22. R.E.M. Document
23. Matchbox 20 Yourself or Someone Like You
24. Bob Dylan Blood On the Tracks
25. The Pretenders Learning to Crawl
Hopefully back to Ireland and cancer next column.
Tuesday, March 13, 2007
"Many Sanks"
"I want to thank everyone who made this day necessary."
---Yogi Berra, on Yogi Berra Day, 1947
Tuesday, February 13, 2007
This is what the interpreter for the French people kept saying as the proprietor was trying to get them out so could serve us breakfast. She kept handing her all these worthless brochures (I know these were worthless because I had looked at them on the way in), like those "guidebooks" full of coupons for the town they were leaving. Also featured, since, they were going to Dublin, was a three year old map of Dublin, which didn't even include the new highway (I think it's the M1) that encircles Dublin. Every time the proprietor handed the French interpreter a map or brochure, the interpreter would repeatedly say "many sanks" (i.e., many thanks). We were in the the sitting room, waiting for breakfast, just off the entry way where this "conversation" was taking place.
We were desperately waiting for coffee, (even the nasty instant coffee placed in the room was decaf), but it was so damn funny listening to this, because the harder she tried to get rid of them, the longer and and more repeated the cries of "Many Sanks" became. This became one of the catchphrases for our trip except in France where it became "une petite thanks" for snotty desk clerks, waiters, etc.
As soon as got in the breakfast room, we were told we were sitting at the wrong table. How we supposed to have figured this out, I'm not sure. However, we moved and we finally got coffee. After a pretty good breakfast, Gene had arrived, but it was still raining. Before we leave Kenmare, we visit one of the stone circles. It is known locally as the “Judge and Jury” as it consists of thirteen stones with a central bolder burial. It is the center piece of a complex astronomical calendar, which includes both solar and lunar cycles. Monuments on the horizon mark the rising and setting of the moon on significant dates.
We head on toward Killarney, and the scenery, even in the rain and fog, is beautiful. In several places, we see palm trees growing. Who knew? We stop at the Muckross House, which is a national park. Unfortunately, it is raining and the Park is closed for renovations until mid-March . We get out and take a look anyway. It's pretty impressive. It starts to pour. We run into the visitor center which is more or less closed except for the cafe and the trinkets and trash store, i.e. the gift shop. We spend an hour buying trinkets and trash and then head into the cafe. It is a beautiful cafe where you can watch the storms roll in and out through the large glass windows.
We make the rest of the short trip to Killarney, where our hotel is. After circling the hotel several times, and being unable to approach the hotel within 3 blocks our driver Gene does what we do in American cities: park illegally, and then ask the person who tells you to move for directions. Unlike Chicago, however, they are a lot more personable in Ireland. We unload most of our luggage, and the smartly dressed hotel desk clerk jumps in the van with Gene and she not only gives him directions on where to park, but a recommendation on where to go for dinner tonight. The hotel lobby is absolutely gorgeous and the service is top flight. It is easily in the top five hotels I've stayed at, including Ritz Carlton, Marriott resorts and so forth in major American cities. We are shown to our rooms by the bellman and flop onto the comfortable bed.
The guys and Wendy go to Ross Castle, which is a 14th century castle just outside of Killarney. The other two girls go shopping (or at least so we thought) in town. The castle is closed; however, they let us wander around the grounds where we run into a former tour guide who gives us the history of the place.
After rounding up everyone, we head to Hannigan's, a pub that is a James Joyce Award winner. Bruce and I split up from the girls and go in search of a laundromat. We find a laundry, but they can't guarantee the clothes will be done by the time we leave in the morning. I go to a men's store and drop 60 Euro's on new underwear and t-shirts. Bruce and I head to place named Tattler Jack's quaff a couple of Guinness's and then it occurs to us that tomorrow is Valentine's Day. We quickly purchase some flowers, a card, and a bottle of wine for the girls. Hope Ben remembered to do the same.
We meet back at the hotel and go to Lord Kenmare's, the place the desk lady recommended for dinner. It is fantastic and we have a great time. For a nightcap, we head to Jack C's, a place Melissa and Megan discovered while they were out earlier. It is a tiny place that seats a total of 14, but it's great, The owners are very personable and we stay until nearly closing. Tomorrow we are off to the Dingle Peninsula.
---Yogi Berra, on Yogi Berra Day, 1947
Tuesday, February 13, 2007
This is what the interpreter for the French people kept saying as the proprietor was trying to get them out so could serve us breakfast. She kept handing her all these worthless brochures (I know these were worthless because I had looked at them on the way in), like those "guidebooks" full of coupons for the town they were leaving. Also featured, since, they were going to Dublin, was a three year old map of Dublin, which didn't even include the new highway (I think it's the M1) that encircles Dublin. Every time the proprietor handed the French interpreter a map or brochure, the interpreter would repeatedly say "many sanks" (i.e., many thanks). We were in the the sitting room, waiting for breakfast, just off the entry way where this "conversation" was taking place.
We were desperately waiting for coffee, (even the nasty instant coffee placed in the room was decaf), but it was so damn funny listening to this, because the harder she tried to get rid of them, the longer and and more repeated the cries of "Many Sanks" became. This became one of the catchphrases for our trip except in France where it became "une petite thanks" for snotty desk clerks, waiters, etc.
As soon as got in the breakfast room, we were told we were sitting at the wrong table. How we supposed to have figured this out, I'm not sure. However, we moved and we finally got coffee. After a pretty good breakfast, Gene had arrived, but it was still raining. Before we leave Kenmare, we visit one of the stone circles. It is known locally as the “Judge and Jury” as it consists of thirteen stones with a central bolder burial. It is the center piece of a complex astronomical calendar, which includes both solar and lunar cycles. Monuments on the horizon mark the rising and setting of the moon on significant dates.
We head on toward Killarney, and the scenery, even in the rain and fog, is beautiful. In several places, we see palm trees growing. Who knew? We stop at the Muckross House, which is a national park. Unfortunately, it is raining and the Park is closed for renovations until mid-March . We get out and take a look anyway. It's pretty impressive. It starts to pour. We run into the visitor center which is more or less closed except for the cafe and the trinkets and trash store, i.e. the gift shop. We spend an hour buying trinkets and trash and then head into the cafe. It is a beautiful cafe where you can watch the storms roll in and out through the large glass windows.
We make the rest of the short trip to Killarney, where our hotel is. After circling the hotel several times, and being unable to approach the hotel within 3 blocks our driver Gene does what we do in American cities: park illegally, and then ask the person who tells you to move for directions. Unlike Chicago, however, they are a lot more personable in Ireland. We unload most of our luggage, and the smartly dressed hotel desk clerk jumps in the van with Gene and she not only gives him directions on where to park, but a recommendation on where to go for dinner tonight. The hotel lobby is absolutely gorgeous and the service is top flight. It is easily in the top five hotels I've stayed at, including Ritz Carlton, Marriott resorts and so forth in major American cities. We are shown to our rooms by the bellman and flop onto the comfortable bed.
The guys and Wendy go to Ross Castle, which is a 14th century castle just outside of Killarney. The other two girls go shopping (or at least so we thought) in town. The castle is closed; however, they let us wander around the grounds where we run into a former tour guide who gives us the history of the place.
After rounding up everyone, we head to Hannigan's, a pub that is a James Joyce Award winner. Bruce and I split up from the girls and go in search of a laundromat. We find a laundry, but they can't guarantee the clothes will be done by the time we leave in the morning. I go to a men's store and drop 60 Euro's on new underwear and t-shirts. Bruce and I head to place named Tattler Jack's quaff a couple of Guinness's and then it occurs to us that tomorrow is Valentine's Day. We quickly purchase some flowers, a card, and a bottle of wine for the girls. Hope Ben remembered to do the same.
We meet back at the hotel and go to Lord Kenmare's, the place the desk lady recommended for dinner. It is fantastic and we have a great time. For a nightcap, we head to Jack C's, a place Melissa and Megan discovered while they were out earlier. It is a tiny place that seats a total of 14, but it's great, The owners are very personable and we stay until nearly closing. Tomorrow we are off to the Dingle Peninsula.
Friday, March 09, 2007
Good News I guess. . .
(Or at least not bad news)
"No news is good news." James Howell, Familiar Letters, June 3, 1640
Well, all of the scans determined that I don't have any cancerous growth on the spine, which is good news, I guess. It is doesn't solve the problem of what is causing the numbness in my legs and feet, though. I still have a couple of new brain mets that popped up on the follow up scan to my stereotactic radiation that I had on March 1. I'm waiting for the "RADMAN" (as his vanity plate states) to consult with the neurologist and see what's causing the numbness and headaches. No tales from Ireland today. Maybe tomorrow.
"No news is good news." James Howell, Familiar Letters, June 3, 1640
Well, all of the scans determined that I don't have any cancerous growth on the spine, which is good news, I guess. It is doesn't solve the problem of what is causing the numbness in my legs and feet, though. I still have a couple of new brain mets that popped up on the follow up scan to my stereotactic radiation that I had on March 1. I'm waiting for the "RADMAN" (as his vanity plate states) to consult with the neurologist and see what's causing the numbness and headaches. No tales from Ireland today. Maybe tomorrow.
Thursday, March 08, 2007
"Rainy Days and Mondays. . ."
. . . (and not having hot coffee when promised) always get me down."
--Karen Carpenter
Monday, February 12, 2007
Monday morning, it is raining as we wake up. Although I enjoy rain at night, I hate waking up to rain. We shower and I head out to to the breakfast room at 8:00 a.m. for the coffee that was promised to be ready. No sign of coffee. I go back to our room. At 8:20 a.m., I go back out. No coffee, no sign of coffee. Back to the room. At 8:40 a.m., I head back out. Megan warns me she just got barked at for asking about the coffee. I don't give a damn. I head to the kitchen and ask if we can have some coffee. "Fine," she snaps. Five minutes later, I have coffee.
Gene shows up on time as always. We begin our journey again, headed toward Kenmare and the Ring of Kerry. We stop at a delightful little pub in Dunmanaway called the Shamrock and an older couple offers to let us sit down with them. They are very nice and entertaining.
We continue on with the trip through the southwestern region. It is as beautiful as you've seen in any postcards. We begin heading North through Bantry and take some pictures overlooking the Bantry Bay. We head toward Glengariff and drive by Maureen O'Hara's place. She starred opposite John Wayne in The Quiet Man (and four other movies), and was the wife in Miracle on 34th Street and The Parent Trap. By the the way, for those of you that don't know, John Wayne was born in Winterset, Iowa, about 30 miles southwest of Des Moines. Gene shows us his place and is very hospitable. By the way Gene, your place is beautiful. We look around town, but don't buy anything, because it all seems kind of pricey. We eat at the Park Hotel for lunch, and it's standard pub fare, but still very good.
Currently playing on XM as I type this: Alanis Morrisette, "Ironic". Perfect. I think I'll buy a lottery ticket today. :-)
It's raining as we leave the Park Hotel in Glengariff. It alternates between rain and sunshine switching to mostly rain by the time we get to Kenmare. We do get to see some beautiful scenery during breaks in the weather. Gene drives this large bus like a master up and down the very narrow and steep road . We are now in the Caha Mountains. and we drive through Turner's Rock Tunnel, a hand made tunnel.
Shortly after that, we stop at Molly Gallivan's Cottage and Visitor Centre. Although it is not open this time of year, Gene has arranged with the owner of the place to let us check it out. It is named after Gallivan who was widowed with seven children. She supplemented her meager income by selling part of her farm produce such as butter, eggs and honey on the local market. Her home baking and hand spun woollens were ever popular with the few passing tourists but it was her illicit home brewed poitin (potato whiskey) locally known as Molly’s Mountain Dew which she sold in her sibbeen (illegal pub) that was the most profitable. "The exploits of this enterprising widow are legendary" , according to the brochure. It sounds like she had plenty of advance warning when the local authorities we coming, both due to her vantage point at the top of the mountain and probably from grateful customers. The cottage where she stayed was 500 square feet. Can you imagine? An adult, 7 children, and a couple of animals (sheep and chickens ) inside a 500 square foot cottage! We see a short movie on the site and then Wendy gets to meet a "relative" (someone with the same name as some of her relatives), and have her picture taken with him.
We stop in Kenmare, and do some shopping. I decided to splurge and get a Gaelic wool sweater. Probably paid too much , but man it's warm. Plus Melissa negotiated the price downwards, so we didn't overpay too terribly much. Apparently, you can negotiate at any of the the shops in tourist towns, we later learn from Gene. We also pick up a Gaelic Football and shirt for Joe and Melissa gets a few things for herself.
We meet at the Wander Inn for a couple of drinks, and then head to the Rockcrest house to check in. As we are still getting out of the bus and bringing in the luggage, the owner demands to know when want breakfast tomorrow morning. Can we consult with the rest of our party before deciding ?", I ask. "No. I have another group coming in tonight so I need to know now," she snaps. Melissa and I decide that everyone is eating at 9:00 a.m. tomorrow. That means no coffee in the morning. I hate having no coffee in the morning.
We go to a place called Ryan's where a young guy (about 30 yrs. old maybe) who is bartending owns the place. It is a large place which has new decor, but is tastefully done. Lots of wood, brass, etc. We start talking to him , and he indicates that including improvements, he has E 2.2 million (about $3 million) into the place. I ask him where his cash came from and he states he got lucky fixing up two previous bars and flipping them. At least he doesn't think he's a genius, because he bought in the right place at the right time. Sure it takes hard work, but there's also an element of luck to owning a place and he recognizes this. I kind of like the guy. We meet a couple where the female is originally from Davenport, Iowa. We exchange stories about Iowa City.
We head to a fast food place where basically all they serve is fish and chips , but talk about fresh. The owner (at least I presume she was) actually pulls the fish out of the fridge and breads it in front of us before dropping it in the cooker. It is delicious. We head to couple of more pubs before walking home. If the weather clears up like it finally appears to be doing here, we'll be seeing the Ring of Kerry tomorrow.
--Karen Carpenter
Monday, February 12, 2007
Monday morning, it is raining as we wake up. Although I enjoy rain at night, I hate waking up to rain. We shower and I head out to to the breakfast room at 8:00 a.m. for the coffee that was promised to be ready. No sign of coffee. I go back to our room. At 8:20 a.m., I go back out. No coffee, no sign of coffee. Back to the room. At 8:40 a.m., I head back out. Megan warns me she just got barked at for asking about the coffee. I don't give a damn. I head to the kitchen and ask if we can have some coffee. "Fine," she snaps. Five minutes later, I have coffee.
Gene shows up on time as always. We begin our journey again, headed toward Kenmare and the Ring of Kerry. We stop at a delightful little pub in Dunmanaway called the Shamrock and an older couple offers to let us sit down with them. They are very nice and entertaining.
We continue on with the trip through the southwestern region. It is as beautiful as you've seen in any postcards. We begin heading North through Bantry and take some pictures overlooking the Bantry Bay. We head toward Glengariff and drive by Maureen O'Hara's place. She starred opposite John Wayne in The Quiet Man (and four other movies), and was the wife in Miracle on 34th Street and The Parent Trap. By the the way, for those of you that don't know, John Wayne was born in Winterset, Iowa, about 30 miles southwest of Des Moines. Gene shows us his place and is very hospitable. By the way Gene, your place is beautiful. We look around town, but don't buy anything, because it all seems kind of pricey. We eat at the Park Hotel for lunch, and it's standard pub fare, but still very good.
Currently playing on XM as I type this: Alanis Morrisette, "Ironic". Perfect. I think I'll buy a lottery ticket today. :-)
It's raining as we leave the Park Hotel in Glengariff. It alternates between rain and sunshine switching to mostly rain by the time we get to Kenmare. We do get to see some beautiful scenery during breaks in the weather. Gene drives this large bus like a master up and down the very narrow and steep road . We are now in the Caha Mountains. and we drive through Turner's Rock Tunnel, a hand made tunnel.
Shortly after that, we stop at Molly Gallivan's Cottage and Visitor Centre. Although it is not open this time of year, Gene has arranged with the owner of the place to let us check it out. It is named after Gallivan who was widowed with seven children. She supplemented her meager income by selling part of her farm produce such as butter, eggs and honey on the local market. Her home baking and hand spun woollens were ever popular with the few passing tourists but it was her illicit home brewed poitin (potato whiskey) locally known as Molly’s Mountain Dew which she sold in her sibbeen (illegal pub) that was the most profitable. "The exploits of this enterprising widow are legendary" , according to the brochure. It sounds like she had plenty of advance warning when the local authorities we coming, both due to her vantage point at the top of the mountain and probably from grateful customers. The cottage where she stayed was 500 square feet. Can you imagine? An adult, 7 children, and a couple of animals (sheep and chickens ) inside a 500 square foot cottage! We see a short movie on the site and then Wendy gets to meet a "relative" (someone with the same name as some of her relatives), and have her picture taken with him.
We stop in Kenmare, and do some shopping. I decided to splurge and get a Gaelic wool sweater. Probably paid too much , but man it's warm. Plus Melissa negotiated the price downwards, so we didn't overpay too terribly much. Apparently, you can negotiate at any of the the shops in tourist towns, we later learn from Gene. We also pick up a Gaelic Football and shirt for Joe and Melissa gets a few things for herself.
We meet at the Wander Inn for a couple of drinks, and then head to the Rockcrest house to check in. As we are still getting out of the bus and bringing in the luggage, the owner demands to know when want breakfast tomorrow morning. Can we consult with the rest of our party before deciding ?", I ask. "No. I have another group coming in tonight so I need to know now," she snaps. Melissa and I decide that everyone is eating at 9:00 a.m. tomorrow. That means no coffee in the morning. I hate having no coffee in the morning.
We go to a place called Ryan's where a young guy (about 30 yrs. old maybe) who is bartending owns the place. It is a large place which has new decor, but is tastefully done. Lots of wood, brass, etc. We start talking to him , and he indicates that including improvements, he has E 2.2 million (about $3 million) into the place. I ask him where his cash came from and he states he got lucky fixing up two previous bars and flipping them. At least he doesn't think he's a genius, because he bought in the right place at the right time. Sure it takes hard work, but there's also an element of luck to owning a place and he recognizes this. I kind of like the guy. We meet a couple where the female is originally from Davenport, Iowa. We exchange stories about Iowa City.
We head to a fast food place where basically all they serve is fish and chips , but talk about fresh. The owner (at least I presume she was) actually pulls the fish out of the fridge and breads it in front of us before dropping it in the cooker. It is delicious. We head to couple of more pubs before walking home. If the weather clears up like it finally appears to be doing here, we'll be seeing the Ring of Kerry tomorrow.
Wednesday, March 07, 2007
"This Ain't No Party, This Ain't No Disco...
. . . this ain't no fooling around."
--The Talking Heads, "Life During Wartime"
"Old folks boogie, down on the farm. Wheelchairs, they was locked arm in arm."
--Little Feat, "Old Folks Boogie"
"The waiting is the hardest part."
--Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers, "The Waiting"
Let's see. Where do we start? How 'bout with the visit from the lady from Hospice? She was certainly nice enough, but it was fucking depressing, going through my medical history for the umpteenth time. Shortly after the visit concluded, the delivery van from the hospice arrived, and set up a hospital bed in my (1st floor) office. I thought I was prepared for this eventuality, but I guess not. Maybe no one ever is.
Then a couple hours later it was over to the hospital for a three hour MRI session of my neck, cervical spine, lumbar spine, and sacroiliac spine. Then over to X-ray to photograph 8 views of the same thing. The first machine we were on broke in the middle of my pics. Kind of the story of my health the last 1 1/2 years. Got home at quarter to midnight, completely exhausted.
Now I have to wait until tomorrow (Thursday) to see if if the cancer has spread to my spine and if so, if any palliative radiation can be done. it's questionable due to the previous radiation on the lung. If not, I guess it's time to get fitted for a wheelchair. I was ready for pain, even extreme pain, but I wasn't (and I'm not) ready for that news.
--The Talking Heads, "Life During Wartime"
"Old folks boogie, down on the farm. Wheelchairs, they was locked arm in arm."
--Little Feat, "Old Folks Boogie"
"The waiting is the hardest part."
--Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers, "The Waiting"
Let's see. Where do we start? How 'bout with the visit from the lady from Hospice? She was certainly nice enough, but it was fucking depressing, going through my medical history for the umpteenth time. Shortly after the visit concluded, the delivery van from the hospice arrived, and set up a hospital bed in my (1st floor) office. I thought I was prepared for this eventuality, but I guess not. Maybe no one ever is.
Then a couple hours later it was over to the hospital for a three hour MRI session of my neck, cervical spine, lumbar spine, and sacroiliac spine. Then over to X-ray to photograph 8 views of the same thing. The first machine we were on broke in the middle of my pics. Kind of the story of my health the last 1 1/2 years. Got home at quarter to midnight, completely exhausted.
Now I have to wait until tomorrow (Thursday) to see if if the cancer has spread to my spine and if so, if any palliative radiation can be done. it's questionable due to the previous radiation on the lung. If not, I guess it's time to get fitted for a wheelchair. I was ready for pain, even extreme pain, but I wasn't (and I'm not) ready for that news.
Monday, March 05, 2007
Reality Interlude, Part II
I've got an appointment for an MRI tomorrow night. Dr. McGinnis thinks it may be metastatic cancer to the spine causing the numbness and tingling in my legs. Because of the previous radiation to the lungs, if there is cancer high up on the spine, there will be nothing they can do. A wheelchair will be in my near future. Pray for me.
Friday, March 02, 2007
The Redemption of Mary, Gay Bars, and Kinsale
Sunday, February 11, 2007
We woke up about 6:15 a.m. after a good night's sleep. Didn't freeze to death. In fact we were quite toasty . These blankets in Ireland are fantastic! We shower, and after a cup of the best coffee in Ireland (really!), Mary's husband, Sonny, drives Melissa, Megan and I to church. (The rest of our crew consists of unrepentant sinners :-) ). Mary warns us that they hit you up for two Euro a head on the way in, so I am prepared. 3/4ths of seats are unoccupied, yet there are numerous people standing in the back. I wonder if the $2 Euro is some sort of seating tax. It is a sunny, glorious morning, and mass takes only 27 minutes. The scenery outside the church is beautiful, even the graveyard (different than the one in Kilbehenny) adjacent to the church. We attempt to take to a picture from the steps of the church, with the Galty Mountains in the background but I think the camera batteries were worn out. No matter. I have the image in my head for the rest of my life.
Sonny, takes us around town and shows us some of the beautiful Church of England churches and possessions. He then drives us back to the B&B where we have more of that great coffee and a very good traditional Irish breakfast.
We drive to Cork City to allow Wendy and the girls to go shopping. Unfortunately, nothing is open until noon, including the bars in the area. Wendy and Megan go shopping at noon, and the rest of us go to some place called Les Chateau which is the only place open that serves alcohol . The place is quiet except for a few guys having drinks. You have to get a code to go to unlock the bathroom, which I find a bit unusual but the bartender is cool about getting our drinks and taking our food orders. On my way to the bathroom, this guy at a table of three two table over from ours gives me the evil eye which I think is a bit weird since I didn't think our table was even being our loud obnoxious, usual selves. On the way back from the bathroom, he looks at me again, and I give him my best "Fuck you" look. I figure we collectively outweigh these guys by about 150 lbs. and if we can't take them in a scrap, we aren't worth our salt. Nothing further happens. Megan and Wendy get back from shopping. My sister and Bruce say their chowder is good, and after a couple more drinks we leave.
After we meet up with Gene at the appointed time and place, we tell him where we went, and and he says in his Irish brogue, "Did you know that's a gay bar?" We figured that explained the looks we were getting from that table and had a good laugh about it.
We now drive on toward Kinsale. On the outskirts of town, Gene wants to show us something special. We lost on some old dirt roads, so Gene stops three ladies who are out walking to get directions. They mean well, but they are about as helpful as mud. "Well, if go down this road, there's a sign pointing to Charlesford." Gene explains we have been up and down this road three times and there is no sign. "Well, then take your second left where the sign used to be." Right. Gene eventually finds what we are looking for which is Charles' Fort. It offers a spectacular view of the Kinsale Harbor, and beyond that, the Celtic Sea. We have some great pictures that I'll add to this site when we everybody's pictures for the photo album (Hint, hint!).
Gene has called ahead, and there is a problem with our B&B. He assures us it will be taken care of . We try to assure him that if worse comes to worse we'll find a hotel, and work it out with Chris later. We drive on to Kinsale, where we stop at the Blue Haven Hotel for drinks and appetizers while Gene checks out the B&B. We watch the (Gaelic) "football" (a/k/a/ rugby) match on television. It is actually a pretty cool game. The scoring is like football, except there are 5 pts. rather than 6 for a "touchdown", and the point after is 2 pts. rather than one. You can kick the ball forward, but only can pass or lateral it backward. You tackle the guy with the football, and there are no pads, so you have to be a tough S.O.B. to play this game. Field goal opportunities are given when various infractions are committed, and can be taken voluntarily at other times which I never quite figured out. Ireland ends up losing a heart breaker to France in the last minute , 20-17. We end up yelling as loud as any one in the bar.
Gene returns and tells us the owners of the original place we were supposed to stay at went on vacation, but he found us alternate accommodations at the Ashgrove House in Kinsale. We find out that the Blue Haven doesn't serve dinner on Sunday nights and that only guests of the hotel get to have the seven course breakfast. The best laid plans. . .We check in at the Ashgrove house and meet the proprietor. She doesn't seem very pleased that we are here. We ask her to have coffee ready at 8:00 a.m. and then breakfast whenever she can get it ready after that. We have Gene drop us in town.
We have a couple of drinks at some pub and end up eating next door at a place called the White House. Dinner is very good for a casual place, and it is our turn to buy so we put it on a credit card. Luckily, Melissa checks the receipt before we leave and the bill was made out for 1,620 Euros (roughly $2,200 American). She points this out to the waiter, who doesn't even apologize for the error, but silently brings over a corrected bill for 162 Euros. It makes us wonder if the error is intentional. We have drinks after dinner at Dalton's but we head home shortly after arriving. It is raining out, and the taxi service says we are too close to them to be picked up, so we have to walk in the rain to the taxi stand and then intercom them from outside. Kinsale, a real customer oriented town. We watch a little t.v. in the sitting room at the B&B and then call it a night. In my opinion, Kinsale, is a tourist town that can be skipped.
We woke up about 6:15 a.m. after a good night's sleep. Didn't freeze to death. In fact we were quite toasty . These blankets in Ireland are fantastic! We shower, and after a cup of the best coffee in Ireland (really!), Mary's husband, Sonny, drives Melissa, Megan and I to church. (The rest of our crew consists of unrepentant sinners :-) ). Mary warns us that they hit you up for two Euro a head on the way in, so I am prepared. 3/4ths of seats are unoccupied, yet there are numerous people standing in the back. I wonder if the $2 Euro is some sort of seating tax. It is a sunny, glorious morning, and mass takes only 27 minutes. The scenery outside the church is beautiful, even the graveyard (different than the one in Kilbehenny) adjacent to the church. We attempt to take to a picture from the steps of the church, with the Galty Mountains in the background but I think the camera batteries were worn out. No matter. I have the image in my head for the rest of my life.
Sonny, takes us around town and shows us some of the beautiful Church of England churches and possessions. He then drives us back to the B&B where we have more of that great coffee and a very good traditional Irish breakfast.
We drive to Cork City to allow Wendy and the girls to go shopping. Unfortunately, nothing is open until noon, including the bars in the area. Wendy and Megan go shopping at noon, and the rest of us go to some place called Les Chateau which is the only place open that serves alcohol . The place is quiet except for a few guys having drinks. You have to get a code to go to unlock the bathroom, which I find a bit unusual but the bartender is cool about getting our drinks and taking our food orders. On my way to the bathroom, this guy at a table of three two table over from ours gives me the evil eye which I think is a bit weird since I didn't think our table was even being our loud obnoxious, usual selves. On the way back from the bathroom, he looks at me again, and I give him my best "Fuck you" look. I figure we collectively outweigh these guys by about 150 lbs. and if we can't take them in a scrap, we aren't worth our salt. Nothing further happens. Megan and Wendy get back from shopping. My sister and Bruce say their chowder is good, and after a couple more drinks we leave.
After we meet up with Gene at the appointed time and place, we tell him where we went, and and he says in his Irish brogue, "Did you know that's a gay bar?" We figured that explained the looks we were getting from that table and had a good laugh about it.
We now drive on toward Kinsale. On the outskirts of town, Gene wants to show us something special. We lost on some old dirt roads, so Gene stops three ladies who are out walking to get directions. They mean well, but they are about as helpful as mud. "Well, if go down this road, there's a sign pointing to Charlesford." Gene explains we have been up and down this road three times and there is no sign. "Well, then take your second left where the sign used to be." Right. Gene eventually finds what we are looking for which is Charles' Fort. It offers a spectacular view of the Kinsale Harbor, and beyond that, the Celtic Sea. We have some great pictures that I'll add to this site when we everybody's pictures for the photo album (Hint, hint!).
Gene has called ahead, and there is a problem with our B&B. He assures us it will be taken care of . We try to assure him that if worse comes to worse we'll find a hotel, and work it out with Chris later. We drive on to Kinsale, where we stop at the Blue Haven Hotel for drinks and appetizers while Gene checks out the B&B. We watch the (Gaelic) "football" (a/k/a/ rugby) match on television. It is actually a pretty cool game. The scoring is like football, except there are 5 pts. rather than 6 for a "touchdown", and the point after is 2 pts. rather than one. You can kick the ball forward, but only can pass or lateral it backward. You tackle the guy with the football, and there are no pads, so you have to be a tough S.O.B. to play this game. Field goal opportunities are given when various infractions are committed, and can be taken voluntarily at other times which I never quite figured out. Ireland ends up losing a heart breaker to France in the last minute , 20-17. We end up yelling as loud as any one in the bar.
Gene returns and tells us the owners of the original place we were supposed to stay at went on vacation, but he found us alternate accommodations at the Ashgrove House in Kinsale. We find out that the Blue Haven doesn't serve dinner on Sunday nights and that only guests of the hotel get to have the seven course breakfast. The best laid plans. . .We check in at the Ashgrove house and meet the proprietor. She doesn't seem very pleased that we are here. We ask her to have coffee ready at 8:00 a.m. and then breakfast whenever she can get it ready after that. We have Gene drop us in town.
We have a couple of drinks at some pub and end up eating next door at a place called the White House. Dinner is very good for a casual place, and it is our turn to buy so we put it on a credit card. Luckily, Melissa checks the receipt before we leave and the bill was made out for 1,620 Euros (roughly $2,200 American). She points this out to the waiter, who doesn't even apologize for the error, but silently brings over a corrected bill for 162 Euros. It makes us wonder if the error is intentional. We have drinks after dinner at Dalton's but we head home shortly after arriving. It is raining out, and the taxi service says we are too close to them to be picked up, so we have to walk in the rain to the taxi stand and then intercom them from outside. Kinsale, a real customer oriented town. We watch a little t.v. in the sitting room at the B&B and then call it a night. In my opinion, Kinsale, is a tourist town that can be skipped.
Thursday, March 01, 2007
Brief Reality Interlude
Going in for an MRI and meeting with the oncologist today. Have been experiencing numbness and tingling in both legs and headaches. It started in Ireland a little bit but I hoped it was due to the long plane rides and all of the walking we were doing on the trip, but has gotten worse since we got back. The headaches were really bad yesterday, too, but so far nothing today. I'll keep you updated on my medical status.
Wednesday, February 28, 2007
Homeward Bound
Searching Through Graveyards in Kilbehenny
Saturday, February 10, 2007
We have breakfast at the hotel, and the food at the buffet is pretty good, but the service is virtually non-existent. Apparently, the only job of the two people at the door is to check you off their list in order to ensure you don't take two breakfasts. I think about giving them Ben and Wendy's name & room number so they won't be able to get breakfast when they come down, but decide I can wait until later to see Wendy cause an international incident. In spite of the fact that Melissa and I are one of only three tables occupied in the restaurant, it takes forever to get coffee and when it arrives, I discover it's weak. Yuck. I hate weak coffee.
We check out and wait for our driver Gene O'Sullivan to arrive. He arrives right on time and we make introductions. Since we have ambitiously set out to do a different town or city every night, I'm very pleased to see he brought a very large (14 passenger) van for the six of us (or seven if you count Gene). With the "8 passenger" van from the airport, I had to carry luggage on my lap, so I was worried about room on the tour bus. I mean, I weigh 205 lbs. which is the most of anyone in our group, so it's not like we're morbidly obese. It's just the vehicles are tiny.
We stop at a convenience shop outside of Dublin where everyone gets coffee (except Melissa, who gets diet soda). It took a while to get out of Dublin because of the traffic, but at 11:00 a.m., Gene suggests stopping at a pub. Looks like this is going to be a great trip. We stop at Morrisey's in Abbeyleix, Laois (Queen's) County, a historical town founded in the 18th century as an estate town by Viscount De Vesci and is situated near a 12th century Cistercian monastery beside the River Nore. Population 1009.
There are about five guys drinking already, which is always a promising sign. I am reminded of a bar that Bruce and I went to in law school called Mumm's, and one of it's slogan's was "no women to interrupt your beer drinking." It turns out that I'm right. Morrisey's was established in 1733, and as you might imagine, times were a little different back then. In, fact, Gene points out a special wooden box with two benches facing each other, but with the sides built up. Apparently, the women had to sit in this box if they were in the pub, and they were visible only to the passerby in the streets through the window, and the bartender. Ben, Bruce and I think this is a great idea. The women roll their eyes. :-)
Melissa surprises me again by ordering a Smithwick's (a.k.a. "Smitic's"). There is a fire in the stove burning peat moss and wood for heat. Very cool. A older gentleman sings to Wendy an old Irish tune a capella with a voice that is breathtaking. He promises to send her a cassette tape in a few weeks. This is the kind of thing we came to Ireland for. This is going to be a great trip! We also stop at Doyle's Pub in Urlingford, County Kilkenny, for another drink. We are the only inhabitants of the place besides the bartender and she's pretty wrapped up in a local hurling match, so it's not as cool as Morrisey's. Melissa and I try to use the T-Mobile cell phone that we purchased specifically for this trip because of their alleged Ireland coverage switching from Verizon which I had had for about ten years and was perfectly happy with (but which had no coverage in Ireland). Of course it doesn't work, and we have to use a pay phone and credit card to reach the boys.
We reach Kilbehenny (population 440) and try to stop a one the three pubs to get some info on the Condon's (my paternal grandmother's maiden name). Unfortunately, all of the pubs are closed. However, Gene spies someone in back of the 3 Counties Inn (so named because the counties of Limerick, Cork, and Tipperary meet there) and asks her to open it. Amazingly, she complies with his request. We have a drink, but the bartendress doesn't know anything about the Condons or the tiny town for that matter. Gene, Megan and I, set out for the old cemetery just southeast (behind) of the pub ,which also has the ruins of the old church. On the way, Gene stops a lady who knows where some Condons live or used to live, and gives him directions there. It appears the place is given minimal care because the ground is terribly uneven, and it looks like the graves were dug fairly shallow, or perhaps they have just become that way over time. I feel like a hand might reach out of the grave at any time. You have to really watch where you step or you'll break an ankle.
We find a grave marked "W. Condon Born 1732, Died 1799, age 67." It is located on the inside of the old church, against the North wall. Apparently, this was considered an honor. Gene tells us that the graves in the Catholic cemeteries always face east, unless you were a priest, in which case they face west. Good to know in case you ever find yourself in a graveyard in Ireland at night without a compass.
We stop by the priest's residence a couple blocks north of the 3 Counties Inn. No luck. We go to the "new" church, which was built in the 1870's. It is beautiful. Apparently, it has a real problem with votive candle expense, because a) you have to put your money in first (one Euro if memory serves) ; and b) you don't get to light a candle at all, but rather have a light in a red votive shaped plastic thingy with a light inside. The church has a plaque in it dedicated "in memory of John Condon, who died on the 8th of June, 1899, in the 67th year of his age, the 36th year of his priesthood and the 11th year of his pastorship of Kilbehenny and Anglesborough, a man simple, upright, and fearing God, a good priest, and devoted pastor and a true friend. May he rest in peace. Amen." He apparently was the second pastor of the "new" church.
Megan, Gene and I then head to the Condon house, where the son probably in his 40's, reluctantly lets us in. The old lady, probably in her 80's, was apparently married to a Condon during her first marriage and was left the homestead which also appears to have a few acres suitable for farming. His name was James Condon and her name is Nora Condon, despite having been remarried. It doesn't appear to fit any of the info I have, so I don't think we found a relative. The old lady, has a lazy eye but is certainly genial . Megan notices that the son has a lazy eye too (I hadn't noticed his) and of course immediately proceeds to tell Bruce about it. Big mistake. My grandmother's family is instantly renamed "The Cross Eyed Condons" and every person with a lazy eye for the remainder of the trip is a Condon.
We move on to Mitchelstown where we check into the Palm Lodge B&B run by Mary O'Connell. I guess she is pretty nervous about having 3 lawyers at her place according to Gene, but by and large it doesn't take much to please us. The bed, however is lumpy, and gives us a backache. The bed at Clontarf was bad as well. In fact, nearly every place we stay has old beds. This apparently is a problem throughout Europe. It's about 55 degrees Fahrenheit in the room. It's even colder in the bathroom. Apparently, no one in Ireland heats bathrooms, whether its in pubs or in homes. This would have been perfect for the Seinfeld episode on "shrinkage."
We have Gene join us in town for dinner at "The Hunter's Rest." The food is good, the portions are huge, and the service is pretty good. I have to ask Melissa several times before she will try my baked potato. She looks at me as if to say "moron." But guess what? They are better than any potato I have ever had anywhere in the States, including some very expensive places in Boston, Chicago, and San Francisco. It's hard to describe, but they are lighter, fluffier, and better tasting in Ireland. By comparison, Idaho potatoes taste like dirt (no pun intended).
We adjourn to a pub named Spratt's . As we are walking in, Gene asks somebody passing by if the place is popular. "Naw, noboby goes there," says the young guy. He wasn't kidding. We are the only people in the place besides the twenty-something female bartender. The place is huge for a town of this size, but instead of being happy to see someone, we are apparently interrupting the bartender's television viewing time. We go to the back, to play billiards where I lose to Bruce for the first time in my life. Damn, this cancer is really throwing off my balance. There is an excellent jukebox but again we have to ask the bartender to turn up the sound. Nobody else ever did come into the bar that night. Special note to bartender: If you ever read this, I want you to know that you left about 40 Euro (about $55 American) sitting on the table that night because you were too lazy to get off your ass and come serve us drinks.
In spite of this, we are having a great time. We finally go home about 10:00 p.m. Gene truly went above and beyond today. I'm looking forward to tomorrow.
Saturday, February 10, 2007
We have breakfast at the hotel, and the food at the buffet is pretty good, but the service is virtually non-existent. Apparently, the only job of the two people at the door is to check you off their list in order to ensure you don't take two breakfasts. I think about giving them Ben and Wendy's name & room number so they won't be able to get breakfast when they come down, but decide I can wait until later to see Wendy cause an international incident. In spite of the fact that Melissa and I are one of only three tables occupied in the restaurant, it takes forever to get coffee and when it arrives, I discover it's weak. Yuck. I hate weak coffee.
We check out and wait for our driver Gene O'Sullivan to arrive. He arrives right on time and we make introductions. Since we have ambitiously set out to do a different town or city every night, I'm very pleased to see he brought a very large (14 passenger) van for the six of us (or seven if you count Gene). With the "8 passenger" van from the airport, I had to carry luggage on my lap, so I was worried about room on the tour bus. I mean, I weigh 205 lbs. which is the most of anyone in our group, so it's not like we're morbidly obese. It's just the vehicles are tiny.
We stop at a convenience shop outside of Dublin where everyone gets coffee (except Melissa, who gets diet soda). It took a while to get out of Dublin because of the traffic, but at 11:00 a.m., Gene suggests stopping at a pub. Looks like this is going to be a great trip. We stop at Morrisey's in Abbeyleix, Laois (Queen's) County, a historical town founded in the 18th century as an estate town by Viscount De Vesci and is situated near a 12th century Cistercian monastery beside the River Nore. Population 1009.
There are about five guys drinking already, which is always a promising sign. I am reminded of a bar that Bruce and I went to in law school called Mumm's, and one of it's slogan's was "no women to interrupt your beer drinking." It turns out that I'm right. Morrisey's was established in 1733, and as you might imagine, times were a little different back then. In, fact, Gene points out a special wooden box with two benches facing each other, but with the sides built up. Apparently, the women had to sit in this box if they were in the pub, and they were visible only to the passerby in the streets through the window, and the bartender. Ben, Bruce and I think this is a great idea. The women roll their eyes. :-)
Melissa surprises me again by ordering a Smithwick's (a.k.a. "Smitic's"). There is a fire in the stove burning peat moss and wood for heat. Very cool. A older gentleman sings to Wendy an old Irish tune a capella with a voice that is breathtaking. He promises to send her a cassette tape in a few weeks. This is the kind of thing we came to Ireland for. This is going to be a great trip! We also stop at Doyle's Pub in Urlingford, County Kilkenny, for another drink. We are the only inhabitants of the place besides the bartender and she's pretty wrapped up in a local hurling match, so it's not as cool as Morrisey's. Melissa and I try to use the T-Mobile cell phone that we purchased specifically for this trip because of their alleged Ireland coverage switching from Verizon which I had had for about ten years and was perfectly happy with (but which had no coverage in Ireland). Of course it doesn't work, and we have to use a pay phone and credit card to reach the boys.
We reach Kilbehenny (population 440) and try to stop a one the three pubs to get some info on the Condon's (my paternal grandmother's maiden name). Unfortunately, all of the pubs are closed. However, Gene spies someone in back of the 3 Counties Inn (so named because the counties of Limerick, Cork, and Tipperary meet there) and asks her to open it. Amazingly, she complies with his request. We have a drink, but the bartendress doesn't know anything about the Condons or the tiny town for that matter. Gene, Megan and I, set out for the old cemetery just southeast (behind) of the pub ,which also has the ruins of the old church. On the way, Gene stops a lady who knows where some Condons live or used to live, and gives him directions there. It appears the place is given minimal care because the ground is terribly uneven, and it looks like the graves were dug fairly shallow, or perhaps they have just become that way over time. I feel like a hand might reach out of the grave at any time. You have to really watch where you step or you'll break an ankle.
We find a grave marked "W. Condon Born 1732, Died 1799, age 67." It is located on the inside of the old church, against the North wall. Apparently, this was considered an honor. Gene tells us that the graves in the Catholic cemeteries always face east, unless you were a priest, in which case they face west. Good to know in case you ever find yourself in a graveyard in Ireland at night without a compass.
We stop by the priest's residence a couple blocks north of the 3 Counties Inn. No luck. We go to the "new" church, which was built in the 1870's. It is beautiful. Apparently, it has a real problem with votive candle expense, because a) you have to put your money in first (one Euro if memory serves) ; and b) you don't get to light a candle at all, but rather have a light in a red votive shaped plastic thingy with a light inside. The church has a plaque in it dedicated "in memory of John Condon, who died on the 8th of June, 1899, in the 67th year of his age, the 36th year of his priesthood and the 11th year of his pastorship of Kilbehenny and Anglesborough, a man simple, upright, and fearing God, a good priest, and devoted pastor and a true friend. May he rest in peace. Amen." He apparently was the second pastor of the "new" church.
Megan, Gene and I then head to the Condon house, where the son probably in his 40's, reluctantly lets us in. The old lady, probably in her 80's, was apparently married to a Condon during her first marriage and was left the homestead which also appears to have a few acres suitable for farming. His name was James Condon and her name is Nora Condon, despite having been remarried. It doesn't appear to fit any of the info I have, so I don't think we found a relative. The old lady, has a lazy eye but is certainly genial . Megan notices that the son has a lazy eye too (I hadn't noticed his) and of course immediately proceeds to tell Bruce about it. Big mistake. My grandmother's family is instantly renamed "The Cross Eyed Condons" and every person with a lazy eye for the remainder of the trip is a Condon.
We move on to Mitchelstown where we check into the Palm Lodge B&B run by Mary O'Connell. I guess she is pretty nervous about having 3 lawyers at her place according to Gene, but by and large it doesn't take much to please us. The bed, however is lumpy, and gives us a backache. The bed at Clontarf was bad as well. In fact, nearly every place we stay has old beds. This apparently is a problem throughout Europe. It's about 55 degrees Fahrenheit in the room. It's even colder in the bathroom. Apparently, no one in Ireland heats bathrooms, whether its in pubs or in homes. This would have been perfect for the Seinfeld episode on "shrinkage."
We have Gene join us in town for dinner at "The Hunter's Rest." The food is good, the portions are huge, and the service is pretty good. I have to ask Melissa several times before she will try my baked potato. She looks at me as if to say "moron." But guess what? They are better than any potato I have ever had anywhere in the States, including some very expensive places in Boston, Chicago, and San Francisco. It's hard to describe, but they are lighter, fluffier, and better tasting in Ireland. By comparison, Idaho potatoes taste like dirt (no pun intended).
We adjourn to a pub named Spratt's . As we are walking in, Gene asks somebody passing by if the place is popular. "Naw, noboby goes there," says the young guy. He wasn't kidding. We are the only people in the place besides the twenty-something female bartender. The place is huge for a town of this size, but instead of being happy to see someone, we are apparently interrupting the bartender's television viewing time. We go to the back, to play billiards where I lose to Bruce for the first time in my life. Damn, this cancer is really throwing off my balance. There is an excellent jukebox but again we have to ask the bartender to turn up the sound. Nobody else ever did come into the bar that night. Special note to bartender: If you ever read this, I want you to know that you left about 40 Euro (about $55 American) sitting on the table that night because you were too lazy to get off your ass and come serve us drinks.
In spite of this, we are having a great time. We finally go home about 10:00 p.m. Gene truly went above and beyond today. I'm looking forward to tomorrow.
Monday, February 26, 2007
Touchdown--Dublin
Friday, February 9, 2007
Dublin
We retrieve our luggage and we manage to get a very small van taxi that all six of us cram into whereupon I immediately direct the driver to the wrong hotel. Surprisingly, my travel companions give me very little crap about this. At 11:00 a.m., we arrive at the correct hotel (100 Euros later), the Clontarf Castle, and after checking in, go right to our rooms. Melissa and I take a power nap of about 45 minutes, then head to the bar. The hotel and bar are very impressive. A lot of old stone, wood and vaulted ceilings. Melissa surprises me by ordering a Smithwick's (Made by the Guinness brewery and just recently available at Cooney's in Des Moines). I order a Guinness, and it really does taste better than it does in the States.
Melissa got us a couple of menus and decided to order what was listed on the menu as tortilla chips and salsa.
"Chips and salsa, please," Melissa said.
"Chips and salsa?", the bartenderess asked quizically.
"Yes, chips and salsa."
"Chips and salsa?"
"Chips and salsa."
"Are you sure you want salsa on your chips?"
"Is there a problem?, asked Melissa pointing to item on the menu she wanted.
"Oh you want tortilla chips and salsa."
As it turns out, "chips" in Ireland are french fries and potato chips are called "crisps."
We had a pretty good laugh about that one with Megan and Bruce, and Ben and Wendy who join us shortly thereafter.
We then took taxis to Davy Byrnes (the "moral pub" from James Joyce's Ulysses) for our first "authethic" pub experience. The place is located in the heart of one of the pub districts and filled up shortly after we got there. It's a neat place, with portraits of famous patrons including Joyce on the walls. Our bartender was fantastic and no one even batted an eye when I broke a glass. We went to dinner and a short time after dinner, returned to our hotel where we collapsed about 8:30 p.m. At about 9:15 p.m., our driver Gene O'Sullivan called to confirm reservations for tomorrow. We slept as soon as our heads hit the pillow.
Dublin
We retrieve our luggage and we manage to get a very small van taxi that all six of us cram into whereupon I immediately direct the driver to the wrong hotel. Surprisingly, my travel companions give me very little crap about this. At 11:00 a.m., we arrive at the correct hotel (100 Euros later), the Clontarf Castle, and after checking in, go right to our rooms. Melissa and I take a power nap of about 45 minutes, then head to the bar. The hotel and bar are very impressive. A lot of old stone, wood and vaulted ceilings. Melissa surprises me by ordering a Smithwick's (Made by the Guinness brewery and just recently available at Cooney's in Des Moines). I order a Guinness, and it really does taste better than it does in the States.
Melissa got us a couple of menus and decided to order what was listed on the menu as tortilla chips and salsa.
"Chips and salsa, please," Melissa said.
"Chips and salsa?", the bartenderess asked quizically.
"Yes, chips and salsa."
"Chips and salsa?"
"Chips and salsa."
"Are you sure you want salsa on your chips?"
"Is there a problem?, asked Melissa pointing to item on the menu she wanted.
"Oh you want tortilla chips and salsa."
As it turns out, "chips" in Ireland are french fries and potato chips are called "crisps."
We had a pretty good laugh about that one with Megan and Bruce, and Ben and Wendy who join us shortly thereafter.
We then took taxis to Davy Byrnes (the "moral pub" from James Joyce's Ulysses) for our first "authethic" pub experience. The place is located in the heart of one of the pub districts and filled up shortly after we got there. It's a neat place, with portraits of famous patrons including Joyce on the walls. Our bartender was fantastic and no one even batted an eye when I broke a glass. We went to dinner and a short time after dinner, returned to our hotel where we collapsed about 8:30 p.m. At about 9:15 p.m., our driver Gene O'Sullivan called to confirm reservations for tomorrow. We slept as soon as our heads hit the pillow.
Sunday, February 25, 2007
Our Visit to Eire and Froggy Land
As many of you are aware, Melissa and I recently traveled to Ireland and France for 15 days, including travel time. This will be dominating my blogs for the probably the next month depending on how I feel, and how much I need to revise it, according to our faithful traveling companions Tonto and Silver (actually Megan, Bruce, Ben and Wendy). If any of you wish to comment on something else or have cancer related questions, feel free to ask them (the questions, not Megan, et al. :-)) .
Thursday, February 8, 2007
Travel Day
We arrive at Des Moines "International" Airport (I think they have one flight a week to Canada), at 10:15 a.m. We print out our boarding passes, check our luggage, and clear security by 11:00 a.m. Our flight doesn't leave until 12:15 p.m., so we adjourn to the bar for a drink. We board plane the plane and depart for Atlanta where we arrive at about 3:00 p.m. EST. The Atlanta airport is modern , but still cramped because of the incredibly narrow hallways and the volume of traffic. My head is throbbing and I'm already wondering how I'm going to make it through this trip. I've kind of worked out this unspoken deal with Melissa, that I don't "play the cancer card" unless it's fairly desperate circumstances. I tell Melissa to go ahead and do what she needs to in order to get us in to the private club. As it turns out, we don't need cancer at all, just $25 per person. All six of us gladly pay for it. Drinks with top shelf liquor are complimentary, conversation is subdued, and best of all, no cell phones. Worth every penny.
Rejuvenated, we board the plane for our 7:00 p.m. flight, then proceed to sit on the tarmac for nearly an hour. Bruce has the best line of the trip so far: "I've got the kind of baggage you can't check." Every time I'm ready to drift off, I'm awakened by Megan's cackles of laughter. 7 .5 mostly sleepless hours later (not necessarily all due to Megan), we touch down in Dublin, where it is 8:30 a.m. Friday local time.
Thursday, February 8, 2007
Travel Day
We arrive at Des Moines "International" Airport (I think they have one flight a week to Canada), at 10:15 a.m. We print out our boarding passes, check our luggage, and clear security by 11:00 a.m. Our flight doesn't leave until 12:15 p.m., so we adjourn to the bar for a drink. We board plane the plane and depart for Atlanta where we arrive at about 3:00 p.m. EST. The Atlanta airport is modern , but still cramped because of the incredibly narrow hallways and the volume of traffic. My head is throbbing and I'm already wondering how I'm going to make it through this trip. I've kind of worked out this unspoken deal with Melissa, that I don't "play the cancer card" unless it's fairly desperate circumstances. I tell Melissa to go ahead and do what she needs to in order to get us in to the private club. As it turns out, we don't need cancer at all, just $25 per person. All six of us gladly pay for it. Drinks with top shelf liquor are complimentary, conversation is subdued, and best of all, no cell phones. Worth every penny.
Rejuvenated, we board the plane for our 7:00 p.m. flight, then proceed to sit on the tarmac for nearly an hour. Bruce has the best line of the trip so far: "I've got the kind of baggage you can't check." Every time I'm ready to drift off, I'm awakened by Megan's cackles of laughter. 7 .5 mostly sleepless hours later (not necessarily all due to Megan), we touch down in Dublin, where it is 8:30 a.m. Friday local time.
Friday, February 23, 2007
"Oh well ,oh well, I feel so good today...
We just touched ground on an international runway
Jet-propelled back home from overseas to the USA
. . .
Looking hard for a drive-in
Searching for a corner cafe
Where hamburgers sizzle on an open grill night and day
Yeah, and the jukebox jumping with records back in the USA
I'm so glad I'm living in the USA
Yes I'm so glad I'm living in the USA
Anything you want we got it right here in the USA. "
--Chuck Berry
Like hot water for example. 18 hours of travel time yesterday. I'll start on the adventures of our travels and travails tomorrow.
Jet-propelled back home from overseas to the USA
. . .
Looking hard for a drive-in
Searching for a corner cafe
Where hamburgers sizzle on an open grill night and day
Yeah, and the jukebox jumping with records back in the USA
I'm so glad I'm living in the USA
Yes I'm so glad I'm living in the USA
Anything you want we got it right here in the USA. "
--Chuck Berry
Like hot water for example. 18 hours of travel time yesterday. I'll start on the adventures of our travels and travails tomorrow.
Thursday, February 08, 2007
Leaving on a Jet Plane
..."don't know when I'll be back again."
--Peter, Paul, and Mary
Actually in about two weeks. I'm headed to Ireland with Melissa & a couple of other couples. I'll try to blog overseas but I'm not sure if it will work.
We'll see if I activate the dirty bomb detectors with all the radiation I've had. Appartently, this is a real problem according to some of the cancer "help sites." I'll kiss the "old sod" for all of you.
--Peter, Paul, and Mary
Actually in about two weeks. I'm headed to Ireland with Melissa & a couple of other couples. I'll try to blog overseas but I'm not sure if it will work.
We'll see if I activate the dirty bomb detectors with all the radiation I've had. Appartently, this is a real problem according to some of the cancer "help sites." I'll kiss the "old sod" for all of you.
Tuesday, February 06, 2007
Friendship
"Friends come in and out of your life like busboys in a restaurant, ever notice that?"
--Stephen King, The Body, a novella within Different Seasons
"If you threw a party, invited everyone you knew,
You would see . . .
that the biggest gift would be from me,
and card attached would say
'Thank you for being a friend.' "
--"Thank You for Being a Friend" Andrew Gold
"Le sort fait les parents, le choix fait les amis."
("Fate chooses our relatives, we choose our friends.")
--Jacques Delille, French Poet, 1803
I received an e-mail the other day from an old friend, parts of which are reprinted below with permission:
Dear Tom,
When I think about ways that you influenced me and my life. . . well, if it wasn't for you I would have never drunk a Long Island Ice Tea!
Although consumption of alcohol was a frequent activity, it was the conversation that went along that was the most worthwhile. I always felt that you had interesting perspectives and thought provoking ideas. I just remember reflective conversations we had, like the line about how people come in and out of your life like a waiter at a restaurant. Where was that one from? A song I bet.
As a sometimes hyper, enthusiastic teenager you helped keep me grounded. You made me think, reflect, and probably saved me from being ditzy (or at least less ditzy than I was). I could always count on you to be real and even painfully honest. My husband is the same way, will always tell you how it is, which I appreciate.
Will I ever forget when we went to an Iowa Hawkeyes game with your folks?
Reflecting back on that, it probably prepared me for traveling in China, comfort in crowds --- I still remember the masses of people.
But now it is second nature to me as we bop back and forth between China and the US.
Tom, I remember going out drinking with you after working at my day camp job. I would come home tired and you would cajole me into coming out for a drink on the other side of town. Thank God, I always got home safe. But I think you influenced me in learning that your work can't be everything, you need balance and you need to enjoy life when you got it and in the end connecting with people is what counts. That is something you have done well, you have so many passions and are true to yourself, your family, you friends and what you believe. Of course you work hard too, that has also been a passion for you, but you haven't let it overrun you or define who you are. I know that family has always been at the core for you. From my heart, I wish that you find peace in all this turmoil and struggle. I will remember you always.
Love, Cathy
--Stephen King, The Body, a novella within Different Seasons
"If you threw a party, invited everyone you knew,
You would see . . .
that the biggest gift would be from me,
and card attached would say
'Thank you for being a friend.' "
--"Thank You for Being a Friend" Andrew Gold
"Le sort fait les parents, le choix fait les amis."
("Fate chooses our relatives, we choose our friends.")
--Jacques Delille, French Poet, 1803
I received an e-mail the other day from an old friend, parts of which are reprinted below with permission:
Dear Tom,
When I think about ways that you influenced me and my life. . . well, if it wasn't for you I would have never drunk a Long Island Ice Tea!
Although consumption of alcohol was a frequent activity, it was the conversation that went along that was the most worthwhile. I always felt that you had interesting perspectives and thought provoking ideas. I just remember reflective conversations we had, like the line about how people come in and out of your life like a waiter at a restaurant. Where was that one from? A song I bet.
As a sometimes hyper, enthusiastic teenager you helped keep me grounded. You made me think, reflect, and probably saved me from being ditzy (or at least less ditzy than I was). I could always count on you to be real and even painfully honest. My husband is the same way, will always tell you how it is, which I appreciate.
Will I ever forget when we went to an Iowa Hawkeyes game with your folks?
Reflecting back on that, it probably prepared me for traveling in China, comfort in crowds --- I still remember the masses of people.
But now it is second nature to me as we bop back and forth between China and the US.
Tom, I remember going out drinking with you after working at my day camp job. I would come home tired and you would cajole me into coming out for a drink on the other side of town. Thank God, I always got home safe. But I think you influenced me in learning that your work can't be everything, you need balance and you need to enjoy life when you got it and in the end connecting with people is what counts. That is something you have done well, you have so many passions and are true to yourself, your family, you friends and what you believe. Of course you work hard too, that has also been a passion for you, but you haven't let it overrun you or define who you are. I know that family has always been at the core for you. From my heart, I wish that you find peace in all this turmoil and struggle. I will remember you always.
Love, Cathy
Well- thanks Cathy. That was very nice of you to say. Well, friends do come in out of my life like busboys in a restaurant. But not in a bad way, like I think that Stephen King meant it. Actually, I've been very lucky to have a number of friends who I can not see for months or even years, and we are able to pick up right where we left off.
And in the end, perhaps that's what it all comes down to. Not work or personal accomplishment, but our family, the friends we've had, and the experiences we've shared.
Thursday, February 01, 2007
Surprise!
Yes, we're going to a party, party. --The Beatles
Who in the hell throws a surprise 39th Birthday party? Me, that's who. I had originally planned to do this for Melissa's 40th birthday, but since I probably won't be around, I decided to do it this year. I hired a band that we used to go see in college, the Rich Webster Band, invited some old friends from college who came from as far away as Raleigh, North Carolina, and put out a pretty good spread, complete with 15 lbs. of shrimp and lots of good liquor (there's no excuse for cheap booze :-) ).
The hardest part of this was getting Melissa out of the house for two hours so we could "turn" the room. We had to move a recliner couch, a regulation foosball table (about 400 lbs.), get the food and booze set up, get the band set up, get the guests here and in the basement all while Melissa was gone. Special thanks to the movers, roadies, my sisters and everyone who helped.
The band was fantastic, and everyone danced the whole evening. It was so fun to see people we hadn't seen in years, and I think we truly surprised Melissa. My oldest son Joe kept the secret for about one week before the party. He even helped be a roadie for the band, but was smart enough not to get stuck carrying the amps. :-)
The drummer, who strangely enough is my next door neighbor's brother, was kind enough to let Joe (an up and coming drummer) tap out a few things on his set during the band breaks.
All in all, a perfect evening.
P.S. Free publicity. Many of you inquired into hiring Rich Webster sometime. His e-mail is websterlaw@gmail.com. Telephone (319)358-9899. Address: 212 S. Johnson, Iowa City, IA 52240.
Who in the hell throws a surprise 39th Birthday party? Me, that's who. I had originally planned to do this for Melissa's 40th birthday, but since I probably won't be around, I decided to do it this year. I hired a band that we used to go see in college, the Rich Webster Band, invited some old friends from college who came from as far away as Raleigh, North Carolina, and put out a pretty good spread, complete with 15 lbs. of shrimp and lots of good liquor (there's no excuse for cheap booze :-) ).
The hardest part of this was getting Melissa out of the house for two hours so we could "turn" the room. We had to move a recliner couch, a regulation foosball table (about 400 lbs.), get the food and booze set up, get the band set up, get the guests here and in the basement all while Melissa was gone. Special thanks to the movers, roadies, my sisters and everyone who helped.
The band was fantastic, and everyone danced the whole evening. It was so fun to see people we hadn't seen in years, and I think we truly surprised Melissa. My oldest son Joe kept the secret for about one week before the party. He even helped be a roadie for the band, but was smart enough not to get stuck carrying the amps. :-)
The drummer, who strangely enough is my next door neighbor's brother, was kind enough to let Joe (an up and coming drummer) tap out a few things on his set during the band breaks.
All in all, a perfect evening.
P.S. Free publicity. Many of you inquired into hiring Rich Webster sometime. His e-mail is websterlaw@gmail.com. Telephone (319)358-9899. Address: 212 S. Johnson, Iowa City, IA 52240.
Thursday, January 25, 2007
180 Days
"Because I could not stop for Death----
He kindly stopped for me---"
Emily Dickinson, "Because I Could not Stop for Death", circa 1862.
"I love deadlines. I love the whooshing noise they make as they go by."
Douglas Adams, quoted in Guardian, June 3, 2000.
"It is difficult to predict, especially the future."
Niels Bohr, Danish Physicist, in "Statistics", (1975)(attributing quote to Mark Kac).
I think I like the last the two quotes better, even though I always thought (even back in my American Lit. high school class), that the title of Dickinson's poem would make a great name for a rock song, or for a hard rock/heavy metal band.
I took an MRI on January 8, 2007 and learned that my lung cancer has metastasized through the lymph nodes to my brain. When cancer metastasizes throughout the lymph nodes, it gets into your blood stream and starts popping up everywhere. It grows like wildfire and wherever it goes, and your body's organs begin shutting down. So we planned for the following week to do stereotactic radiation (see 1/18/07 post). I had eight spots on my brain that we "zapped", but for every one that we got, there are probably two more we can't see. My oncologist, Dr. Heddinger, gave me a revised life expectancy of four months without additional radiation and six months with. So July 9, 2007, is my new drop dead date.
For those of you saying "but you already had brain cancer", the easiest way I can explain it is this: The "old" brain tumor was non-cancerous, but had to be controlled in order to stop it from crowding out important brain functions like speaking and thinking. It was nearly baseball size when it was discovered, so it had to be operated on. These kind of tumors can grow but not spread.
I received this news the same week we had our lawsuit with The Worst People in the World (see 1/16/07 post). This all occurred while trying to plan Melissa's surprise party on the January 13th (which I will discuss in a future blog). To say the least it was a stressful week.
I've decided that I can handle the physical pain that cancer causes pretty well, but the psychological beating that you take is really something else. It has come to the point where I ought to feel good about bad news, because even worse news is lurking around the corner. And getting no news, well now that's spec-fucking-tacular.
164 days and counting. Bet the over. :-)
P.S. I will need a person or persons to take over writing this blog at some point. They must be be educated, witty, charming, insightful, thoughtful and clever. Which basically means a friend or relative of mine, since you all meet the criteria. Please contact me if you would be willing to do this. Tom
He kindly stopped for me---"
Emily Dickinson, "Because I Could not Stop for Death", circa 1862.
"I love deadlines. I love the whooshing noise they make as they go by."
Douglas Adams, quoted in Guardian, June 3, 2000.
"It is difficult to predict, especially the future."
Niels Bohr, Danish Physicist, in "Statistics", (1975)(attributing quote to Mark Kac).
I think I like the last the two quotes better, even though I always thought (even back in my American Lit. high school class), that the title of Dickinson's poem would make a great name for a rock song, or for a hard rock/heavy metal band.
I took an MRI on January 8, 2007 and learned that my lung cancer has metastasized through the lymph nodes to my brain. When cancer metastasizes throughout the lymph nodes, it gets into your blood stream and starts popping up everywhere. It grows like wildfire and wherever it goes, and your body's organs begin shutting down. So we planned for the following week to do stereotactic radiation (see 1/18/07 post). I had eight spots on my brain that we "zapped", but for every one that we got, there are probably two more we can't see. My oncologist, Dr. Heddinger, gave me a revised life expectancy of four months without additional radiation and six months with. So July 9, 2007, is my new drop dead date.
For those of you saying "but you already had brain cancer", the easiest way I can explain it is this: The "old" brain tumor was non-cancerous, but had to be controlled in order to stop it from crowding out important brain functions like speaking and thinking. It was nearly baseball size when it was discovered, so it had to be operated on. These kind of tumors can grow but not spread.
I received this news the same week we had our lawsuit with The Worst People in the World (see 1/16/07 post). This all occurred while trying to plan Melissa's surprise party on the January 13th (which I will discuss in a future blog). To say the least it was a stressful week.
I've decided that I can handle the physical pain that cancer causes pretty well, but the psychological beating that you take is really something else. It has come to the point where I ought to feel good about bad news, because even worse news is lurking around the corner. And getting no news, well now that's spec-fucking-tacular.
164 days and counting. Bet the over. :-)
P.S. I will need a person or persons to take over writing this blog at some point. They must be be educated, witty, charming, insightful, thoughtful and clever. Which basically means a friend or relative of mine, since you all meet the criteria. Please contact me if you would be willing to do this. Tom
California
Better than the Bowl Game
I am just getting around to writing this, but shortly after Christmas, we went to Palm Springs to visit Melissa's oldest brother for a few days. It was the first time in six years that we didn't go to the Hawkeyes bowl game. It was raining when Melissa, the boys, grandma and I landed outside of L.A., but by the time we got to their house it was already sunny. Their home it stunning and backs to a PGA golf course. Another of Melissa's brothers was already there with his family when we arrived, and the third brother arrived the evening of the 27th.
We stayed at a beautiful resort hotel near the house, with the Sierra Mountains for a back drop. If any of you ever wondered what a $50.00/couple breakfast tastes like, I can now tell you. But I'll also tell you this: It was damn good. The weather was very nice, and we only ventured out of the hotel and house twice: Once for a casual dinner (we all took turns making dinner the rest of the time) and once to go the grocery store. The kids had a great time playing with their new scooters, football and swimming. The adults had a good time just talking and relaxing. On the 29th, when Iowa played Texas, Melissa's brother went out and bought a bunch of monster cable and moved the flat screen t.v. outside into the shade. Melissa made tailgate items for brunch and dinner beginning with breakfast burritos in the morning and chicken and burgers for dinner. (Hey, I had to fill the coolers with beer, pop and ice). The Hawkeyes actually played pretty well before losing by two points.
As you probably recall, President Ford passed away at that time. He was from Rancho Mirage, which is about two miles from Melissa's brother's home. You could hear the twenty one gun salute from the patio. Very cool. It was a very relaxing and enjoyable time.
I am just getting around to writing this, but shortly after Christmas, we went to Palm Springs to visit Melissa's oldest brother for a few days. It was the first time in six years that we didn't go to the Hawkeyes bowl game. It was raining when Melissa, the boys, grandma and I landed outside of L.A., but by the time we got to their house it was already sunny. Their home it stunning and backs to a PGA golf course. Another of Melissa's brothers was already there with his family when we arrived, and the third brother arrived the evening of the 27th.
We stayed at a beautiful resort hotel near the house, with the Sierra Mountains for a back drop. If any of you ever wondered what a $50.00/couple breakfast tastes like, I can now tell you. But I'll also tell you this: It was damn good. The weather was very nice, and we only ventured out of the hotel and house twice: Once for a casual dinner (we all took turns making dinner the rest of the time) and once to go the grocery store. The kids had a great time playing with their new scooters, football and swimming. The adults had a good time just talking and relaxing. On the 29th, when Iowa played Texas, Melissa's brother went out and bought a bunch of monster cable and moved the flat screen t.v. outside into the shade. Melissa made tailgate items for brunch and dinner beginning with breakfast burritos in the morning and chicken and burgers for dinner. (Hey, I had to fill the coolers with beer, pop and ice). The Hawkeyes actually played pretty well before losing by two points.
As you probably recall, President Ford passed away at that time. He was from Rancho Mirage, which is about two miles from Melissa's brother's home. You could hear the twenty one gun salute from the patio. Very cool. It was a very relaxing and enjoyable time.
Friday, January 19, 2007
Justice is Served
"Millions for defense but not a cent for tribute."
--Robert Harper
De minimis non curat lex.
("The law is not concerned with trifles.")
Received our small claims decision in the mail today. We prevailed against every claim. In an unusual (but not unheard of ) manner, the small claims court typed out a two page decision detailing why the plaintiffs could not prevail on each of their claims. I think Melissa's favorite part of the decision was as follows:
"The dirtiness of the home appears to have been the direct result of a hurried move. Had the Plaintiff's waited until the agreed date to move, this Court believes the home would have been very clean."
Good news for the weekend.
--Robert Harper
De minimis non curat lex.
("The law is not concerned with trifles.")
Received our small claims decision in the mail today. We prevailed against every claim. In an unusual (but not unheard of ) manner, the small claims court typed out a two page decision detailing why the plaintiffs could not prevail on each of their claims. I think Melissa's favorite part of the decision was as follows:
"The dirtiness of the home appears to have been the direct result of a hurried move. Had the Plaintiff's waited until the agreed date to move, this Court believes the home would have been very clean."
Good news for the weekend.
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