Got Graeters? Of course, although I did have to wait an hour in Worthington, Ohio, until they opened at noon.
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The return home was very casual. I snapped photos in Worthington , stopped for hot soup in Erie, and put my sleepy head down in Syracuse for the night (after watching the Predator and the Alien kill each other). I made my first work call this afternoon on the way home, and I even thought about Adam and rakkity’s upcoming stories.
Nuggets from this trip:
1. No one makes better Deviled Eggs than Diane.
2. “From where all blessings come.” Helen’s response to my shopping bag full of food from Idylewilde.

It’s 4 M and Jeffrey is carrying me to my truck.

Peter keeps asking for photos of his parents.

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It turns out that Nubus is really Nubis, which is short for Anubis, the Egyptian God of the Dead. Helen thought her cat looked like he should be on pedestal, similar to many Egyptian Gods, etc. .

The old resistor.

This trip’s truck fix. My heater/air conditioner fan worked only on full blast; the three slower speeds had vanished. My father analyzed the wiring diagram and decided the problem was an inline resistor. I ordered one from the local Nissan dealership, and Voila! heat without the noise.

Yesterday was a pretty good day, ending with Kate fidgeting in front of her video cam. Peter, who had set it up, and Emma who, with her friend Cassie, seemed the most excited about it, had long since disappeared. Given Helen’s fawning over the images of the girls, you would a thought she was watching a replay of her own childhood.

After the afternoon’s doctor’s appointment, which was mostly favorable, I ran down to the Ohio River and captured this sunset series. It’s a Quicktime Movie. There is also a slideshow link on that same page.

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Peter, Kate and Emma popped in tonight and met Matt’s grandmother. Here is one of Kate not making a face. Peter gets a gold star for setting a camera up on his end.

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Rakkity made it to the court last week, and handed two racquets to the “little” rakkities, Patrick (6′ 1″ and 180 lb) and Katie (fit horsewoman and soccer player). “I hope you’ll be gentle”, he thought, putting his left hand into a protective nylon splint as he entered the court for this 3-way game.

The usual rules are for dad to play left handed, but that wasn’t an option yet. After a few volleys, it became clear that dad’s right back-hand returns were less than optimum, (even painful), so in a spirit of generosity, he offered to stop using backhands at all.

Patrick’s left hand was rusty, and he could barely stay even with his sister, but Dad was killing the ball pretty well, and won the first game 15-6-6.

By then, P & K had learned to return the ball to Dad’s backhand, and they stayed closer, scorewise. Several times, dad went towards the ball on his left, ready to hit it back-handed, then remembered at
the last second about the no backhand rule, and had to spin around to hit forehanded. Usually it was a wild swinging strike, leading to much levity on the court.

Except for those hilarious failed righthand/backhands, the game was uneventful and dad won again,14-10-10.

This was a great victory for king rakkity, but he kept in mind that a 3-way game is easier than a 2-way game, and besides, he would have been slaughtered if P. was playing right handed, and if K. was 3 inches taller.

It’ll be a while till rakkity can meet the Dominator on the court. By then maybe the Dom will have gained another 10 lbs from inactivity and his game will have faded. In the mean time, 3-way games with the kids will be fun exercise and training for that future day. And maybe rakkity will find a good fat recipe book to give the Dom for Thanksgiving.
r.

Nubus, my mother’s cat.

Jeff and Karen’s tomatoes.

My mother (too many people are asking me why I call her Helen, or HO or Hey You) asked her friend, Dottie, if Dottie still had the tape recording in which she sang “Morning Has Broken” with her daughter, Evelyn. Dottie did not, but she got together with her friend, Pam, and together they recorded four songs. Dottie dropped them off yesterday and I transferred them from tape to computer. Here is the Cat Steven’s song (mp4 format). From her near permanent place in bed, it is now Helen’s (okay, I can’t stop) top request.
Quicktime version

Michael and Diane

I don’t understand my mother’s connection to Susan. I never have. It’s the face-time thing. They haven’t had that much. Or have I forgotten?

“I never laughed so hard as I did when Susan told me about her trip to Ireland. With Diane, I believe.” Pause “So smart.”

Since Jimmy died I haven’t talked to Helen without her asking, “How is Susan?” I never really know how to answer that, but I do my best. Helen called me somewhere between deer carcasses in Ohio and before she asked me how I was, she said, “How is Susan?’ The dimmer switch in my head finally turned and I replied, “You should call her.”

When I arrived in Evansville the next day, my mother asked for Susan’s number. She called, and from the other room, I heard her talking. Her voice continued long past what an answering machine would hold.

Today, we sat down for lunch and as I did during my last visit, I read stories. Not those gut-grabbers Chris sent for my last visit, but two from the blog. We began with Chris’s “A Day in the Life,” and as usual I had to pause every three words or so while The Active Mind responded to the chimney saga.

After I finished I ask,

“You read Susan’s story, right?’

“Susan’s story?”

“About Jimmy and the car?”

“I haven’t. You should go get it now.” Meaning, jump up from the table and print it out.

I returned and began, “On important things, Jim and Susan were almost always on the same page and……”

My mother waited.

I breathed deeply and plunged in again.

“Okay, we’re going to start again. ‘On important things.’ “……

I couldn’t continue. I thought, finally tears, but why now, why not alone in my truck?

Helen verbally held my hand from across the table, “Oh, I know. I can barely think about it too. You don’t have to read it.”

“Maybe you should read. It’s really easy if you don’t read it aloud.” I hand her the printed pages but I see she doesn’t have her glasses on. ” Can you read it?”

“With this large print, I should say so.”

Helen holds the pages in her left hand, nearly closes her right eye and begins reading. After the first few paragraphs, she stops and asks, “What’s FB?”

“That’s FierceBaby.”

“Oh yeah, Susan’s baby picture, the one that reminds me of my Aunt Lydia. She told me to get iron up my back after I miscarried and she thought I was being too dramatic. And who is SB?”

“SB? Let me see the page. You mean SD, as in shinydome.”

I was glad she stumbled because I wanted another shot at reading the story. With iron up my back, I continued where she left off and together we laughed at the gun rack, the ribbon and especially, “You’ve passed rational.”

I don’t understand my mother’s connection to Susan. I never have. It’s the face-time thing. They haven’t had that much. Or have I forgotten?

“I never laughed so hard as I did when Susan told me about her trip to Ireland. With Diane, I believe.” Pause “So smart.”

Since Jimmy died I haven’t talked to Helen without her asking, “How is Susan?” I never really know how to answer that, but I do my best. Helen called me somewhere between deer carcasses in Ohio and before she asked me how I was, she said, “How is Susan?’ The dimmer switch in my head finally turned and I replied, “You should call her.”

When I arrived in Evansville the next day, my mother asked for Susan’s number. She called, and from the other room, I heard her talking. Her voice continued long past what an answering machine would hold.

Today, we sat down for lunch and as I did during my last visit, I read stories. Not those gut-grabbers Chris sent for my last visit, but two from the blog. We began with Chris’s “A Day in the Life,” and as usual I had to pause every three words or so while The Active Mind responded to the chimney saga.

After I finished I ask,

“You read Susan’s story, right?’

“Susan’s story?”

“About Jimmy and the car?”

“I haven’t. You should go get it now.” Meaning, jump up from the table and print it out.

I returned and began, “On important things, Jim and Susan were almost always on the same page and……”

My mother waited.

I breathed deeply and plunged in again.

“Okay, we’re going to start again. ‘On important things.’ “……

I couldn’t continue. I thought, finally tears, but why now, why not alone in my truck?

Helen verbally held my hand from across the table, “Oh, I know. I can barely think about it too. You don’t have to read it.”

“Maybe you should read. It’s really easy if you don’t read it aloud.” I hand her the printed pages but I see she doesn’t have her glasses on. ” Can you read it?”

“With this large print, I should say so.”

Helen holds the pages in her left hand, nearly closes her right eye and begins reading. After the first few paragraphs, she stops and asks, “What’s FB?”

“That’s FierceBaby.”

“Oh yeah, Susan’s baby picture, the one that reminds me of my Aunt Lydia. She told me to get iron up my back after I miscarried and she thought I was being too dramatic. And who is SB?”

“SB? Let me see the page. You mean SD, as in shinydome.”

I was glad she stumbled because I wanted another shot at reading the story. With iron up my back, I continued where she left off and together we laughed at the gun rack, the ribbon and especially, “You’ve passed rational.”

First stop, somewhere on the Mass Pike.

Growing up in the fifties in Cincinnati, we had two ice cream brand choices. Sealtest and Graeters. Sealtest was, and still is, your typical off the grocery shelf, air-filled, ice cream. Graeters was Steve’s, Ben and Jerry’s, and Hagen Daez, long before those dense, mostly heavy cream desserts were marketed. As a young lad, I liked both, but I knew the expensive, family-owned ice cream was superior. Our favorite flavor – chocolate.
Fifty years pass and one day I pick up The Globe and there is an article about Keith Lockhart, the conductor of the Boston Pops and a longtime Cincinnati resident. He still eats Graeters ice cream. He has it shipped to his house, packed in dry ice.
On my drive here, somewhere near Cleveland, I get the bright idea that I’ll buy Graeters to surprise my mother. I call Diane, she hones in on the most convenient and open (Sunday evening) Graeters, text messages me directions and Viola! here I am in Worthington, Ohio, parked at a local Graeters, which happens to be on the corner of High St. and W New England Ave. I bought five pints packed in a white Styrofoam cooler with enough dry ice to keep those memories rock hard for two days.

Has anyone seen the movie Affliction?

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This drive felt like the old days with traffic, road construction and unnecessary stops. Nineteen hours to travel 1138 miles.

But what the f*ck is up with Ohio? The highway deer carnage capital of America. How about picking up the mammals before they look like they wandered onto the highway wearing explosive belts? Come on! A head and neck here, squashed hind quarters there, swathes of highway painted red, and then all of that repeated what seems like every few miles.