tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-221055382024-03-07T16:25:18.400-05:00Daddy D's Story TimeThe ramblings of Darrell Rebouche: father of grown humans in their twenties and husband of the Best Wife Ever,
This blog is about our lives, and usually nothing more.Darrellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16371650199312363087noreply@blogger.comBlogger963125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22105538.post-41974379943678480942014-05-19T17:43:00.000-04:002014-05-19T17:46:57.085-04:00She's Always Wanted a Destination WeddingRipples of shock expanded across certain social media cirlces when late on a Sunday night, a photo emerged of my daughter which showed her holding hands with some dude named Ross in a gazebo with the caption "Married, y'all!"
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This guy Ross was one of the first kids I met when we dropped our daughter off for her freshman year at TCU, but I don't think I saw him again until a few days after graduation. He seems like a good guy, but I'm not prepared for him to be my son-in-law.
So, like a few others, I was confused...especially when an accompanying photo was captioned "The best wedding party I could have asked for."
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The ambiguity had an unsettling effect on some people, including some of her oldest and closest friends who weren't at the wedding.<br />
Let's be honest, I knew it was some kind of gag from the first moment I saw it, but I didn't get the joke.
I have to admit I thought for a few seconds, "Hold on; what if this is real?" Since she was a little girl, I've been telling her there was one word I wanted her to learn: "elope." What if she took me seriously?
But, here's the truth: She, Ross and a bunch of other recent TCU graduates joined tens of thousands of others for a giant music festival, Hangout Music Fest, on the Alabama gulf coast.
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There were actual weddings performed in that gazebo, but most of them were just for the weekend. For these "weekend" ceremonies, a preacher would go through the motions but change up the vows to say things like "in drunkenness and in hangover" and "from here until the end of OutKast on Sunday evening." OutKast was one of the featured bands at the festival. So, breathe easy, everybody. Her marriage was automaticaly annulled with the last note of music. There are lingering questions about how binding those weekend vows were. They're out there, but I'm not going to ask.
Darrellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16371650199312363087noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22105538.post-65193874638242042012014-05-16T17:46:00.000-04:002014-05-16T17:46:22.679-04:00Let the Speaking Commence<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtnRsEJvE071CLh82srzwvWAHvbLU28eSCYiMqO57EYHWDAw875poxOEtRWv-hDjSkD3lnE76kL3VRP2nkhUWzUjv81HMSoYcwy2czy_sECYWELfLnyOxI51X-vte2C6jF_JFNew/s1600/IMG_3838.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtnRsEJvE071CLh82srzwvWAHvbLU28eSCYiMqO57EYHWDAw875poxOEtRWv-hDjSkD3lnE76kL3VRP2nkhUWzUjv81HMSoYcwy2czy_sECYWELfLnyOxI51X-vte2C6jF_JFNew/s320/IMG_3838.JPG" /></a></div> I was flabbergasted when the chancellor at Bossier Parish Community College asked me to be the commencement speaker for the morning session of graduates. I have no idea why he wanted me,and I actually mulled it over for a few days before I agreed.
<p>Ultimately, I decided to go for it, because how can you turn down an honor like that? The first rule of public speaking is "know your audience." So, I wrote a little something for people mostly in their early to mid-20's who presumably will continue their education or move directly into the workforce.
Here's the text of the remarks:</p>
<p>Good morning, everyone and congratulations! This is a tremendous day. Please take some time to celebrate what you’ve accomplished. Relax a little. Be proud of yourself. Come on, coast for a couple of days. You’ll need the rest, because as soon as you catch your breath, it will be time to start that long climb to wherever it is you’re going.</p>
<p>Where is that, by the way? Many, if not most of you, probably don’t have any idea. No doubt, you’ve heard a lot about the journey ahead and you’ve probably received a lot of advice. Today, on your day, I won’t presume to stand here and advise you. My plan is to tell you a series of stories and maybe, if you actually listen to a couple of them, they will be helpful to you somewhere along the way.</p>
Let’s start with a phone call I got a couple of weeks ago.
<p>But first, a little background is important. Starting when I was 18, I spent 27 years working in local media: television news, a little as a morning-show host at an oldies station…and for a long time, I hosted a morning radio talk show while also working at a TV station. I usually had two jobs, sometimes more. I dabbled in the advertising agency business on the side, for instance. So, I’ve spent most of my adult life in a personality-driven world. I’ve crossed paths with more than my share of enormous egos and eccentric, creative people. Don’t get me wrong, most of them were talented, nice people who just would not fit in an average office environment. And don’t think for once second I’m carving myself out of that category.</p>
<p>A consequence of making those professional choices was that my social interactions as a young adult were with co-workers or competitors…people in media. That means most of the women I dated, I met at work. That’s only important because it leads us to our first story. You see, other young ambitious people were in similar circumstances. So, there was a time in the early 80’s when I was involved in a bitter rivalry with another guy for the attention of an attractive female co-worker. She didn’t do us any favors, believe me. Looking back on it, she obviously enjoyed the attention. I guess it was great to have two guys engaging in open warfare for your affection. Ultimately, everybody moved on. I changed jobs, she left town and I have no idea whatever happened to that other guy. The last time I laid eyes on him was in 1984.</p>
<p>And then, that phone call I got a couple of weeks ago. It came out of nowhere from a buddy of mine who is the CEO of his company and he’s hiring. He’s looking over the resume of an applicant and sees that he worked in local TV for a long time. He was doing background checks and wanted to know if I was familiar with this particular applicant. In fact, I am. You guessed it; it was The Other Guy. I haven’t seen him for 30 years. If he were sitting in front of me, I wouldn’t recognize him. I barely knew him at the time….but here I was…in a position to influence his professional future. Crazy, right?</p>
<p>Want to know what I said? I told the truth. I said I barely know him, but back in the day; he was considered a genius at what he did. If there was a problem that seemed unfixable, he was the go-to guy. I said I have no idea if his 80’s-era technical genius would translate well to the 2010’s, but I would like to assume he’s kept up. I said I didn’t think I could be much help. The CEO thanked me, laughed a little, and said “you helped more than you know. I thought there was a chance you knew him and I just wanted to make sure you wouldn’t say he’s some kind of knucklehead.” Yeah, he said “knucklehead.”</p>
<p>This phone call kind of gave me chills. Knowing me in the early 80’s, I hope nobody ever calls and checks on my knucklehead status. But, I can’t control that, and here’s the point of the story: When it comes to you: You can control it, starting right now. The decisions you make today and going forward will resonate. If you get into a dispute with someone, they may forgive but chances are they’ll never forget. If you lie to someone, you will never recover from it. If you misbehave, it will come back to bite you. In short, if you’re a knucklehead, thirty years down the road chances are someone will remember it when somebody else asks about you.</p>
<p>So, some things the knucklehead with the microphone would like to do over if he could: remember, when the guy called me, I told the truth.</p>
<p>If you lie to someone, you will never recover from it. Lies lead to more lies. Cultivating a culture of deception is never a good idea in the long run. But there are ways to tell the truth without getting yourself into trouble. I wish I had listened when somebody told me that a long, long time ago….which leads me to another story.</p>
<p>I was in a meeting with a couple of bosses and a few close co-workers. A consultant had been brought in to examine the way we were doing things. In the history of the world, no consultant has ever come into a business and said “I think you’re doing great. I wouldn’t change a thing.” As a young, arrogant, know-it-all knucklehead, I knew this. But, I thought I was smart enough to deal with it. Having always placed a premium on honesty and armed with a preconceived notion, my brilliant strategy was to listen politely and pretty much keep my mouth shut. That worked until the boss looked at me and said “You’ve been uncharacteristically quiet. What do you think of all this?” Uh-oh, right? My answer, in retrospect, was poor. I said something like “I hate it. We’re making changes for the sake of change. We’re wasting money with this consultant. We’re not doing anything wrong and I’m not sure I see any value in what he had to say.” Oh, boy…that did not go well. That was a huge mistake. In my mind, I was standing up for my co-workers because THIS GUY was telling us we were doing it all wrong.</p>
<p>I could have answered truthfully, yet infinitely more effectively, by saying “I think I will do everything I can to work within these new guidelines. We all want to be more successful.” See, isn’t that better?</p>
<p>So, fast forward. Three years ago, I’m invited to a Christmas party with a bunch of former co-workers. At the party was the boss who was in the room with the consultant….the one who said I had been uncharacteristically quiet. We’re sitting around, having a Christmas cocktail and swapping old stories and he says, “Hey, remember the time you basically told that consultant he was an idiot?” He was laughing; but believe me, his eyes weren’t smiling. People never forget. Please remember that. And please think of that when you find yourself in positions of disagreement or conflict. Be honest with your thoughts, but be <i>effectively</i> honest.</p>
<p>You’ve been cautioned over and over again about your internet presence. It’s important, so let’s emphasize that again. Despite my knucklehead nature, I’ve been in a position to hire people. We were closing in on a candidate for a high-pay, pretty prestigious position. We had actually drawn up a contract we were prepared to offer. We were impressed. We liked him. We thought he liked us. This was going to be a job with a high public profile here in Shreveport-Bossier. There would be a lot of conversation about community standards. What I’m about to say is common now, but in the timeframe we’re discussing, internet searches weren’t just automatically done. So, it was novel when in the meeting to discuss offering the guy the job, someone said, “Hey, have we done a Google search on him as a last check?” No one had thought about it, but it seemed like a good idea, so off to the Google! First hit: Photos of the guy in extremely provocative poses and clothing in a public setting. Talk about a chill. The temperature in that room dropped ten degrees in the snap of a finger. Needless to say, given community standards at the time, we went in a different direction. I have no idea if that poor guy ever knew what happed to what seemed like a sure thing. </p>
<p>Melinda Gates, speaking to a graduating class at Duke University, talked about social media. She said “if you make the moral choice to connect deeply to others…then your computer, your phone and your tablet will make it so much easier to do. I want you to connect, because I believe it will inspire you to do something, to make a difference in the world.”</p>
<p>There’s wisdom there, but I’d like to add a modifier: a POSITIVE difference. The guy who posted all those provocative photos made a difference, for sure. I can’t say with confidence it was positive.</p>
<p>You’ll hear a lot in the days and weeks ahead about doing what you love, pursuing your dream, being true to yourself. The trick is figuring out how to do that while getting along with your bosses, your co-workers, and your family.</p>
<p>Two of my closest friends decided in their middle-age years that they needed to go to counseling. Maybe were enduring cliché mid-life crises, but they revealed similar circumstances. Both had spent their lives as pleasers: Doing what mom and dad said, doing what teacher said, doing what the boss said, saying what they thought the wife wanted to hear…just to get along. In the moment, they got along just fine. They strung together decades of those moments; but it wasn’t until they realized that they rarely communicated what they really felt, what they really wanted, that they understood how much discontent they had been masking with their benign disingenuousness.</p>
<p>Be true to yourself as best you can. Compromise in relationships goes a long way toward success, in business and interpersonally. But compromise can’t be one-way proposition. It’s okay to express your preferences in a respectful tone. It’s okay to say “You know what. I don’t feel like fried chicken tonight. Can we have hamburgers instead?” Look, pick your battles. Don’t cave in to the chicken.</p>
<p>Mid-life crisis has been mentioned, but that’s down the road for most of you. You’re more likely experiencing a quarter-life crisis. The first time I ever heard that term was in a John Mayer song, ‘Why, Georgia?” We can quote the brilliant philanthropist Melinda Gates or a cultural icon like Oprah Winfrey, who talks about branding yourself, saying “let excellence be your brand. When you are excellent, you become unforgettable. Doing the right thing, even when nobody knows you’re doing the right thing, will always bring the right thing to you.” I mean, that’s Oprah!</p>
<p>But, on this day, for you…I’ll quote that modern-day poet John Mayer, who seems to capture what you might be feeling.</p>
<p><i>"I rent a room and I fill the spaces with wood in places to make it feel like home But all I feel's alone It might be a quarter life crisis. Or, just the stirring in my soul. Either way I wonder sometimes about the outcome of a still verdictless life. Am I living it right? Everybody is just a stranger, but that’s the danger in going my own way. I guess it’s the price I have to pay.”</i></p>
<p>Steve Jobs, the co-founder of Apple, touches your life every day, even after his death. Most people I know don’t go a day without touching an Apple product. He famously said “your time is limited, so don’t waste it living someone else’s life. Don’t let the noise of others’ opinions drown out your inner voice.” That’s exactly what my mid-life crisis friends discovered they were doing. So, take that with you. Remain true to yourself, but respectful to those who are influencing you. Think “what will this person say about me thirty years from now?” It may seem ridiculous right now. It did to me, but trust me…it’s not ridiculous, it’s essential.</p>
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Everybody wants to be liked, to be respected. But, here’s a sad fact of life: You will meet people who don’t like you from the beginning. Maybe you look different from them or you think different from them or you love someone and they don’t understand how or why. Maybe you have a different view of religion from them; Or, simply because you are competing with them. Competition is very productive, but it can also be unhealthy and mean-spirited. Those things are out of your control. But you can control how you react to them. Believe me, rivals and competitors have a funny way of becoming allies and co-workers.</p>
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<p>Do everything you can to rise above the unpleasantness. Moreover, do what you can to not contribute to it. The best way to be true to yourself is to present yourself with dignity and self-respect. It’s hard to do sometimes, especially when you’re surrounded by enormous personalities.</p>
<p>Let’s go back to that legendary meeting with the consultant. What was the takeaway from the unacceptable behavior displayed in that room? Be prepared accept criticism gracefully. You will be working with and for people who know a lot more about what you’re doing that you do. You might not believe it in the moment, but it’s probably true. There’s a line between confidence & assertiveness and arrogance & egotism. Learn to accept criticism and coaching from people who have been blazing that trail for you.</p>
<p>You can find inspiration in the most unexpected places. My current boss asked me to represent the organization at a luncheon for a local non-profit. I admit I was happy for the free lunch, but my expectations were low. I was thinking “those functions are all the same. They need money.” But, no, they had a keynote speaker who was just excellent. I can’t remember his name, but he had a lasting impact on me when he said “If you’re the smartest person in your circle, it’s time to find a new circle.” I came to that realization late in life, but it’s absolutely true.</p>
<p>Where I work now, every day I encounter people who have far more formal education, world experience, and intellectual heft than I ever hope to have. And you know what? I’ve been happier and more intellectually stimulated over the last decade than I ever was all those years working in a TV newsroom. I had a lot of fun. A couple of my closest friends to this day were made in that setting. I wouldn’t trade those experiences, but if I got a do-over, I would modify my own behavior and choices significantly. </p>
<p>My father-in-law once told me it’s okay to fail. I’m glad, because I’ve done that more often than I care to admit. In your life and career, disappointment is inevitable. Rejection and failure will present themselves to you, and they’re never welcome. Ask for help. Ask for criticism. Ask for coaching. Accept them with grace and then do it for somebody else. That’s really all I want to accomplish in our time together today: to present you with stories of failure and frustration and to let you know that you can overcome them; but it’s better to do whatever you can to avoid them in the first place. </p>
<p>Following one of my legendary knucklehead moments, I was quick to apologize. Remember, people have a great capacity to forgive; but rarely will they forget. In that moment, the person to whom I was apologizing for saying something stupid or arrogant of inappropriate thanked me, but was still mad and said “look you can’t un-ring the bell.” Wow. All these years late, my ears are still ringing from that one.
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<p>Remember that, and maybe thirty years from now think of this moment. Hopefully a couple of these stories will have saved you from yourself.
I wish great success and happiness to you all. Enjoy your celebration.</p>Darrellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16371650199312363087noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22105538.post-73755475525366814532013-02-03T16:49:00.000-05:002013-02-03T16:49:48.161-05:00Taking it (Big) Easy for the (Big) Game(New Orleans) - Somehow, I have stumbled my way into the Crescent City where I found giant, lighted Roman numerals floating in the Mississippi River. The Super Bowl has returned to Louisiana, and not a minute too soon.
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The last time we all assembled in New Orleans for a Super Bowl, we were still quaking from the September 11th terrorist attacks. At the time, February of 2002, the idea of a follow-up attack was still very real and most of us held our collective breath at the realization that the Super Bowl could be an enticing target for the bad guys.
The Superdome was surrounded by barricades, fences and soldiers with machine guns.
This year, security is elaborate, but has the appearance of being more subtle.
Vehicles are not allowed near the Dome, which made for quite a hike into the stadium.
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Experience has taught us to arrive early, so it was a full three hours before kickoff when we found our seats (or should I say perches?).
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A lot of people turn a trip to the Super Bowl into a week-long party, and why not? For most, it's a once-in-a-lifetime experience. But, for me, every Super Bowl trip has been a long weekend. It's really is all about the game. New Orleans is New Orleans, and as wonderful as it is to visit; it's always here. So, it's the game itself that sets the trip apart.
Undeniably, though, part of the experience is watching thousands of visitors who are in New Orleans for the first time take it all in. This means a trip to the French Quarter to watch people. There are plenty to see.
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This trip has had a different tone for me. Instead of staying in the Central Business District, where the action is, we're in The Garden District. The atmosphere is decidedly more laid-back and I've decided I like it. Just a mile or so from the apartment we're borrowing, there's a little art gallery. The proprietor has a familiar name.
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Rebecca Rebouche has carved out quite a name for herself as an artist, and we've wanted an original piece from her for some time. Finally, we accomplished something. Check that off the list of things to do.
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There are several people I know hanging around, and they are mercilessly making fun of me. This is New Orleans, after all,one of the best places in the world to have an all-night party. But, I've been hopping on the outbound streetcar about 9:30 each night to find my way back to The Garden District for a nice, quiet evening.
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They can have all the fun they want, even at my expense. I'm well-rested and ready to enjoy the game. That is, after all, what it's all about.
Darrellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16371650199312363087noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22105538.post-66109262716234032832012-10-17T19:24:00.000-04:002012-10-17T19:24:51.712-04:00Communing With Nature (Really?)It’s not clear how our children developed a love for the outdoors: camping, hiking, camp fires, that kind of thing. My wife and I never took them camping and the last time I remember spending the night in a tent, I was a Boy Scout. So, go figure how our daughter decided to spend her fall break from school on the south rim of the Grand Canyon with a group of friends.
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This included a 12-mile hike into the canyon, which was apparently arduous. But they were all smiles after spending several nights in a tent.
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This week, her older brother is in Joshua Tree National Park in southeastern California, which seems to involve a lot of cactus and rocks. In the brief communication we have received, we’ve been advised he and his companions are hurting a little from the hikes and climbs.
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We’re grateful, because during a long weekend visit with him, he took us on a 7-mile mountain hike that involved a relatively easy uphill stroll.
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It was the first time we had seen him in months. He seems to be settling into his California lifestyle quite nicely. Who can blame him? He’s about an hour and a half from Los Angeles, 45 minutes from San Diego, living in a valley where access to minor mountains is mere moments away. And of course, there’s the beach.
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Just a few miles in the opposite direction: vineyards. We saw all these things in just two full days.
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So, think about it: Within a couple of hours, he can have just about anything he’d want, with terrific weather to boot. Why would he come back to north Louisiana? Family? Sure, we’re here; but we’re good to visit. He has friends where he is and he seems to be making more all the time.
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I have to admit, we had a really nice time on our visit. The change of scenery did us some good. It doesn't look like he’s coming back any time soon, so maybe we’ll rack up some frequent flyer miles to go take another hike.
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLuxBPuA7zs5qikH5DGCy-HwMmrPr-j8OrELN1yHs_hGlbe9IFg6qnqs0xcnlg8pwTBBDGjhY1_DIb-QCJHxNNMCg63HjqxJnXatOPNSi_g8Y7eOXz94O8CR067-w3zZyL0V7dNQ/s1600/IMG_2047.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="300" width="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLuxBPuA7zs5qikH5DGCy-HwMmrPr-j8OrELN1yHs_hGlbe9IFg6qnqs0xcnlg8pwTBBDGjhY1_DIb-QCJHxNNMCg63HjqxJnXatOPNSi_g8Y7eOXz94O8CR067-w3zZyL0V7dNQ/s400/IMG_2047.jpg" /></a></div>Darrellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16371650199312363087noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22105538.post-16816721985622113532012-09-16T16:57:00.000-04:002012-09-16T17:30:54.291-04:00Down By the RiverHalf a continent apart, my son and I both spent a day by the water. For me, it was the Red River, where people were paddling for a purpose at the dragon boat races.
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The Dragon Boat Festival is a major event presented to the community by The Rotary Club of Shreveport. <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbrK6ppcAF1Blox7dWg37Akme1rQL8IE_XHDh-dFdJCH4nuJ2YwwVLQeAI5_p2KCow1NjvrEE69DA2dJjwYvqyQ7oBiyoxODjS7w-atqOWspchwSRTn_mi8wtXaDsCbF_Mmc0zXQ/s1600/DSC_7070.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbrK6ppcAF1Blox7dWg37Akme1rQL8IE_XHDh-dFdJCH4nuJ2YwwVLQeAI5_p2KCow1NjvrEE69DA2dJjwYvqyQ7oBiyoxODjS7w-atqOWspchwSRTn_mi8wtXaDsCbF_Mmc0zXQ/s320/DSC_7070.JPG" width="212" /></a>As a good Rotarian, I do what I can to participate. And since my abilities are so limited, I volunteer to do something I know how to do: talk. Standing around all day making announcements and calling races...that's pretty easy. <BR><BR>
It was a family affair, because my ever-the-good-sport wife worked a shift at the registration tent.
It was fun, except when one disgruntled paddler, a loud-mouth with crooked teeth and whole lot of tattoos, angrily confronted me for making what he considered to be a misleading announcement.
The trouble was, I hadn't done it. I still don't know what happened or what he thinks he heard, but the encounter was unpleasant. I can make my own mistakes; I certainly don't need anyone accusing me of something I didn't do.
It didn't ruin my day, but it put a blemish on things.
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I bring this up not to diminish the dragon boat festival (with that lone exception, it really was a fun day), but merely to magnify the contrasting waterside experiences in play here. From the banks of the Red River being yelled at by a roid-raged, orthodontically challenged tat freak to the sandy shores of Southern California, where my son was spotted cavorting with his buddies.
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Is there anything more to say? I mean, that photo looks like an ad for clothing store in the mall or something. They appear to be very relaxed.
I think he won the day.
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Darrellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16371650199312363087noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22105538.post-51900988048913669692012-09-10T20:03:00.000-04:002012-09-10T21:00:17.989-04:00We Have To Get Out MoreMaybe there’s an end in sight to the summer malaise that has gripped us for weeks. With the exception of a nice weekend at the lake with old friends in early August, we have basically done nothing. You know your life has become boring when the biggest ongoing event is watching a visiting cat acclimate to the house.<br />
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Our son’s little buddy has finally emerged from his old room and is slowly socializing with the family. For a long time, she had to carefully observe things from high above while doing her best gargoyle impersonation.<br />
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All the while, her owner is kicking up his heels in southern California. We have seen exactly one photo of him, but he seems happy with friends wearing a funny hat in a diner.<br />
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He has already moved once since he relocated to the west coast. We have no real inkling if or when he will return. So, we remain on the brink of becoming the crazy cat people, with three felines hissing and scratching their way around the edges of our lives. The visiting cat had never set foot outside of our son’s apartment before she moved in with us. She finally worked up the courage to step outside. Imagine what it must have been like to be four years old and feel the wind for the first time.<br />
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Our daughter continues to be perfectly content with her life in Texas. School and work are dominating her, to be sure. She has actually come home since she got back from Europe. She was in town approximately 18 hours, enough time to string up a hammock in the back yard.<br />
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Yep, that about sizes things up. Football season is here, which means extra work for me. I’m doing a Friday night scoreboard show on a local radio station. If you add the ages of my broadcast partners, you still don’t quite hit my number…but they’re good kids and the show is fun.<br />
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Especially for my wife, who has known from the beginning that she’s on her own on Friday nights in the fall (Don’t think for one second that I don’t realize she actually likes it). I’m also part of the broadcast crew for a local high school, which means frequent absences on Thursdays and Saturdays. Sometimes, my bride comes with me.<br />
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Fall also means recreational football trips, and certainly we’re looking forward to a few of those. Although, I don’t think we’ll make as many as we have in the past. Getting older isn’t easy, and we’ve discovered these days that it takes us longer to recover from those weekend road trips. Plus, we have cats to feed.<br />
<br />Darrellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16371650199312363087noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22105538.post-30406845737276970252012-07-23T22:35:00.000-04:002012-07-23T22:52:14.268-04:00Are You Ready For Some Theology?I'm still recovering from the longest live broadcast of my media career. I want to say "we hit the air..." but in the 21st century media world, we actually didn't. It was a live webcast, which felt exactly like an over the air broadcast, but it was internet delivered. So, we hit the net at 9:45 a.m. and signed off at 1:17 p.m. <br />
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The venue was not a stadium or ballpark, though. It was a cathedral. <br />
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The occasion was the consecration of a new bishop for the Episcopal diocese of Western Louisiana. I was asked to host/ narrate as the service went along. And went long. The procession, er, processions...there were three of them...took a full half-hour. Then, there was a full service including an uplifting and entertaining sermon that lasted about twenty minutes, communion for a full cathedral, and the consecration itself. <br />
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Dignitaries came in from all over the state and the country. This required the host to carefully prepare. I approached it just like a ball game...doing pre-event interviews, getting to know the players(?), making extensive notes, creating boards, and spreading them out in the broadcast booth.<br />
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It was made easier by the fact that I am acquainted with the new bishop and had stories to tell based on conversations with him over the last four years. I have to admit it was fun to do. But, more than that, it was an honor.<br />
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Before the webcast, I was extraordinarily nervous. This brought to mind my late father-in-law, who was an Episcopalian priest. I admitted to him one time that I rarely got butterflies before going on live radio or TV, or before speaking to a crowd. I also confessed that it surprised me a little that every time I have something to do at church, I get sweaty palms. He said "that's because you're doing God's work. If you're not nervous, then something's wrong."<br />
Before the consecration, I actually worked up a little sweat.<br />
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And I admit to succumbing to emotion a couple of times during especially poignant parts of the service. My job was to describe to viewers what they were seeing, presuming that some of them didn't understand the meaning of many things happening. I tried to explain things as I understood them; but given the fact we were discussing several holy mysteries, I felt inadequate.<br />
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It was about the new bishop, though, not about me. One of the things we discussed in advance was the exact moment that I should stop referring to him as the "bishop elect" and start calling him "Bishop." When it came, that was one time I had to work to hold it together. I can only imagine how he felt.<br />
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Darrellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16371650199312363087noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22105538.post-53953324068044192892012-07-05T18:28:00.000-04:002012-07-05T18:28:13.572-04:00The Tail of the Discontended KittyWhile our son is off finding himself, "manning up" in California, our assignment is to deal with what he has left behind. This means a pile of boxes containing the remnants of his apartment and, more significantly, his cat.
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When he first moved out on his own, he wanted a pet. I strongly advised against it, because I knew something like this would happen. He was 19 and his life would take twists and turns he couldn't foresee, like moving far away to an environment inhospitable for a house cat. But he didn't listen to me. How could he when he saw this?
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At the time, he got the tabby and his mother grabbed the calico. They're sisters and for a day or two they frolicked together at the family home.
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Then, my son took his kitten into the dungeon otherwise identified as his one-bedroom apartment, where she has lived all of her life, apparently contentedly and sometimes cutely.
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Now, with her Daddy far away for an extended period, the poor cat is apparently failing to adjust to her new (much better) surroundings. Despite the presence of her sister, for whom she has forgotten all affection, and another older cat, she's quietly keeping to herself. She's surrounded by her stuff: scratching post, blanket, litter box, food, some of our son's clothes; but she's staying in full feline freakout mode. She's staying under his bed at our house, hissing at anyone or anycat who comes near.
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There has been the slightest progress. We did a spot check on her, as we do frequently, and found her once ON the bed instead of under it.
We are bringing her treats, which she eats (but not while we're watching). We speak to her in soothing tones, say her name a lot and try to pet her. Then, she does this weird semi-meow, semi-growl thing that I've never really heard before.
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Maybe she'll come around. There's a lot of fun to be had for a cat at our house.
Right now, she's not really easy to love. He says she's nice. She has it inside somewhere. Just look at that cute little thing we met when she was a kitten.
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As for our son, I don't think he's worried about it. The first photos I've seen of his new life involved a hot tub and girls in two-piece bathing suits. That's a way to man up.
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Oh, well, his cat's not any trouble as long as she stays under the bed. Hopefully, she can adapt to her new surroundings as fast as her owner apparently has.Darrellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16371650199312363087noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22105538.post-929006835599478232012-07-02T10:53:00.000-04:002012-07-02T11:15:52.018-04:00The Late But Great DepartureWhen you have little kids, you realize that there's a really good chance they'll move away some day. Thinking about it prepares you, but when your first-born and only son packs up his car and moves half a continent away, it's not easy.
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At 22, our son is long gone...relocated to a place you never heard of somewhere in California about halfway between Los Angeles and San Diego. We're not sure when or if he will be back. He plans to "explore the west coast," and we fully support the project. If he doesn't break away now, there's a chance he never will. Since he stayed in town for college, this is his first try at separation from home and family. He says he hopes to "man up a little" during his extended absence.
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He resigned from his job, didn't renew the lease on his apartment and spent a couple of weeks on a farewell tour. He was feted by friends.
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He extended invitations to many to visit him once he gets settled, and just about everyone wants to go to California; so maybe he will have company. He's situated about 45 minutes from the Pacific Coast and living in the valley of some minor mountains. Why wouldn't they come visit?
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As his departure neared, there was a great outpouring of affection, declarations of love and plenty of hugs.
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All of which made actually leaving a little more difficult, but he did it. While his mother was all smiles at a farewell dinner, her demeanor changed when she saw his tail lights in the distance.
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I decided to go paternal and give him a speech that went something like this:
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<i>I've worked with a lot of people your age over the years, in health care and broadcasting. Most of them have similar goals. They either want to make it big in a major city or at a network; or if that doesn't work out, they want to get to their home market. At some point, almost everybody wants to go home. There's a reason the majority of people live within a hundred miles of where they were born.
You need to do this, and I'm glad you are. You will get homesick. Fight through it the first and second time. But if you find you've overly romanticized all this, coming home is not a failure; it's a success. It means you tested yourself and discovered who you are. If you get there and love it, make a home for yourself and we'll come visit. </i>
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When he stuck around after high school, we expressed confidence that he would be okay. More than okay, really. I remember my wife and I saying he's so smart and such a good kid that he will be great, but maybe a little late.
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It is a little unusual that even though he's two years older than his sister, we had to adjust to her departure two years before he decided to take off.<BR><BR>
I said so long to him with an attitude something like "Here's your sword. Here's your shield. Go forth and conquer." I hope he does.
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While all of that was certainly sincere, I'm still walking around with a lump in my throat and a knot in my stomach. Our daughter lives three and a half hours away. This means any given morning, we could wake up and go have lunch with her or hustle to her rescue if she needs us.
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There's a desert and a major mountain range between us and our son. Maybe it's what he needs.
<BR><BR> Maybe he's not the one who needs to "man up" about it.Darrellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16371650199312363087noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22105538.post-46622190154751774502012-06-29T17:02:00.000-04:002012-06-29T17:02:25.437-04:00The Blessing of a Lifetime"He looked me directly in the eye and gave me a blessing."
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Our daughter's day started in a breathtaking way as she snapped the photo above. She was inside St. Peter's Basilica for a Mass celebrated by The Holy Father. And Holy Cow! What a view she had!
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To be there for the mass is one thing, to be inside is another. To be that close is almost unthinkable. She said "there were tons of people outside, lots of them monks and nuns. I felt guilty for being inside while they weren't."
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I think it was just a little sting of guilt, because she is quite aware of the extraordinary nature of this experience. Besides, many of the nuns had their own close encounters.
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This Holy Mass for the solemnity of St. Peter and St. Paul was a history-making affair. The Sistine Choir and the Westminster Abbey Choir sang together for the occasion. It's the first time in more than 500 years that the Roman Catholic and Anglican churches had formally worshiped together in any way. By all accounts, it was breathtaking.
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And there was my daughter, seated with one of her traveling companions in the transept with an unobstructed view of the Pope himself. The setting was undeniably spectacular.
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This was a completely unexpected once-in-a-lifetime occurrence. She and the other TCU students have had a tour guide during their stay in Rome. Less than 24 hours before the Papal Mass, the tour guide said she had two tickets available to it for anyone who wanted them. Our daughter alertly jumped at the chance, but never dreamed it would turn out like this.
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Usually eloquent, she was driven to exclamatory language to describe what she was feeling. Here are some choice quotes:
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<i>"Holy crap. That was the coolest thing ever."</i>
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<i>"Oh yeah. We were freaking out."</i>
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And my favorite: <i>"I think you're going to jump off a bridge when you see my pictures."</i>
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Let's say I've been excited all day. I've been distracted. I've had chills. I'm having trouble wrapping my mind around her good fortune. Naturally, I've e-mailed a couple of key photos to Catholic friends and relatives; and the replies have featured all kinds of capital letters and exclamation points.
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This is something I'll never forget and I wasn't even there. This is likely an experience so profound that she and her friend will not be able to adequately explain it to others. I'm so happy for them.
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She says she has been "ridiculously, unreasonably lucky" on this trip, and this is concrete evidence of that.
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There's also the remarkably contrasting experiences she had in about an 18-hour period. The evening before, the soccer team from Italy improbably won its way into the Euro Cup final...igniting wild celebrations across the country. Guess who was right in the middle of it....
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She said it actually got too crazy and they retreated to the safety of their hotel. Good judgment there.
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One of the people who received the photos I sent said "She's living such a blessed life." I think she would agree, especially after the guy in the pointy hat made eye contact with her and made the sign of the cross.
After all, as another friend put it so eloquently: "I mean, it's the freaking Pope!!"
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As well as The Colosseum.
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Those are "automatics" when you visit Rome and it's good to know she's meeting the requirements for a first-time visitor.
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In brief bursts of communication, she has informed us that her trip has definitely exceeded her expectations. If you think about it, that's saying a lot because when you're talking about London, Paris and Rome I would think your hopes would be especially high.
I'm sure a lot of her enjoyment has to do with the company she's keeping. By all accounts, people are getting along well.
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It's been easy, from what we can tell from the photos, for them to become immersed in history, art and architecture.
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But there's also been a different kind of fun. For instance, they took a cooking class during which they produced hand-made pasta...and then they sat down as a group and enjoyed dinner of their own creation, including what appears to be a really rich dessert.
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikmjvvQA9EGPwZq3iY_pKkwgQa7Lsyh0wodbWzixFpkWj13tVIXAUddITbWW5aYNKOaHYCRKO4-rlpml5UsBr47bVjagBpOX6xgk0Td9HxA_pB7ttfU972BfgjrbAjyNoO5YEf7A/s1600/Plates.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="314" width="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikmjvvQA9EGPwZq3iY_pKkwgQa7Lsyh0wodbWzixFpkWj13tVIXAUddITbWW5aYNKOaHYCRKO4-rlpml5UsBr47bVjagBpOX6xgk0Td9HxA_pB7ttfU972BfgjrbAjyNoO5YEf7A/s400/Plates.jpg" /></a></div>
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Glancing at her planning document, I see tomorrow is a free day. So, there are not formal plans. This is an opportunity for her to explore on her own. Knowing her, she will make the most of it.
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She had indicated that she can't wait to tell me all about it. I can't wait to hear all about it. In the meantime, I pray every day for safe travels and that she will find the proper balance of activity and rest so that she continues to make the most of the opportunity.
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Then, in a couple of days, there's a day-long excursion to Pompeii.
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Until she's home safely and starts to tell her stories, I have to be content with photos...and they look pretty nice.
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4b75O5LM-zfEJ0l_NSM9exlLEJeuOLMM0vnsJwzdtQj0Iimy7gXOv2b6L_WcMvot_JJJJFeq9vy3V7oHUTfyE1zjVAoZXl-_g2M3NOfWv-V_hGDiuG4-XzrMjlkZ-_kh2ui4djQ/s1600/Tiber.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="400" width="314" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4b75O5LM-zfEJ0l_NSM9exlLEJeuOLMM0vnsJwzdtQj0Iimy7gXOv2b6L_WcMvot_JJJJFeq9vy3V7oHUTfyE1zjVAoZXl-_g2M3NOfWv-V_hGDiuG4-XzrMjlkZ-_kh2ui4djQ/s400/Tiber.jpg" /></a></div>Darrellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16371650199312363087noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22105538.post-47907769374039833202012-06-22T23:12:00.000-04:002012-06-22T23:12:48.655-04:00Update On The Sick PersonA couple of months ago, we were in the throes of enduring one of the most stressful times in our family's history. We had someone get hurt, which led to an extended stay in several healthcare facilities. I was careful not to specifically identify The Sick Person, but now I'll reveal it was my older brother.
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Happily, he is much better these days, although he still has some work to do. He's home and working moment by moment to normalize his day-to-day activities.
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He had a birthday this week and we took him out for Mexican food. He seemed happy.
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiGtRyVHGqV1JUBMLLXwIkzi8dRKks6bwxSsNdAVZ_nTTJMew-oxjMaxqIzXWlORk0piyDYEgacdGsOPy968N5qGcFr5G0t2smhNjv5FsYGGB_qt8_lK4p39mfAjGHbJ6IQav_7Q/s1600/Four+Amigos.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="267" width="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiGtRyVHGqV1JUBMLLXwIkzi8dRKks6bwxSsNdAVZ_nTTJMew-oxjMaxqIzXWlORk0piyDYEgacdGsOPy968N5qGcFr5G0t2smhNjv5FsYGGB_qt8_lK4p39mfAjGHbJ6IQav_7Q/s400/Four+Amigos.jpg" /></a>
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He retired on January 31st of this year and got injured on February 4th, so this "new normal" thing is particularly challenging for him. He has a lot of time on his hands, but his lingering health issues severely limit his mobility. It's a cruel combination.
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I revealed to him last week the distressing news that in March, his doctors declared he would never go home again...that his injuries were too profound. Thank God they were wrong about that. It got his attention, though. He realizes now how far he's come and is beginning to grasp that his recovery has exceeded everyone's expectations.
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I remember sending an e-mail to interested parties when he moved back to his house after almost four months in a hospital, long-term acute care facility, nursing home/ rehab facility and then a transitional residence. One of his physicians responded by writing "best of luck with this bold move."
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Bold, indeed...but it has worked out well so far. Now, we hope he stays on his feet, continues to get stronger and figures out what to do with all of his free time.Darrellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16371650199312363087noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22105538.post-78538863322874104822012-06-22T19:43:00.000-04:002012-06-22T19:43:26.392-04:00Passport to ParisKnowing my daughter, I strongly suspect she finds herself affecting a French accent this week. How could she not? With an ongoing unsettling absence of hard information, we're making assumptions about her activities based almost exclusively on photos she and some of her traveling companion are posting on the internet.
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjdLNYMigB_T6ZUg7HFjLB_NjWzcN_wIQcUyEkPRZ73DNYtEGw5i2PtXZkRSjF4KbkXgmIp3ValymqszyzYkRY1QZi85EvByhu3Bk2MFCLEv6Kas2rlspfZCePvwFr7rVta0OQBg/s1600/Group+eiffel.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="400" width="314" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjdLNYMigB_T6ZUg7HFjLB_NjWzcN_wIQcUyEkPRZ73DNYtEGw5i2PtXZkRSjF4KbkXgmIp3ValymqszyzYkRY1QZi85EvByhu3Bk2MFCLEv6Kas2rlspfZCePvwFr7rVta0OQBg/s400/Group+eiffel.jpg" /></a>
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We've seen boat rides on the Siene, the consumption of baguettes, and plenty of pictures of Paris at night.
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKHwmwIZ8z5BqxtcWpBR3H9gRITYsOV3Aaj4WKXEE3_45Dxhd110pyksUpwiYhGAb3TqnwL8jPIWs1jJmb0_hUT-f8SWl1XiRJyMe3Hta4pbWhaxDXvR5uC_n_g_hKh9cRrL4rUQ/s1600/mad+and+HJ+at+Eiffel.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="400" width="314" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKHwmwIZ8z5BqxtcWpBR3H9gRITYsOV3Aaj4WKXEE3_45Dxhd110pyksUpwiYhGAb3TqnwL8jPIWs1jJmb0_hUT-f8SWl1XiRJyMe3Hta4pbWhaxDXvR5uC_n_g_hKh9cRrL4rUQ/s400/mad+and+HJ+at+Eiffel.jpg" /></a>
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So, she's hitting the high points...including the Louvre.<BR><BR>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQS8x9PXRmV0iukmW_JXWXuSNvYLkfsZdvXM1ohnt7vZWTET5VRfcG9ARAZOdGXhCdvKY1sgIIQ3jTImIBMopBX3Hcq3cCh28lbS1BcV51nK8rEBnioMI-lMMZeuiUuqjoQcR8nA/s1600/Louvre.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="314" width="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQS8x9PXRmV0iukmW_JXWXuSNvYLkfsZdvXM1ohnt7vZWTET5VRfcG9ARAZOdGXhCdvKY1sgIIQ3jTImIBMopBX3Hcq3cCh28lbS1BcV51nK8rEBnioMI-lMMZeuiUuqjoQcR8nA/s400/Louvre.jpg" /></a>
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I also know there are plans to attend a high-end fashion show. I wonder how Paris fashions would translate to Ft. Worth? I doubt there are many cowboy boots involved.
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Before she left, there was a little bit of nervousness because she didn't really know most of her traveling party. It looks like she's making friends.
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmHjPJpRn8oxdoCk5s8nfYJ3UbnyEQ1joyxcYQ2hTmS0_wnPFx7lfBf2qxSJTZHGemK8R1taQnI5rYCwt9r8SUFpZFXv5gUOFcmjyTw-nRLPAS5NCjgk1sRRXBq2wtUj3U9CAAZA/s1600/Versailles.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="314" width="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmHjPJpRn8oxdoCk5s8nfYJ3UbnyEQ1joyxcYQ2hTmS0_wnPFx7lfBf2qxSJTZHGemK8R1taQnI5rYCwt9r8SUFpZFXv5gUOFcmjyTw-nRLPAS5NCjgk1sRRXBq2wtUj3U9CAAZA/s400/Versailles.jpg" /></a>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRWuoajXYfNkJnOzlrRuDOjYqA80CAic3cVRSrz9LSUudVhKAv7VUji0pxLakBTDM675fzgAADG8QomwD0UbNFw-1S6Wvv6pwUxBSihQh7qfJWbRSc1inHheLwwITak2hQioPzeg/s1600/big+church.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="400" width="314" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRWuoajXYfNkJnOzlrRuDOjYqA80CAic3cVRSrz9LSUudVhKAv7VUji0pxLakBTDM675fzgAADG8QomwD0UbNFw-1S6Wvv6pwUxBSihQh7qfJWbRSc1inHheLwwITak2hQioPzeg/s400/big+church.jpg" /></a>
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That's great news, if it's true. I mean, they'll always have Paris.Darrellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16371650199312363087noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22105538.post-17775889960503098002012-06-20T10:40:00.000-04:002012-06-20T10:40:20.091-04:00Retiring The London FaceThe last communication we received from our world-traveling daughter advised us that she had left London.
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeoXhtsodnJa1aZJB_JyeVFNBB259_rvts_GspNP3FmvAv17QzH6zt5bN02yv4XrQucV9jkg_504T2ZWjJ5Ulby0PJcCu5VJE6tIEqGMhcbOaFkJH7PtscXh39yvILNeEMyfBmTQ/s1600/city+shot.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="300" width="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeoXhtsodnJa1aZJB_JyeVFNBB259_rvts_GspNP3FmvAv17QzH6zt5bN02yv4XrQucV9jkg_504T2ZWjJ5Ulby0PJcCu5VJE6tIEqGMhcbOaFkJH7PtscXh39yvILNeEMyfBmTQ/s400/city+shot.jpg" /></a>
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Which means the end, I suppose, of making what she and her traveling companions are calling the "London face."
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRpmIJ3Gj7fn6CfOLaZ3bZ0I6b0P3ieQpGW-Jh_drLloNntPfNkTXJIdwuBzgTvUJcVAxFn7zPVhgrVl9c5-84I_0eg1kakUl8FZeBg1J-toq1abm-N0WVC8bl8BhccLzeeKFp3Q/s1600/London+face.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="300" width="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRpmIJ3Gj7fn6CfOLaZ3bZ0I6b0P3ieQpGW-Jh_drLloNntPfNkTXJIdwuBzgTvUJcVAxFn7zPVhgrVl9c5-84I_0eg1kakUl8FZeBg1J-toq1abm-N0WVC8bl8BhccLzeeKFp3Q/s400/London+face.jpg" /></a>
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They were excited, we hear, about taking a train from London to Paris. Since The English Channel is in between the two...that means a high-speed trip through the Chunnel.<BR><BR>
We have heard from her just once since her departure from British soil, but photographic evidence posted on the internet strongly suggests she is on the move.
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjY8g749q4Ly2t-A2QqGWVyqSRfwTRIyEOdQHXPc8iFEGuptANoD9O-VMSWAh7_WhgkgE2eTXTMHHqiShaR5mSN2fpfxw3wsSfU3BGbFToRVuNRfRWCDOaJyA3mai90lrhJhHm_ZQ/s1600/Paris+wide.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="400" width="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjY8g749q4Ly2t-A2QqGWVyqSRfwTRIyEOdQHXPc8iFEGuptANoD9O-VMSWAh7_WhgkgE2eTXTMHHqiShaR5mSN2fpfxw3wsSfU3BGbFToRVuNRfRWCDOaJyA3mai90lrhJhHm_ZQ/s400/Paris+wide.jpg" /></a>
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In a brief but reassuring e-mail, she said she was actually using some of the French she learned over the years in school, and that she knows more than she realized. C'est bon!
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioriJo9kIpvyQQ8j2ojmSUim1DaZUVFcZayClQYuM0952edKil0IBkie3yCav9ptEqGlUn7ic1aya4AsSmMf9cNx6wY2PoepqxNginfLRzOWNhJwFrJ5moG5_8GAkbxUFuuHXnPA/s1600/Eiffel+Tower.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="400" width="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioriJo9kIpvyQQ8j2ojmSUim1DaZUVFcZayClQYuM0952edKil0IBkie3yCav9ptEqGlUn7ic1aya4AsSmMf9cNx6wY2PoepqxNginfLRzOWNhJwFrJ5moG5_8GAkbxUFuuHXnPA/s400/Eiffel+Tower.jpg" /></a>
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Her itinerary says she took a boat tour of Paris, which ended at the Eiffel Tower. Looks like it worked out.
She really enjoys art. In fact, we found out to our alarm that she spent one day in London by herself touring museums. So, it should come as no surprise that an early destination in Paris was the Rodin Museum.
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif6hVi4drXA1h2AC8X2tMzHnA4F-hf7scVgESAvYZnysmVjdfJQC2yNsGxA4reVIeqT9G0g3Db9wsYWvkdDsOk_sw4YL77CNtGzf3H2OJlzcbJnu1VOiUDJH_3KfdGvTAS1eq9gQ/s1600/Rodin+museum.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="400" width="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif6hVi4drXA1h2AC8X2tMzHnA4F-hf7scVgESAvYZnysmVjdfJQC2yNsGxA4reVIeqT9G0g3Db9wsYWvkdDsOk_sw4YL77CNtGzf3H2OJlzcbJnu1VOiUDJH_3KfdGvTAS1eq9gQ/s400/Rodin+museum.jpg" /></a>
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We're just kind of piecing information together, because e-mail and social network activity have really slowed down since she crossed the Channel. Maybe France is just so fabulous she hasn't taken the time to boot up the Macbook. Let's hope so.Darrellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16371650199312363087noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22105538.post-23781638260650838352012-06-15T17:59:00.000-04:002012-06-15T17:59:27.689-04:00A Dead Shark and an Old PubIf you plan to immerse yourself in British culture, it seems fitting that you would spend some time examining art. So, why not go to The Tate Galleries and see a dead shark?
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9pFfrSn2li98svaacSLLduCgV-bRehyphenhyphen2NEyVhr710Sw8PoaB1rru33uQm0hS3dowPjsy_hOeW5g2jLd02seytEgnERBY-CLC345AaDtPJpPrO3jxeFY0TMkeuRHB0sXhSDtNthw/s1600/hirstshark.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="400" width="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9pFfrSn2li98svaacSLLduCgV-bRehyphenhyphen2NEyVhr710Sw8PoaB1rru33uQm0hS3dowPjsy_hOeW5g2jLd02seytEgnERBY-CLC345AaDtPJpPrO3jxeFY0TMkeuRHB0sXhSDtNthw/s400/hirstshark.jpg" /></a>
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This is the signature piece in a major exhibition at Tate Modern of the works of Damien Hirst. Hirst, who is widely believed to be the wealthiest artist in the United Kingdom, rose to prominence in the 1990's by preserving dead animals in formaldehyde and displaying them in clear cases. Art? Taxidermy? It's not for me to decide. The British masses have made a clear declaration. A couple of decades after it was first displayed, the series called <i>“The Physical Impossibility of Death in the Mind of Someone Living”</i> still captures the imagination. This despite the fact that the original shark began to decay and this guy is a replacement.
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There are several museums on our daughter's agenda today, and I feel confident she will also see painting and sculpture.
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She's certainly soaking in history along with modern art. For example, let's look at the lovely River Thames.
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwMzzzXIAgaUChjd0fkkUKZuuuqlS2pWqZXHZxTs9dF8vJ3nvOuLkBb5iWyuH_rXo5RkRpDr5VkUYsDCdmM35rr8v0uh4H_JEIMWT20xHgfndfm13NmXU6kb5Xvyu2ozst05IGDQ/s1600/River+Thames.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="282" width="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwMzzzXIAgaUChjd0fkkUKZuuuqlS2pWqZXHZxTs9dF8vJ3nvOuLkBb5iWyuH_rXo5RkRpDr5VkUYsDCdmM35rr8v0uh4H_JEIMWT20xHgfndfm13NmXU6kb5Xvyu2ozst05IGDQ/s400/River+Thames.jpg" /></a>
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There on the bank is a pub called The Mayflower,which we are told has been there in the same spot since the 1670's. The 1670's!
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjrpht4s3oVrMchZK0JRzU3H8FkRfLEl-Gzc-zY3d28La-CsGaSitDf2dSKXJs8Qx-yjB18HDlMvtqf6ftWfh_4lq2H3gSPyNkhmpypqB4VHsqjwsbKkrlF2xpmL96qI-PW8_ryA/s1600/Mayflower.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="300" width="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjrpht4s3oVrMchZK0JRzU3H8FkRfLEl-Gzc-zY3d28La-CsGaSitDf2dSKXJs8Qx-yjB18HDlMvtqf6ftWfh_4lq2H3gSPyNkhmpypqB4VHsqjwsbKkrlF2xpmL96qI-PW8_ryA/s400/Mayflower.jpg" /></a>
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I suppose the spirits have flowed across the bar there much like the old Thames, rolling on without ceasing across the generations.
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgv7Q5g4D90y1i2BD3BljqWxN2L6HVPMptR5Q9uAJTK7iQGalztK4zA7m_j2h3DQFw3W7wJZRmPR7hshQcvhce9M-Kfj3kSCP6Zi2ciKStiO_IdKzgQdAK2K4zGfrMUo9lO4bs_w/s1600/mayflower+interior.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="267" width="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgv7Q5g4D90y1i2BD3BljqWxN2L6HVPMptR5Q9uAJTK7iQGalztK4zA7m_j2h3DQFw3W7wJZRmPR7hshQcvhce9M-Kfj3kSCP6Zi2ciKStiO_IdKzgQdAK2K4zGfrMUo9lO4bs_w/s400/mayflower+interior.jpg" /></a>
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But not for our daughter, in theory anyway. You see, she's just 20 and she signed a pledge to abide by her school's honor code which does not allow her to consume alcohol on this trip. Call me ultra-liberal or something, but it seems to me if you're going to a London pub having a sip of something would be part of the experience. We want her to follow the rules, though. It would be terrible if she were sent home for an honor code violation. Seriously. So, I guess she's just enjoying the views.
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnBdEChzLPUnxmfof-GCYvv3lHTtsWeESARCXFoCU6Fmffw4QYWoDdSgMVmvtpwUyRYRMBzeehLeX3NzhX2ofrhZ0PAnPy2B7NR3m7u_h10SJqgyixQEymBHKbRCCHHfPgpYUA6Q/s1600/Mayflower+deck.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="300" width="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnBdEChzLPUnxmfof-GCYvv3lHTtsWeESARCXFoCU6Fmffw4QYWoDdSgMVmvtpwUyRYRMBzeehLeX3NzhX2ofrhZ0PAnPy2B7NR3m7u_h10SJqgyixQEymBHKbRCCHHfPgpYUA6Q/s400/Mayflower+deck.jpg" /></a>
To be fair, the trip to the pub is labeled as "dinner." So, Okay.
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Back here stateside, her mother and I have become cyber stalkers, hoping to catch any glimpse of her on some social site somewhere. In everything we've seen, she's all smiles. Here she is with a few of her traveling companions outside Westminster Abbey.
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGav7pxFHCnTPDOZ7wjU07-kEPFyb99x2jiFr_8Ulv2jyeF0vvDbWu-eib-j1mQREethUUOxzy5TgLH_frEN_rCBcsd9801fSvIFX_TBzPDtJXtlbgROCvAxrNPreDiGtNbU30Tg/s1600/Friday+group.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="286" width="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGav7pxFHCnTPDOZ7wjU07-kEPFyb99x2jiFr_8Ulv2jyeF0vvDbWu-eib-j1mQREethUUOxzy5TgLH_frEN_rCBcsd9801fSvIFX_TBzPDtJXtlbgROCvAxrNPreDiGtNbU30Tg/s400/Friday+group.jpg" /></a>
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How could she NOT be? I want to be 20 again.Darrellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16371650199312363087noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22105538.post-27688058327824231952012-06-14T11:04:00.001-04:002012-06-14T11:07:43.571-04:00High Tea and ShakespeareAll the trepidation is gone. In the final days before her departure for the Great Europe Summer of 2012, our daughter didn't know what to expect. London was her first stop, and it was the destination for which she had the least enthusiasm. That's all changed. In fact, she now describes Neal's Yard at Covent Garden as her "favorite place ever."
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzxIqjdCuJAxgu7QEo-ZG50CPBl66cif8paattQKD7eFRUploG9UDMBEm42wN81EbeCnTRmiU-XByhaK4zY7tuGbZeluAEU91ROZ7MFI4QadYKHVJy1nY5bQm-2zCsPWvRv4aagw/s1600/Neails+yard.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="400" width="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzxIqjdCuJAxgu7QEo-ZG50CPBl66cif8paattQKD7eFRUploG9UDMBEm42wN81EbeCnTRmiU-XByhaK4zY7tuGbZeluAEU91ROZ7MFI4QadYKHVJy1nY5bQm-2zCsPWvRv4aagw/s400/Neails+yard.jpg" /></a>
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Don't ask me what Neal's Yard at Covent Garden is, but I'm sure it's great. Hey, I did an internet search and got an overview. It sounds pretty cool, especially if you're 20 years old and on the adventure of your life.
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And then, there was "high tea" at the Kensington Hotel.
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV-rtKac2BggvqnLU_2Ksal0MQZypWKj3gMcWrQErEYioeKHdJYJBzePy-ImWCDugAlxQowiJLVennHWxUsk_Qkhhlb-ZooRlkP0SrcH9jWpN8Rx1duuzsUUSFYpGKXSknP-mvEw/s1600/high+tea2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="246" width="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV-rtKac2BggvqnLU_2Ksal0MQZypWKj3gMcWrQErEYioeKHdJYJBzePy-ImWCDugAlxQowiJLVennHWxUsk_Qkhhlb-ZooRlkP0SrcH9jWpN8Rx1duuzsUUSFYpGKXSknP-mvEw/s400/high+tea2.jpg" /></a>
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She described the experience as "fabulous," which I believe even though I'm not completely clear on what "high tea" exactly is. In her honor, I had some Tostitos with pico de gallo with a cup of orange pekoe in a TCU mug while watching "Breaking Bad" reruns in my den.
<BR><BR> I suspect our experiences were not all that similar. She said high tea did take a while and by the time they were finished she was ready to get out of her dress and "out and about." She added she might be truly ready for high tea when she's "about 80, but not yet." That's my girl.
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijVY1yZ3AILk0AbVyfGV3-kyhQSiZVhs2H-ORa1GkIUKZZYsnxNiZmE4Q6pvINlcT6686IrkHUs57iyOnzpmfMgf1BHzQfmq6eVNyAv7TERWv5ZIg19tJ_K4a1tLUBcz6KQ8X47Q/s1600/High+tea.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="400" width="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijVY1yZ3AILk0AbVyfGV3-kyhQSiZVhs2H-ORa1GkIUKZZYsnxNiZmE4Q6pvINlcT6686IrkHUs57iyOnzpmfMgf1BHzQfmq6eVNyAv7TERWv5ZIg19tJ_K4a1tLUBcz6KQ8X47Q/s400/High+tea.jpg" /></a>
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She wrote that they did "a tiny bit of shopping;" a piece of news that becomes slightly alarming when paired with a photo she sent of Harrods, which is known worldwide for its commitment to luxury. Hey, I do know <i>something</i> about London!
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk_yF_8InxtR7OTRZ-KBw5ISP0IX_fWWYT-R7yKOw4TgiM7OGwR9jcaGBf6KU5Au-V4FMdnICAyPYObngUfrxT2yEvrImsrlhcMsdUscQh95hJqOseYh40NW8SqWHJ99Ng2UtEYw/s1600/harrods.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="400" width="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk_yF_8InxtR7OTRZ-KBw5ISP0IX_fWWYT-R7yKOw4TgiM7OGwR9jcaGBf6KU5Au-V4FMdnICAyPYObngUfrxT2yEvrImsrlhcMsdUscQh95hJqOseYh40NW8SqWHJ99Ng2UtEYw/s400/harrods.jpg" /></a>
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They also did some kind of Shakespeare in the park thing where they took in a production of "A Midsummer Night's Dream," which followed tours of a couple of famous theaters. That's something it seems you must do if you're a student in London.
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She and her traveling companions, being bright and alert young people, have adapted well to navigating the city, which has to be a relief. They can relax, plan and enjoy themselves.
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRpSs858kI9MD3K-b8EbjCifzLtbaN7LHlunO9caA1pgw4LsScszCzM7YIXciz-A3CGlwPSrbVxwm0Sdkh7pVsoa6twrcxWc0_3EPMZTqbMbfk9PumGbeUY6oJlcEe3ZJGVyBCyw/s1600/London+Bridge.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="300" width="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRpSs858kI9MD3K-b8EbjCifzLtbaN7LHlunO9caA1pgw4LsScszCzM7YIXciz-A3CGlwPSrbVxwm0Sdkh7pVsoa6twrcxWc0_3EPMZTqbMbfk9PumGbeUY6oJlcEe3ZJGVyBCyw/s400/London+Bridge.jpg" /></a>
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<i>(I look at the one guy in the photo and think, "Wow. that kid is either having the time of his life or he's in misery." I don't see much potential for anything in between.)</i>
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I wonder how everybody's getting along. This group will be traveling together for almost a month; and while I only know one of the ladies other than my daughter, I am aware of the requirements for eligibility for this trip. Let's just say there are some high achievers in this crew and it wouldn't surprise me if there are a dozen or so would-be generals in that battalion.
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipulugkhmIBpSY9TGsIEpt-dQRgqyNLjyKg09BXycxyz7IUGPBHCfAFIQZnvdWbFkFee7bogz5RdV2U-7s05uDIMR60Cdo-iEhCZx7YdD6PTSi5Y-3T_TcpBKQ_Rs37AYcvfQg3A/s1600/Group.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="300" width="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipulugkhmIBpSY9TGsIEpt-dQRgqyNLjyKg09BXycxyz7IUGPBHCfAFIQZnvdWbFkFee7bogz5RdV2U-7s05uDIMR60Cdo-iEhCZx7YdD6PTSi5Y-3T_TcpBKQ_Rs37AYcvfQg3A/s400/Group.jpg" /></a>
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We've heard nothing of tension in the group, which is terrific. <BR><BR>
Our daughter wrote in all capital letters that she is LOVING London "much more than I expected." That's really all a parent needs to hear. She will be there for a few days more, then it's on to Paris. I certainly hope The City of Lights exceeds her expectations, too.Darrellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16371650199312363087noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22105538.post-75795365963659821922012-06-12T18:33:00.000-04:002012-06-13T09:23:36.581-04:00Sightseeing by SnapshotWe were talking recently about how we take for granted being in constant contact with almost everybody. If you want to be reached, you can be. It wasn't that long ago that you would watch the mailbox when a loved one was traveling, hoping for a postcard.<BR><BR>
With our daughter in Europe, we are experiencing a modern-day version of that. Instead of watching for the postman, we're checking Instagram and Twitter for glimpses of her day. So, imagine our delight early this morning when we saw a filtered photo of Big Ben and the Union Jack pop up on social media.
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWCnxDqV8PXoC009W-5zx33E1qbUVgFrmKeZ3f7DJbO1-n01bsYzdb8bmM1ZD_tUhtKvUgGGgHseMUBr0zE_eXDM7znYdheW86QsUl6vKrxMlp598JRgmiXJDvEMTBj-Djg_Yhdg/s1600/Big+Ben.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="400" width="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWCnxDqV8PXoC009W-5zx33E1qbUVgFrmKeZ3f7DJbO1-n01bsYzdb8bmM1ZD_tUhtKvUgGGgHseMUBr0zE_eXDM7znYdheW86QsUl6vKrxMlp598JRgmiXJDvEMTBj-Djg_Yhdg/s400/Big+Ben.jpg" /></a>
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This was posted without comment, assuming I suppose that some things speak for themselves.
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I was hoping to discern some of her activities by glancing at her itinerary, but today's plans simply indicated she would visit places "that many tourists frequent." Gosh, it's London. That's a pretty wide net. The only other image to show up out there on the web was Windsor Castle.
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjX9ldAHrFQ3YJF-j0CNSITcSxN6qkec9SLWD-CHvWcPYON2i4HhRHizRSGCkFDlpu8ewJsx4_Qbg9Czpju2fFgftt-OGZAUTtl9PzfQng446K1CUqAj6jKkNOYoAw6aKKz3IKKbA/s1600/Windsor+Castle.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="400" width="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjX9ldAHrFQ3YJF-j0CNSITcSxN6qkec9SLWD-CHvWcPYON2i4HhRHizRSGCkFDlpu8ewJsx4_Qbg9Czpju2fFgftt-OGZAUTtl9PzfQng446K1CUqAj6jKkNOYoAw6aKKz3IKKbA/s400/Windsor+Castle.jpg" /></a>
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Having never been to London, I can only assume many tourists do, indeed, frequent Windsor Castle.
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And then, as if by magic, an e-mail appeared.
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<i>Hello mother and father!
Today was splendid! We took a bus tour around London and got a great tour guide. She was hilarious. Her name was Trudy and she was a hoot and a half to say the least. Then we broke off into groups and got to do whatever we wanted basically. So my group went to Windsor Castle and it was out of this world... We used the tube a lot and got some great practice with the trains so now I'm an expert.<BR><BR>
London really is very cool. The city is impressive and the parks are gorgeous. The only downside is the rainy, cool weather. You know I hate the cold. But all the hot guys make up for that. Dang.
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Anyway, tomorrow I'm doing some shopping for warmer clothes so be on the lookout. Then we're doing a Shakespeare and Dickens tour, having High Tea, and seeing A Midsummer Night's Dream. Lovely! Spit Spot!
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Cheers,<BR><BR>
Daughter</i>
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Spit spot, indeed. I was so happy to hear from her and to note her irrepressible sense of humor being seasoned with British jocularity, I laughed out loud. That will make your day.
She could have left out the part about the guys, but I'm sure her mother appreciated that.
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I got a nice note earlier in the day from someone who has been watching our daughter's travels here and on social media. The note congratulated us on preparing her well to maximize these opportunities. That gave me a sense that the roles are gradually but incontrovertibly reversing. At 20 years old, she's already much more worldly than her parents.
That's okay, as long as eventually she makes it home safely.Darrellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16371650199312363087noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22105538.post-12084265552296943572012-06-11T18:47:00.000-04:002012-06-11T20:32:01.241-04:00There She Goes Again<i>"2 taxis and 2 hotels later we found the right one! It's fine London, and totally normal to name all your hotels the same three words."</i>
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That update from Twitter tells us that our daughter's Great Europe Summer has begun. Because we have carefully cautioned her about the expense of international data rates, we don't expect to hear much from her while she's gone to London, Paris and Rome. In these plugged-in days, it's difficult on Mom and Dad to be left wondering about what she's doing.
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We dropped her off, along with a traveling companion, at DFW International on a Sunday evening and waved farewell. On the ride to the airport, they were very chatty...filled with nervous energy and a generous dose of trepidation.
They seemed excited. Who wouldn't be? This is a big adventure for both of them and the dozen or so other TCU students they're meeting across the pond.
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE_vFAdMqRcZAKvQaRJEzdZAtgm3gDydunRc1iyKd0peQ3ZoUTsl-CSr1bT1iqALAWi-mcEfgIKkD4oPV7gBh6Z9UY0GMtgjyYjQUOFEcX0JVz0CTNGjaEu1b8ZxQRGWlcXhlADQ/s1600/Mad+at+airport.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="400" width="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE_vFAdMqRcZAKvQaRJEzdZAtgm3gDydunRc1iyKd0peQ3ZoUTsl-CSr1bT1iqALAWi-mcEfgIKkD4oPV7gBh6Z9UY0GMtgjyYjQUOFEcX0JVz0CTNGjaEu1b8ZxQRGWlcXhlADQ/s400/Mad+at+airport.jpg" /></a>
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After they disappeared into the airport throng, they were out of our control. The farther away they went, the less information we were getting. (There's a metaphor in there somewhere). Fortunately, the internet has tools which allow you to track flights; so we did. It was a little unsettling to see that little airplane flying over open ocean.
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHMabdA84rkHu6W7rCP14z5YMC2LbTIbR4RxWCAJi0xz5r0kY0yYF5LMOlxpVY4oo_wc3bKZG4b18AZCSSW9zvmZ6clWRcXkRJibWO4pSScTPVG2U9iotJyJCqv6olSK_e5DIH1w/s1600/flightaware.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="356" width="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHMabdA84rkHu6W7rCP14z5YMC2LbTIbR4RxWCAJi0xz5r0kY0yYF5LMOlxpVY4oo_wc3bKZG4b18AZCSSW9zvmZ6clWRcXkRJibWO4pSScTPVG2U9iotJyJCqv6olSK_e5DIH1w/s400/flightaware.jpg" /></a>
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Fortunately for easily freaked out parents, we fell asleep shortly after the plane slipped out of Canadian airspace and when we woke up, it had long since landed safely at Heathrow. We also had received a a reassuring 3:08 a.m. text message that said "Landed Safely. Cheerio."
<BR><BR>Jolly good.<BR><BR>
There is an ambitious itinerary which includes plenty of culture, classic and pop, before they move on to France and then to Italy. Good work if you can get it. She does have to work, because this is a school-sanctioned trip under the umbrella of "Cultural Pilgrimage." She must keep a journal and do a rather extensive project. That's okay with her because she's a worker and the process will help her stay focused on her excellent adventure.
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By the way, should I be at all concerned that the second time she showed up on social media from London, she was obviously at a pub? She's there for the soccer on the big screen, right? <BR><BR>Watch out for hooligans, Honey.<BR><BR>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM2TrSy_bQOWag5DvpmbmipGpmShZl34S6gECRg0O1uyhUv8uDyIurdJJSpXnWF3lJvN4joHaLN8cuYF48rcOwGtye4KMAqt5aPuhn92_z3OuEuvX7zm4NdnCwRufFdQaOCd4m6w/s1600/Madpub.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="400" width="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM2TrSy_bQOWag5DvpmbmipGpmShZl34S6gECRg0O1uyhUv8uDyIurdJJSpXnWF3lJvN4joHaLN8cuYF48rcOwGtye4KMAqt5aPuhn92_z3OuEuvX7zm4NdnCwRufFdQaOCd4m6w/s400/Madpub.jpg" /></a>
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I hope there's an internet hot spot in that pub. Otherwise these little snapshots on Twitter and Instagram are gonna get expensive.Darrellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16371650199312363087noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22105538.post-64795950394503151672012-05-29T16:14:00.000-04:002012-05-29T16:14:34.554-04:00A Big Easy AnniversaryTo commemorate our 25th wedding anniversary, we spent the weekend eating our way across South Louisiana. We're talking cracklin's and boudin balls from Billy's Mini-Mart in Krotz Springs all the way to Commander's Palace in the New Orleans Garden District and just about anything in between. There was no holding back, either. Of course we started one day with Breakfast at Brennan's, complete with crepes and Bananas Foster. Go big or go home, and we weren't going home.
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgC4YgL1z69ZMKGq5Y_Nh9ZCsvlDQipHsku3KZdqj6K5sHXpWDOxCsVYuhU7JxUup2useIXMkyIxHtpCPTRvytSDm-j1UAulrxHiW2Rz6fPmHbaFPK_BQJhpLjNz0Vcy5VN_O7hWQ/s1600/strawberries+and+bananas.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="300" width="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgC4YgL1z69ZMKGq5Y_Nh9ZCsvlDQipHsku3KZdqj6K5sHXpWDOxCsVYuhU7JxUup2useIXMkyIxHtpCPTRvytSDm-j1UAulrxHiW2Rz6fPmHbaFPK_BQJhpLjNz0Vcy5VN_O7hWQ/s400/strawberries+and+bananas.jpg" /></a></div>
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Our daughter went along on the trip and split time between us and a group of some young women she has been known to call her "home besties," meaning some of the best friends from home. Seeing them was her primary goal, but the opportunity to have a high-end breakfast in the French Quarter was just too enticing to pass up.
<BR><BR>The staff at Brennan's is quite adept at putting on a show for guests, and this time they didn't disappoint. <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj15LdJC0KvsRohyphenhyphenH8OA_FluLD0EyPZbA7910UuE7WiNDupdwuzIdHPIDk4PI_Y9H0Cq8gAaaL4FZ_0_TQNqRkxVwTTMEe1mwXwVaNJQfQn418bWn0hdiZQKgsWsxeYsh_9cwSYaA/s1600/Mad+bananas+foster.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear:left; float:left;margin-right:1em; margin-bottom:1em"><img border="0" height="200" width="160" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj15LdJC0KvsRohyphenhyphenH8OA_FluLD0EyPZbA7910UuE7WiNDupdwuzIdHPIDk4PI_Y9H0Cq8gAaaL4FZ_0_TQNqRkxVwTTMEe1mwXwVaNJQfQn418bWn0hdiZQKgsWsxeYsh_9cwSYaA/s200/Mad+bananas+foster.jpg" /></a></div>They're also accustomed to dealing with first-time visitors, and so our waiter started to explain to us the basics of Bananas Foster. We assured him that we are quite familiar with the concept.
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We engaged in a spirited discussion about whether we were enjoying breakfast or brunch. Since our reservation was at 9:00 a.m., breakfast got the nod; but we were so overstuffed and satisfied by the time we left that we didn't eat again until after 7:00. So, I think I can make a case for brunch.
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We stayed at Le Pavillon, a spectacular historic hotel on Poydras Street that seems to define elegance and service. Any hotel staff could spend time training with the people at Le Pavillon and come away better for it. I overheard another hotel guest say to his companion, "This isn't just any hotel," and he got that right. It's not a resort, and I don't see any reason to take kids there; but if you're looking for a place to celebrate something like your silver anniversary, it's hard to imagine a better place. There's even a pool on the roof.
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Sun worshiping wasn't on our itinerary, but we did enjoy the poolside surroundings several times at night, where the view of the crescent city was something to remember.
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If you've paid attention, you know how much I love my daughter's friends and how much separation anxiety/ empty nest woe I experienced when they left for school. Of her "core four" middle school/ high school friends, three of them live in either Baton Rouge or New Orleans. They reunited to celebrate the 20th birthday of the youngest among them. It's the first time they've been together in months. They're already making plans for Memorial Day weekend 2013, when they will all be 21. I heard one them say "364 days 'til Vegas!" The opportunity to spend time with them as a group made the weekend even more special.
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Our four-day weekend wasn't carefully lined out. We had a couple of restaurant reservations, but that was about it. Our plan was to take it as it came. It turned out to be just what we needed: No pressure and lots of food. There was a little too much shopping for my taste, but I was happy to stumble into a shoe store on Magazine Street that would let me sit still while the women gasped and giggled over footwear.
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We did a lot of the things you're supposed to do when you're in New Orleans, including beignets and cafe au lait at Cafe Du Monde. We also strolled up and down Bourbon Street at night, a pursuit that becomes less appealing every time I do it. Someone we talked with while we are there summed it up well: Bourbon Street is "frat boy New Orleans." After 25 years of marriage, we're better suited to "grown up New Orleans," which means going to jacket-preferred restaurants. Except, of course, when you know there's no way to avoid dusting yourself with powdered sugar.
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Our actual anniversary is May 30th, which in 1987 was the Saturday of Memorial day weekend. So, we took the slightest poetic license by celebrating over the weekend. Besides, having the Big Day itself come mid-week means another excuse to go out to dinner!Darrellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16371650199312363087noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22105538.post-23448263594559453192012-05-18T15:42:00.000-04:002012-05-18T15:47:12.200-04:00Western Facing OffspringSomebody asked me the other day if we have any big plans for summer. I bothers me a little that I hadn't considered it at all until I was asked. So, the answer is "no." But that's okay, our children are taking up the slack. We heard from our son, who left town and flew to the west coast, arriving in time to watch the sun set over the Pacific Ocean.
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That was far from the end of his day, though. He and one of his friends apparently stayed on the beach all night, and by his account "ended up having to walk to a hotel, but we got lucky and got a super nice room for $70." You know what? From a parent's perspective, I'm not pressing for any more details.
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<div>The academic year is over and our daughter is temporarily homeless. She had to vacate the dorm and she can't move into her new apartment for two more weeks. So, she came home to visit her parents, right? No. She's in Colorado.<BR><BR></div>
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She actually has carved out a sweet deal for herself. Several years in a row, she and a group of friends have gone to one camp or another to prepare the facility for the summer onslaught. She doesn't have to pay for food, transportation or lodging and she gets to hang out in the mountains for a week. Pretty good work if you can get it.<BR><BR>
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Meanwhile, her brother found himself in San Diego with no specific plans. I asked, "Are you going to the World Famous San Diego Zoo?" Well, he didn't know about the zoo; but he immediately looked it up online and balked at the admission price. He asked "Do you think it's worth 42 bucks?" I said "I don't know, but it's supposedly the best zoo in the country. If you're in San Diego, visiting the zoo is basically a requirement." Having said that, I had to back up my words with action; so I jumped onto the internet and bought tickets for them. It just amazes me that in a matter of minutes from half a continent away, I can have tickets electronically delivered. Just about an hour later, they were staring at a panda.<BR><BR>
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The first comment I got from him was "this place is incredible. they seriously have like every animal ever."
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Okay, so he and his buddy are 22 years old, but it does an old man's heart good to perceive child-like enthusiasm. They even got on the "skyfari," where they were all smiles. <BR><BR>
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He said "this place in insane. Definitely worth the price." Yeah, I'll bet...especially since he didn't pay it.
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The guy in the beard is a long-time neighborhood friend who is currently living in southern California, somewhere inland, where this is his back yard view.
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You know, it's not exactly Lake Bistineau. The change of scenery will do him some good.
Looking ahead on the calendar, it looks like there will be two days when we will all be in the same city at the same time. Maybe we can all go out to dinner or something.Darrellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16371650199312363087noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22105538.post-81627357871782597242012-05-13T00:33:00.000-04:002012-05-13T00:33:14.593-04:00Moving Through The Rain(Ft. Worth) - The semester has come to a close at TCU, which led to a hastily thrown together mid-week trip to help our daughter move out of her university housing. Apparently, the idea that she had to vacate kind of dawned on her Monday. So, she called and asked us to help her pack up her things and haul them away. It's a good thing we did, too, because with her finals and work schedule, she wouldn't have been able to accomplish it. The project was made all the more challenging by a pretty persistent rainfall. Slippery business, moving in the rain.
The good news: I got pinned down by a storm and waited it out under an overhang near the football stadium, which is undergoing a complete reconstruction. So, I got a little football fix.
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The conditions also had a significant impact on the one piece of fun we were able to plan. We scrounged up some tickets to what was described as "the most anticipated regular season game in Ballpark history." That's a reference to the Texas Rangers,who were hosting the Los Angeles Angels in a weekend series. All games were sold out, but thanks to the internet, we found three seats in the upper deck.
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The big draw was the return of long-time Rangers pitcher C.J. Wilson, who was not re-signed by the team when his contract expired after the 2011 season. He signed with the Angels, and the series opener marked his return to Arlington.
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As it worked out, he was matched up against his perceived replacement, Japanese import Yu Darvish.
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Wilson lasted less than an inning. He loaded the bases, then the rain came. Then the wind came. Then the lightning came. The sell-out crowd sought shelter.
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The ladies gamely hung out, conveniently near an ice cream stand, as we and tens of thousands of our companions kept an eye on the sky hoping for a break in the weather.
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We got it after about two hours, during which we ate more than a healthy quantity of Blue Bell and wandered around the stadium.
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When play resumed, Wilson was nowhere to be found; but Darvish, to the delight of the shocking number of people who stuck around, returned to the mound.
It was worth the wait. Darvish was impressive as he continued to ingratiate himself to his new teammates and fans. Even more exciting: Rangers slugging outfielder Josh Hamilton, who earlier in the week accomplished the rare feat of hitting four home runs in one game, clubbed two homers in support of Darvish.
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We left about midnight, exhausted and a little damp; but what a memorable evening it was: We were part of a stadium atmosphere that was electric in more ways than one, and of course we have stories to tell about enduring a Texas thunderstorm from the upper deck.
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Now, immersed in the ongoing storylines entwined with the two-time defending American League Champion Rangers, we're actually paying attention to Texas baseball.
And, by the way: while she had to be out of her dorm, our daughter can't move into her apartment for three more weeks. So, her stuff is just stashed at a friend's place. We get to do it all over again. I hope the Rangers are playing at home that weekend.
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPcEVhF7d-4uXrvcDUNWqkmdj55plF4X8ZRrHhUjERPQXdu6eTf2jkOoDuiDJx3qBLi9zEryZlmomgqzRKtZ0RNrid49I6gClpCtG_bd8OQhB91iUkJsCg6r5AnugztUk1NVsxQg/s1600/IMG_1588.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="300" width="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPcEVhF7d-4uXrvcDUNWqkmdj55plF4X8ZRrHhUjERPQXdu6eTf2jkOoDuiDJx3qBLi9zEryZlmomgqzRKtZ0RNrid49I6gClpCtG_bd8OQhB91iUkJsCg6r5AnugztUk1NVsxQg/s400/IMG_1588.JPG" /></a></div>Darrellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16371650199312363087noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22105538.post-740928672827426272012-05-07T12:40:00.001-04:002012-05-07T14:51:55.160-04:00SadnessShe was the best dog I've ever had. Claire said "Belle was perfect." I want to concentrate on the nine years of love, happiness, amusement and companionship she gave our family, and maybe soon I will; but now there's a cavern carved down the middle of my chest. We had to make the awful decision that confronts so many pet owners, and while we know we did the right thing, it just hurts.
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I'm 51 years old and Belle is the eighth dog I've lost. She's the first one about which I've had to make that terrible decision. She hadn't been feeling well for weeks. Heavy panting was the first sign, but we had no inkling it was this serious. As recently as Friday, we had hope that we could treat her and she would bounce back. Over the weekend, though, we had to force feed her baby food in a syringe. She would drink water, but wouldn't stand to do it. When I had to pick her up off the floor to get her to walk outside, I feared the worst. When she couldn't walk ten steps without stumbling, my fears were confirmed.
<div>We took her to the doctor first thing and honestly I was still clinging to hope.I kept thinking "it's always darkest before the dawn." I wanted to hear the vet say "yeah, we'll give her some fluids, put an oxygen mask on her and see if we can get her back on her feet." Instead, he said, "I hate to put it this way, but she's in the process of dying. Her liver is shutting down, her breathing is labored. If she could talk to us, she would say she's in agony. I know what I would do if she were my dog."
Claire and I just made eye contact and we knew he was right.</div>
How unexpected was this? We had two full boxes of dog biscuits and a case of dog food in the cupboard. Her decline seemed sudden and it's been a little bit stunning.
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With the exception of our first year of marriage, I haven't been without a dog a day in my life. If you ask me now, I'm prepared to say I'm out of the dog business for a long time. Belle was just so terrific, I can't imagine dealing with another dog right now. The training, house breaking, all of the aspects of the responsibility: I just can't even think about it.
<div>She was only nine years old. She was never, not once, a source of frustration, She was never destructive or loud. She was perfectly housebroken. She would fetch the paper every morning. She would actively play with the kids and us. She was everything you would want a dog to be, truly. The only criticism I can think of was the shedding. That's what brooms and vacuum cleaners are for. </div>
Let's not forget about the Old formerly Fat Cat, who is fourteen years old and has lost her best friend.
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I'm sure she doesn't know it yet. Poor thing, this is the third dog she's lost along the way. The other two died right outside the French doors that lead to our patio. Oddly, the Sheltie passed away on the very day we brought home Puppy Belle.
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I know we will look back on Belle's too-short life with great fondness and affection, but right now the house is just too damn quiet.
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiS4xTvxKC8XSEB023HcIB4pwGLcZZsvUPB7aTdekLOYLtibZx4L_f8fE0IXIkWcrFBHNVetMtEcqk09qFhjp1iSd29mWvJnWgNEdaTvk1-J2F8CnUXJ7axHGqdHbYciCRaPDuadg/s1600/Belle+in+pool.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="244" width="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiS4xTvxKC8XSEB023HcIB4pwGLcZZsvUPB7aTdekLOYLtibZx4L_f8fE0IXIkWcrFBHNVetMtEcqk09qFhjp1iSd29mWvJnWgNEdaTvk1-J2F8CnUXJ7axHGqdHbYciCRaPDuadg/s400/Belle+in+pool.jpg" /></a></div>Darrellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16371650199312363087noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22105538.post-60541793348227598062012-05-04T16:25:00.000-04:002012-05-04T19:04:43.925-04:00One Sick PuppyWe are worried to the point of distraction about the health of our 9-year-old golden retriever, The Best Dog Ever.
Our caring veterinarian lists her condition as "guarded," and for the moment things don't seem to be getting better. I fear the worst outcome, and it's just too soon to lose her. She obviously feels terrible, but the most ominous circumstance facing us is she is now refusing to eat. She won't eat anything: her favorite treats, ice cream, eggs, nothing. It's as if she's just given up. For now, we'll fight the fight for her as best we can.
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For a couple of weeks, she hasn't been herself: no energy, slow to stand, heavy panting. At first, the working theory was some kind of inflammatory issue, maybe arthritis. Medicine for that seemed to give her a little more zip, but then after a couple of days her lethargy returned and she started coughing. The vet then ordered chest X-Rays, which revealed some scary-looking lesions in her lungs. The worst fear was cancer, but on the films the spots didn't look like tumors. It was a head-scratcher for our dog's two excellent doctors, so they uploaded the images to a veterinary radiologist in Dallas, who diagnosed the problem as lung flukes. The younger of our two local vets said she had seen this in text books but had not encountered them in her practice.
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<div>This means there are parasites inside those pulmonary cysts, which animals and people can get by eating crawfish or snails.There's a treatment for it, but unless and until those cysts go away and the parasites die, she remains at risk for death. If one of those things ruptures, a pneumothorax (collapsed lung) will result and that's the end of the road. So, we're keeping her inside and keeping her as still as possible.</div>
<div>The other challenge is the administration of the medicine. It's a powder, which means it has to be taken orally. But she won't eat. It's a problem. The only thing we can really do is parent her and try to find ways to get the powder into her stomach without getting it into her lungs.</div>
Everybody's worried. Even the matriarch of the menagerie, the Old formerly Fat Cat, knows something's wrong and is staying close by. We don't know what her message to her canine friend might be, but hopefully it's "You have to eat."
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We're just so sad and we want her to pull through. She and the cat are vestiges of our kids' youth, and of course they're straight-up members of the family. There's been fear, frustration and a significant number of tears shed over the last few days. Plus, and I know it's indelicate to discuss it, you have to consider how much money to spend here. The vet bills are piling up.
<div>My wife will tell you that I've been saying for years "You love that dog too much." I've been kidding, mostly; but now it's ringing true. We want to give her every chance to live a few more years. We love her that much.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhov3PV-hIRLR1fJKDr5srIzEPDOuk4vd-884xznmPwLfJUcvEe_gZs4MmyshKtgokAspcuME_vYqjLCDhQtnnOWjqnx6V4wf9T2JXnESc2TOyGeeMBeMPHAMG5JYlRZW21gP8guw/s1600/doggie+sunbeam.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="266" width="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhov3PV-hIRLR1fJKDr5srIzEPDOuk4vd-884xznmPwLfJUcvEe_gZs4MmyshKtgokAspcuME_vYqjLCDhQtnnOWjqnx6V4wf9T2JXnESc2TOyGeeMBeMPHAMG5JYlRZW21gP8guw/s400/doggie+sunbeam.jpg" /></a></div>Darrellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16371650199312363087noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22105538.post-5878337916835358652012-04-30T17:38:00.000-04:002012-04-30T17:38:42.309-04:00Up In The ValleyEvery once in a while, I still need to scratch that sports media itch. When the Dallas Cowboys shook up the 2012 NFL Draft by trading up to draft Shreveport's Morris Claiborne, a defensive back from LSU, it felt like I needed a soothing balm.
This set of circumstances combined so many elements which get my motor running: home town guy made good, The Cowboys, LSU, and a bunch of people thrilled at the news. So, presented with an opportunity to be a part of the media reception for Claiborne at Valley Ranch the day after the draft, I just had to jump.
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I've been down the sports road many times, so I don't get excited very often. The opportunity to spend a day at the Cowboys' sprawling headquarters in Irving, though, got my heart rate up a little.
Claiborne brought his family along. His parents were there, so was his grandmother, a couple of his young children, his girlfriend and others. His mother apparently is a New Orleans Saints fan, but as Shreveport people almost everybody else there declared themselves long-time Dallas diehards. You could see the thrill on their faces.
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You could tell that Claiborne was happy about all this, too...especially since the Cowboys had not contacted him at any point during the evaluation process and this news came to him like a bolt from the blue. (A blue star on a silver helmet, as it turns out.)
As the day wore on, I had an opportunity to walk down a hallway and speak for a time with the Cowboys' defensive coordinator, Rob Ryan. I spoke with head coach Jason Garrett in a group setting, and along the way I dished off a quip that made Living Cowboys Legend Calvin Hill laugh. It was a good day.<div>
I was helping my friend The Local Sportcaster. All of this came up so suddenly, he had made no plans to travel to Dallas on Friday. But, hey, that's the news business. In its modern form, there's simply not a pool of TV cameramen hanging around the TV station waiting to dash out of town for a day. As an experienced hand, I was able to earn my way by shooting interviews and stand-ups for him.</div>
I also snapped photos with the iPhone as we went along and enthusiastically posted to Twitter and Facebook. That included a photo of Claiborne holding his new helmet while standing by his locker.
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There was an impressive media throng there to acquaint themselves with the Cowboys' budding defensive star, and it was hard to stay out of their way. So, it should not have come as a surprise that our mugs wound up on a DFW TV newscast...just scratching that itch.
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And what do you know, I finally got on TV in Big D!Darrellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16371650199312363087noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22105538.post-32555255503085690672012-04-21T17:12:00.000-04:002012-04-21T17:12:02.487-04:00A Beautiful Little Concert(The Woodlands, TX) - A five hour drive through heavy rain, thunderstorms and a little bit of hail to hear one of your favorite singers can lead to some pretty high expectations. Claire and I hurtled undaunted through a turbulent Texas afternoon for an opportunity to spend a little quality time with our good friend Karla Bonoff, whom we had never actually seen in person, let alone met. Happily, both of those circumstances changed Friday night.
<div>Let's go back to 1985. I had started dating a young nurse named Claire Cooper. Things were progressing nicely and inevitably we began "dating" less and less and were simply spending time together. This meant visiting one another's apartments, of course. On her first visit to mine, she was casually looking through by albums (1985, remember?) and saw "Restless Nights" by Karla Bonoff.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Countless nights, we would lie in the dark listening to music and Karla Bonoff invariably was prominent on the playlist. For a quarter century, we've kept her music in our lives on vinyl, cassette, CD and now on our iPods. So, as I was thinking ahead for ways to celebrate our silver anniversary, I randomly thought, "I wonder if Karla Bonoff is playing any live dates at all?" I checked, and six weeks before our anniversary she was scheduled to appear at a great little Texas venue called Dosey Doe. I couldn't buy tickets fast enough.
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Claire was joking around as the date approached, saying "I hope she can still sing." Well, rest assured, she's still got it. Her voice was pure and perfect and she sounded just like she does on her albums (er, tapes, um, CD's...downloads...whatever!)
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She's a Grammy-award winning songwriter who had some minor hits as a performer, as well as one Really Big Hit Song. She joked about that during the show, saying she stumbled upon a program on VH-1 called "One Hit Wonders" and said "Yep. There I was." She lamented that the ONE song everybody seems to remember her for, titled "Personally," is one she didn't write. She said several radio DJ's thought it was a novelty song. She dutifully performed it, anyway somewhere near the end of her set. Mostly, though, she delighted those in attendance with the songs and style we have all come to love over the years.
There were 130 people in the audience. Yep, 130. (It was an expensive ticket). We enjoyed every second of it, though. We agree it was worth the cost and the treacherous drive.
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Because the setting was so intimate, she just kind of hung around after the show. We got to talk to her and tell her how she impacted our relationship. That got a smile out of her. I said "Yeah, you've kind of had a mystical place in our marriage, so it's really special for us to meet you." She took it well. There were 128 other people who wanted a moment of her time, so we moved on...but not before she graciously agreed to have her photo made with Claire.
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The run-up to our 25th anniversary will continue, but I promise you this...on the actual anniversary day, I know whose music we'll be listening to.
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Cheers, Karla Bonoff. Thanks for all the great years.Darrellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16371650199312363087noreply@blogger.com0