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The Security Saint at JFK

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‘An airport story with a happy ending’

My plane leaves tonight at 7:59 (why don’t they just say 8:00?) so of course I’m getting ready to go to the airport. (It is now 1:12 PM.) As everyone in my family knows, I get super-stressed about getting to and from airports even under the best of circumstances. (That’s when Carmel Car Service picks me up, and on time.) Oh, the picture at the top of this post is of me trying to alleviate stress by walking around my snowy NYC courtyard.

Another stress-management technique: stomping around Central Park

But, for the Kids’ Thanksgiving visit, I dialed my stress level to the max — I offered to pick them up from JFK. Yes, in the car. Which I was driving. By myself. Well, at least until they got into it.

I cannot stress (see, there’s that word again) enough that People Who Live in New York do not pick people up from the airport. You tell them to get a cab for which you graciously offer to pay. Or, if it’s people you really like, you order a car service for them.

You really really don’t offer to pick them up. But the people in this case were The Child, the SIL, and — most important — Mr. Baby.

Who wouldn’t offer to pick up this adorable person — JFK or no JFK?

I thought about ordering them a car to drive them out to Amagansett, and it didn’t cost as much as I feared, but. I reasoned that Mr. Baby might need feeding or changing or whatnot, and, even with trusty Carmel, that could get a bit complicated. So, pick them up I did.

I’ll spare you much of the sturm und drang. Suffice it to say that the two hours I allotted to get to the cellphone lot were all used up by the time I got there and found said cellphone lot. (There is massive construction going on at JFK — “Building you a better airport experience!” signage cheers you up at every wrong turn. At least there were trailers outfitted as bathrooms at said cellphone lot. I think I was the only one who used the women’s. I know I was the only one in the lot not wearing a turban.

I knit most of this hat while waiting in the cellphone lot

Anyway. Pickup goes reasonably well. Me: “Where are you?” Child: “We’re outside Area C!” Me: “I don’t see you!” Child: “Oh, it’s Area D!”

And the visit? Extremely well. I wrote all about it last week, in “Joy to the World,” if you’d like to catch up and see some incredibly cute baby pics.

Here we are at dinner in the same Japanese place that was The Child’s first restaurant experience!

But, like most lovely visits, this one ended before I felt like it had even begun.

More Mr. Baby. Because, well, why not?

And the next thing I knew, I was driving them back to the airport. At least I had Other People in the car with me this time. The Child, in fact, was an excellent — and calm — navigator. Me: “Which exit is next?!?” Child: (in very soothing talking-to-a-suicide-jumper voice) “This next one, A42 South. Right there. See?”

So, we make it to the airport. Though we were routed round and round in an impossible circle to get to Terminal 4, we made it. Got Kids and baby gear off-loaded. Got good-bye hugs and kisses distributed.

Mr. Baby on the plane on their way home. Not stressed out, it would seem

But, dang it. It had been hours since we left, and even though I had carefully limited my fluid intake, I had to, well, pee. And of course, since this was right after a holiday weekend, there was a Security Guy motioning everyone dropping people off to move along, please. He was even motioning cars along with a thing that looked like a billy club (though I think it was really a flashlight.) Anyway, I was intimidated. But not intimidated enough not to go right up to him.

“Sir? Excuse me, Sir? Could you tell me the way to the cellphone lot? He gets a very confused look on his face, then shakes his head forlornly, admitting that it would be very complicated for me to get to the cellphone lot. “What do you need to go there for?” Well, I admitted that I had to, um, use the facilities.

So he says, “Oh! No problem! Just go right in to the terminal here. I’ll watch your car for you.”

So I did. And so he did. And when I came out I thanked him profusely. I almost gave him a hug, too. But decided not to push my luck.

Another shot of Mr. Baby not stressed out on the plane. Again, because why not?

Happy New Year, everyone! Now I really must restart my getting-ready-to-go-to-the-airport pacing.

Hmmm…when I get back, we could crack this open. Better than pacing!

New York City. January 2025

Joy to the world!

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‘The Grandchild has come!’

I haven’t sent out Christmas cards in years. Not since The Child was an actual child and I could send a photo of her enclosed inside. (This was waaaay before you could incorporate a photo into a design of your very own.)

Her Christmassy Childness, in former Christmas Card times

But I always said that I would start the Card Thing up again if and when I got me a grandkid. And, lo and behold…this year I finally did. (Do you think my subtle hints had anything to do with it? Like when I would look The Child in the eye and say, “I don’t want to pressure you, but, since you are an only child, if you don’t have any kids I will never ever be a grandmother.“)

So hey. I sent cards this year. Lots of cards! (If you didn’t get one, I apologize. Consider this post your Christmas card, okay?)

Here’s what was on the back (!)

Anyway. This year had a whole heck of a lot of other cool stuff to commend it: weddings and parties and family visits galore, not to mention two trips to Brazil and one big honkin’ trip to Australia.

Dude Man and me relaxing in Australia, basking in the knowledge that we finally made “grandparent”

But, since it’s the last day I can write and still call this 2024, I’m going to stick with the GK and the heck with the rest. Till the dull days of Endless January, that is. Then I’ll catch up. Or not. Maybe I’ll just read a ton of books.

Or knit. I have this sweater to finish up. Its progress was interrupted by baby sweaters, natch

But back to Mr. Baby. (Gosh, I think I just invented his blogname. I was going to call him GK. But I’m thinking I like Mr. Baby. Even better than The Baby, since if he ever gets a sister, I can call her MIss Baby. If he gets a brother, I’ll deal with it then.)

I defy even those of you who, like W. C. Fields, prefers his or her babies well-done, to watch the video below and then not urge those of your acquaintance who are capable of procreating to do so immediately. This is one heck of a cute baby.

I can show you this video because The Child created a shared album in iPhoto where she plops new shots almost every day. If that sounds like Baby Photo Overload, then you are obviously not a grandparent. Not one who lives a whole continent away, anyway.

I’m only a continent away. His Dad’s family lives in Canada — where Mr. Baby is right now, get celebrated — and acclimatized

Okay, I’ve got to go soon. I’m going on a pan-generational visit next week — to see both my one-and-only mother and my one-and-only grandson — so I have a ton of obsessing to do.

Meanwhile, here’s another Happy Photo to close out a very Happy Year!

Amagansett, New York. The last day of the last month of 2024

 

It’s a good thing this baby is so adorable

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‘Because he sure needs a lot of gear’

Poor UPS Guy. He and Amazon Man have run themselves ragged these past few weeks, delivering load after load of baby supplies to our house in Amagansett.

See, I’ve been getting ready for the much-anticipated Thanksgiving visit of The Child and SIL — and our brand spankin’ new GK.

Our GK getting ready for Thanksgiving

And I have to tell you, that kid needs a LOT of stuff. There’s diapers and wipes, sure. But also changing pads. Bottles and formula, natch. But also a sterilizer. Don’t get me wrong; I don’t mind. In fact, I volunteered to get supplies. They have to fly from San Francisco to get here. The least I can do is rustle up a baby bed.

The aforementioned sterilizer. I didn’t borrow one of these; they didn’t exist back then. Or at least I was unaware of them

After all, I figure the easier I make it for them to visit, the more often they’ll want to come. That baby bouncy chair is bait.

The bait, er, baby bouncy chair. It cleverly converts to a walker and a highchair for later use

The irony of all this acquisition is that I didn’t do any of this for my own baby. See, when I was expecting The Child, I was, well, a bit long in the tooth, motherhood-wise. When you’re pushing forty, it doesn’t make a lot of economical sense to buy a bunch of baby gear that you’ll probably only use for the one baby you’re apt to have.

The Child in her borrowed crib

So I borrowed stuff. Basically everything. I borrowed the crib, I borrowed the car seat. I borrowed the bouncy chair and the swing and, eventually, the highchair. I even borrowed baby clothes. They were hand-me-downs from boy cousins. What with her mostly-blue clothes and mostly-bald head, I got, “What’s his name?” a lot. 

Just for fun, here’s The Dude in his crib. Too bad we didn’t save that one. Or maybe it’s a good thing

Then, once The Child outgrew whatever it was, I gave it back to whomever I borrowed it from. Easy-peasy! Perhaps it would have been nice to have a crib or car seat in the attic to drag out for the GK’s visits, but the technology’s improved so much that we’d probably get arrested for using something so old — and so unsafe. I know that the crib we borrowed thirty years ago would definitely not pass muster. (Those wooden slats are head traps for sure. Yikes!)

GK in his own personal bouncy chair. Note warning labels. Though it says nothing about staying away from cats (Note: This cat stayed away from him)

So I got stuff. A lot of stuff. I drew the line at a Diaper Genie. (“Um, what’s wrong with garbage bags?”) And a changing table. (“Gee, when you were a baby, we, well, we laid you down on the bed.“) But I knuckled under on a lot of nice new baby gear.

Nice new bed all ready for nice new baby. Changing area (ie “bed,” in foreground)

And I did find some nice recycled things in the attic I think he’ll enjoy.

Some of The Child’s stuffed animals. Yup, these I saved

Happy Thanksgiving, one and all! “See” you next week.

My favorite photo (so far) of the amazing GK, here seen in a special bathtub. Nope, I didn’t get one of those. But I bet he won’t notice

Amagansett, New York. November 2024

Forgive me for not posting in a while.

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‘I’ve been a bit, well, distracted.’

I was on the phone with a friend the other day (remember phone calls? remember friends?) when she said, “Gosh, you haven’t posted a story in a while!” Which is how I knew that A) She was, in fact, a friend, and a very good one at that, and B) that gosh, I haven’t posted a story in a while.

Well, I have a very good excuse. I mean, besides the fact that Dude Man and I were in Australia for five weeks. (That’s right, folks — five weeks. Four in Australia, plus one in Tasmania.)

Five weeks, people. Five weeks. But we sure covered a lot of ground. (And air)

My excuse? His name is Alexander Whitmore Leakos, and he was born on October 5, when we were roaming Little Desert National Park somewhere on the Southern half of the Australian continent. The New Parents were in San Francisco. (In spite of the time difference — it was 5:00 AM for us and noon the previous day for them — we were able to participate in a very satisfying Facetime call.)

The photo that greeted us at 5 AM

Needless to say, Dude Man and I are thrilled beyond measure to be grandparents. As I told The Child, “Now I can die; I have fulfilled my biological imperative. My genetic material (such as it is) has been passed on.”

My genetic material (or some of it, anyway) made flesh (fresh flesh, at that)

Of course, there isn’t much of my genetic material that’s discernible in this tiny person. This grandkid (shorthand for whom is to be GK) bears an uncanny resemblance to his father. It’s like someone took the SIL and put him in the dryer–on high.

I rest my case. All that baby needs is a teensy little beard

But who knows? Maybe he’s inherited my sparkling wit and/or engagingly hilarious personality. Heaven knows I’m glad he did not get my Swedish Head. (In case you don’t have one, and/or don’t know what the heck I’m talking about, read “What’s that in the road — a head?”.)

Baby doing his Thinker Thing. Note nicely-shaped noggin

Anyway. One of the first things The Child did (after our Facetime, that is) is invite us to join a shared photo album, where she’s been posting photos of our little GK practically every day. I’ll shut up and share a few:

Baby meets Grampa Wayne

Baby meets Uncle Scott (make that great-uncle) and Susan the Great

Baby meets Halloween. We weren’t there for this, but they still had the Mama, Papa and Baby Bear costumes

And one of the first things we did after we got back from Australia — well, actually it was the first thing we did — was visit all three of them in San Francisco. Quite literally it was the first thing. We got on a plane in Hobart, Tasmania, at 6:00 AM, then flew 14-some hours to SF, landing at 6:30 AM and Lyfting our way to their Haight-Ashbury pad in short order.

Baby goes out to dinner

More about our visit — oh, and some stuff about Australia too — when I can catch my breath. And when I can stop scrolling through that shared album.

Can’t resist sharing just this one more. Till next time!

Amagansett, New York. November 2024

What I did this summer

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‘A Seasonal Report from Lutheran Liar’

I’ve started seeing those end-of-summer posts on Facebook and Instagram. You know the ones. A fallen red maple leaf with a caption like “Finally!” or “Can’t happen soon enough!” And what’s with the pumpkin spice? They didn’t even wait for September.

Well, it is September. And this morning I woke up to a 60-degree morning so crisp I had to layer on a fleece for my bike ride. So okay, I get it. Fall is (ouch) here. But that doesn’t mean I’m happy about it. Nah, I like summer. Always have. And it always goes too fast for me. This year’s seemed even faster than usual, what with all the action packed into its sweaty little months.

The hammock got some use over Memorial Day, cradling our nephew Matt and wife Sharona. No time to use it since!

Memorial Day seems like a budding-green blur in the rearview; then it was June and our Dartmouth Reunion Adventure. (See “It’s Not Easy Being Big Green” for a madcap recap.)

With former roomie Sex (er, Lex) and wife Susan outside Dude Man’s dorm

Once we were over the excitement of being representatives of the 50th (gasp) Reunion Class, we were back to our usual Amagansett highjinks. Climbing up ladders and clipping things for The Dude. Knitting up garments large and small for me.

Dude scaling some heights to do some rope tying. Or something else equally precarious

On terra firma, doing something involving a rose bush my Dad got us. (Kite-board visible on top of Honda in the background; must not have been any wind at this moment)

People are always asking me, now that I’m retired, if I get bored. Actually, this is usually the question: “Aren’t you bored?” Well, actually, no. I divide my time into two blocks: Stuff I Have to Do, and Stuff I Want to Do. I try to do the “have to” stuff first, and by the time I do, it’s, like 3:00. And I haven’t even dipped into the “Want to” stuff yet (!)

So no. I’m not bored.

I mean, how could a person be bored with fascinating stuff like this to read?

Speaking of reading, my “subject” this summer was Alice Munro. For those of you who don’t already know this, each summer I pick an author I like (Edith Wharton, Virginia Woolf) or am curious about (Penelope Fitzgerald) or both (Larry McMurtry) and read a good biography while revisiting the writer’s works. This way, questions like “What the heck is with Ethan Frome?” get answered. It’s really fun; you should try it! The Alice project was, however, somewhat disappointing. The biography I read failed to mention that Alice’s second husband molested her daughter (!!!) And, hey, I don’t know about you, but I think that’s a pretty important piece of info to glean by accident from a Wikipedia entry instead of reading about at length in a biography.

I also read a lot of other stuff. This summer I dug into 70s fiction like Jaws and Stepford Wives and Diary of a Mad Housewife. The movies too! Delicious!!!

And there were more trips. I went to visit my Mom and Sister; the visit was enhanced by the surprise addition of The Child. Much fun was had by all generations. And dog.

Best place to be on a summer evening: Laura and Dave’s backyard

More backyard fun, with canine

After that, it was a coed baby shower to honor our Future Grandchild, placeholder name Zeus. San Franciscan Adventures ensued, including a brush with danger. (See “The Streets of San Francisco” for almost-gory details.)

How I picture The Child in my head

How The Child really looked at her baby shower. (Yes, that’s ecstatic me smack-dab next to her)

Oh, and somewhere in there this summer was a museum benefit featuring birds of prey, a visit from Dude Man’s sister and plenty of tomatoes and mozzarella. Not sure which of these was the most filling.

Fancy Hamptons party guest. With human

Fancy tomatoes for lunch. With cheese

Decidedly not fancy taco party. With Sister-in-Law. Somewhere in there (Or maybe she took the photo?)

Well. Time to wrap this up before this not-summer-but-feels-pretty-darned-spectacular day is over. I still have quite a bit of Fun Stuff to fit in.

I’ll leave you with this delightful photo of the Soon-to-Be-Parents, taken at their place in Flagstaff this past Labor Day Weekend. *sigh*

Amagansett, New York. September 2024

Boy O Boy!

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‘I am ever so excited to be a Grandma!’

Feel free to confide in me–even your deepest, darkest secrets–because if there is anything the last few months proves, it’s that I can keep my lip zipped.

It was in May that The Child called us on a Sunday, as is her wont. But this time, after her usual “hello,” she added, “James is on the line too.” Then: “We have something to tell you.”

A photo from our visit to my Mom that I couldn’t use before now

Of course we were thinking this might be Baby News. But did we say anything? Not on your life. What if the news was that they were getting a dog? I have a couple of friends who were called by their children to announce the getting of a dog. These dogs are now known as (and I am not kidding) their granddogs.

So. All Dude Man and I said was, “Oh my! What is your news?!” And they told us. They were having a baby. A boy. Due October 13.

Three and a half generations a couple of weeks ago

After we were done squealing (me), hugging (both of us) and happy-dancing around the room (me again), we asked the usual questions. Feeling? Fine. Happy? Yes. Names? Perhaps something Greek. (The SIL has Greek forbears.)

At this point I threw in a couple of reassuring points. No, we were not going to suggest any names. “You can call him Poindexter or Mud for all I care,” I said. And I know some people do this, but no, I wasn’t going to be present in the delivery room. “I didn’t want to be there when you were born!”

Celebrating at Laura and Dave’s

Speaking of names, I reminded her that her Grampa Henry referred to her as “Wal-Mart” before she was born. As in, “Has Wal-Mart been doing a lot of kicking?” Or “Do you have a bed for Wal-Mart yet?” And even “Have you finally thought of a name for Wal-Mart? (Other than “Wal-Mart,” that is.) The naming took us forever. Even though we knew she was a girl. See “What’s in a name?” for deets. For one thing, you’ll see that Dude Man wanted to call her “Zeus.” Which I think is a perfectly lovely name — for a dog. (Incidentally, one of her Childness’s friends has a dog named Zeus. This friend also has a baby not named Zeus. Perfect!)

The Child, flanked by Fem Friends, at a party thrown in her (and her hub’s, they do it that way now) honor in SF. The friend on the left has the dog named Zeus. And the baby not named Zeus.

So where does the keeping a secret come in? I was asked not to mention her impending motherhood on social media. At least not until the cat (er, baby) was out of the bag.

Baby Goldfish are in that bag. Thanks, Aunt Laura!

It was really hard, but I did manage to keep her secret safe. Though some blog posts took a bit of crafty editing.

But my secret-holding is nothing compared to hers. Once she told us the news, I did a little math and realized that she had been pregnant back in March when we all went to this fantastic wedding. She was so clever I didn’t even realize she wasn’t drinking — and there was a martini bar!

Child at wedding holding a secret — but no martini

More next week. I feel the need to happy-dance around the room some more.

Amagansett, New York. August 2024

 

What’s not to like about a wedding?

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‘Even the bits that aren’t the actual wedding are fun.’

Yesterday was the second anniversary of The Child’s second wedding. Yes, she has been married twice — but to the same person. The first wedding took place on the rim of the Grand Canyon. This was in 2021, during the pandemic, so nobody could go. But you can read all about it — and gaze at some pretty awesome photos — in “Runaway Bride.”

Yes, folks, I have been known to exaggerate. But not this time. The Child and the SIL were actually married on this very spot. Sorry I couldn’t be there. Sort of

The second wedding, the one that took place August 13, 2022, is the one whereof I speak — and the one whereof I wrote, in “Two Weddings are Better than One”.

Wedding #2. You can see Dude Man and I happily — and safely — seated right there in the front row. *sigh*

This one took place in stunning Lake Louise in the Canadian Rockies, and was an incredibly entertaining event for one and all lucky enough to be asked and gracious enough to attend, including all my siblings and their better halves. You can see a sampling in the photo at the top of this post, enjoying one of the non-actual-wedding bits. (I think it was a hike.)

There’s our friend Huw, who travelled from afar for an excuse to wear his Dad’s cool dinner jacket. (Kidding! Thank you, Huw!)

Yes, this wedding was fun. Super-fun, in fact. But so was all the other stuff before and after. And not just at this wedding. I’ll shut up and show you some of my favorite parts of weddings.

Here’s the Dude Man escorting his Clone Child down the aisle

There’s the getting ready. I don’t usually get to participate in this, but I sure did at the Lake Louise “do,” actually getting a “do.” (I told the sweet makeup artist to make me look “like myself, only better.” Which she accomplished so well I didn’t wash my face or hair till the next day.)

A gaggle of gals getting ready before the wedding. You can’t check out my really nice hair and makeup because I was taking the picture. (Oh! We got to sip champagne while being “done.” Forgot to mention that superfine detail)

After the ceremony, there’s — of course! — the reception. What with the free drinks and the free food and the mingling and the toasting, I must admit that this is My Very Favorite Part of weddings. Sometimes — like if it’s a very long, very religious ceremony or in an unair-conditioned church with super-hard benches — I enjoy it even more than the wedding itself. I mean, who wouldn’t?

Also fun: the newly-married couple entering the reception. Here’s The Child and SIL

And here’s another freshly minted couple entering an admiring crowd: Dude Man’s cousin’s son and lovely new wife. You know you love weddings when you go to these (!) (But, incidentally, that cousin made a point of coming to The Child’s, so I guess it runs in the family)

At the reception, there is mingling! There are toasts! I’ve often said that the only time you get both sides of a family together is at weddings and at funerals. (Personally, I much prefer the mingling at a wedding.) And if you don’t think toasts are fun, just watch Four Weddings and a Funeral.

Mingling at Lake Louise at the wedding in 2022

Mingling at the Yale Club at our most recent wedding in March

After that, there’s the dancing. Even though my dancing days are over, I still get a big kick out of watching the young’ns boogie down. (I’m sure you’ll agree that someone who uses the term “boogie down” has no business dancing.)

I wouldn’t call this ‘boogie-ing down,” necessarily, but it was lovely to watch these young’ns

Now this is what I call “boogie-ing down.” And no, I wasn’t participating. I wasn’t even there

I could go on and on, listing fun stuff like silly picture-taking and skinny dipping. One activity I participate in, the other not. I will leave you to guess which.

Most excellent silly picture, after the Yale Club wedding

But the one thing you know I will always enjoy: any wedding, anywhere, any time, any place. Be sure to invite me to yours. I  give excellent gifts.

August 13, 2022. Happy Anniversary, Child and SIL! It was a super fun wedding, with all the super fun trimmings as well

Amagansett, New York. August 2024.

 

 

The Streets of San Francisco

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‘Where’s Karl Malden when you need him?’

Well, actually I know where Karl is. And I’m thinking it’s not Heaven.

Those of you who follow my blog (thank you!) know that I had rather an unfortunate experience with Karl back in my Ad World days. But, in spite of his rampant sexism and all-around unpleasantness, it would have been comforting to have him — in character as Lt. Mike Stone, that is — out there on San Francisco’s streets last weekend.

Dude Man adorning the streets of SF, specifically the street outside the Pacific Union Club on Nob Hill

See, Dude Man and I were out there in the City by the Bay visiting The Child last weekend. She and her hub, the SIL, have been spending most of their time there because of work. So much time that they have rented an apartment. This new apartment is located near the Panhandle, which they were surprised to hear used to be a pretty dicey area. So dicey that the term “panhandler” comes from there, back when that part of Golden Gate Park was populated with less-than-savory denizens who did a lot of well, panhandling.

Child and Child’s pal admiring views of Golden Gate Park from the tower at the de Young Museum

Their new place is in Haight-Ashbury, which they now call “The Haight.” (I wonder if Her Childness knows hippies used to live there. Actually, I wonder if Her Childness knows what a “hippie” is?)

But this story isn’t about hippies, or even about panhandlers (though close) — it’s about a stalker. A stalker who was stalking us Saturday morning as we strolled (or rolled?) our way down Nob Hill. (Quick note: I do mean roll. Those streets are steep. I guess we can’t plan on retiring there to be near the Kids; no way you could maneuver a walker. Though we did see several scooters chained to lampposts. None in use, however. Just chained. Securely.)

Anyway. About our stalker. Dude Man and I, being on East Coast time, awakened at an ungodly hour and decided to take a walk. Our goal: Coit Tower, where Dude Man wanted to “check out the birds.”

Dr. Dude recording the call of the hummingbirds in the trees around Coit Tower

So, armed with binoculars, we set out, stopping first, tourist-style, to take photos of each other. Dude Man was in the midst of pointing out the building where Kim Novak’s character lives in Vertigo when we noticed a rather seedy-looking character loitering in the entryway.

The touristy photo Dude Man took of me. You can see a slice of Seedy Stalker’s blue windbreaker to the right in the background

Now, being from New York City, where seedy-looking characters are the norm, we weren’t too alarmed. Though we did keep an eye on him, and noticed that yes, he was following us. He kept to the other side of the street, and a block or so back. But when we stopped to look in the window of the Cable Car Museum, we noticed he stopped, too. It was rather amusing, until it was not.

Yes, we reached Coit Tower safely

We decided that he pegged us for well-to-do tourists (taking snapshots: check) who had good stuff to snatch (carrying binoculars: check). We figured he was waiting to catch us in a lonely stretch and demand our valuables. If he didn’t go away, our plan was to wait until there were more people around, then whirl around and confront him. “You’re creeping us out, Fella!” was my planned address while brandishing my phone. “Stop following us or I’m calling Karl Malden (er, 911)!”

There were plenty of people loitering at Coit Tower, but our stalker wasn’t one of them. Maybe it was just too steep a climb

Well, I guess there were too many people around because, by the time we reached Washington Square Park, he had disappeared. By then I was kinda fired up, so I was a little disappointed. Well, maybe not. Oh! Washington Square is in North Beach, which is where we were dining at an Italian restaurant that time The Child had the epic tantrum and had to be carried screaming down the street, a tale I told in “Let Me Go! I Want My Mommy!”

We made it to Coit Tower without further incident, and even managed to secure a table outside an Italian bakery in North Beach on our way back to the PU (the affectionate nickname of the Pacific Union Club). We needed a snack; we had to fuel ourselves for the hike back up.

Though, once we’d earned our steps, we learned our lesson. And Uber’d and Lyfted and Waymo‘d the rest of the visit.

Back home in Amagansett. August 2024

 

Hooray for the red, white — and you!

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‘We get a gift on our nation’s birthday.’

The Child does not read my posts. Perhaps that’s because she’s heard my stories already. More than once. In fact, it was her idea, back in (gasp) 2014, that I start writing this blog.

“I’ve heard that story about the guys switching the hats and driving that account guy crazy!” and “I know it’s a cute story, but you’ve already told me about how you and Dad met!” and even “No, not again with the kangaroo and the martini!”“You should write them down and put them in a blog.” Me: “What’s a blog?”

The Child on the East End during a previous 4th celebration. In those days, she had no choice but to be here. Or, by the looks of it, to have those headphones on

So Her Childness won’t get embarrassed if I write about how pleased we were that she dropped everything and flew out to see us for the 4th of July. As you know, it’s not exactly the easiest time to travel. It’s hot and crowded. And crowded and hot. I read in the Times that the 4th has surpassed Thanksgiving as the busiest travel week — at least until this Thanksgiving, when she’ll probably get her fine self on a plane again, bless her heart.

Yet another cute 4th Foto. Because why not? (Note continuation of red, white and blue thematic dressing)

At any rate, The Child came, she saw, she conquered our hearts all over again. Sadly, her hub The SIL, could not get away, a fact which I must have subconsciously ignored when grocery shopping since I bought waaaay too much food. I ended up donating a pound of sliced roast beef to Wayne’s niece and nephew. “Here’s a hostess gift!” I chirped, handing over the ziploc. “You probably already have enough Yankee Candles!”

Yes, the thematic dressing continued. Judging by the lack of fading on my jeans (and relative lack of wrinkles on my face), I’m thinking this was 5 to 10 years ago

Other than dressing in red, white and blue (sadly, no photos exist of this year’s thematic outfits), we took it pretty easy. When asked, (at the one party we attended, a festive Taco Tuesday which was switched to Friday in our honor — Thanks, C and C!), “What have you guys been doing?” We answered, “Well, we sit on the deck, then we get up and get a snack, then go sit on the deck.”

Child’s Eye View from the deck

We did walk into Town (Child and Me) and hike in the woods (Child and Dad) and go on an adventure to Hicks Island (All Three of Us).

Child’s Eye View of her Dad on their hike

The last time I walked into town was a couple of summers ago, so the surf shop was now an outpost of The Row. I regaled the salesgirl with stories of shopping for wetsuits there back in the day while she complimented me on my “sense of style.” (I was wearing a white tee shirt, ripped army pants and Converse sneakers at the time.)

Child’s Eye View of Hicks Island. (Before we got lost in those marshes to the right)

I call our joint foray to Hicks Island an “adventure” because it sure turned out to be one. What was intended as an early-before-it-gets-too-hot walk morphed into a marathon trek (literally; it took us 3 1/2 hours) through reedy swamps, clouds of mosquitoes and brambly brush laden with ticks. Dude Man and The Child each kept consulting both AllTrails (an app with trail maps) and GPS satellite views of the terrain. We would start toward what looked like a trail, only to end up in a swamp. We found ourselves wishing for James. Not for his trail-finding skills (which are finely honed), but for his drone.

Hooray for the red, white and green: tomatoes, mozzarella and spinach

Well, we did make it out. Or you wouldn’t be reading this. And rewarded ourselves with a fantastic lunch. And some silliness (see below). Shucks. I might just have to send this post to Her Childness. She hasn’t heard this story. Yet.

Amagansett, New York. July 2024

What do you call the father of your daughter’s husband?

Standard

‘Other than a really nice guy, I mean.’

So, okay. It’s been ages since I checked in with you lovely readers (hi Sally!) and I’d better get a wiggle on before this year runs its course too.

“Enough already” you’ll be thinking if I start whining about how fast time has been whizzing by, so I won’t go there this time. Suffice it to say that I just put my Christmas-tree-scented candle away — and I didn’t get around to lighting it even once this season.

No need to put up a Christmas Tree; there’s one right outside our window. Have to go outside to sniff it though

So what was I doing instead of sniffing fake evergreen? Well, Dude Man and I got a snootfull of the real thing out in Flagstaff, Arizona, where The Child and her hub The SIL have put down roots.

Dude Man strolling around Flagstaff. That’s the giant pine cone hanging from that building across the street. On New Year’s Eve, they “drop” it

It’s a really fun town (cool shops! hot restaurants! wine bars! more wine bars!) and in the middle of a lot of Natural Wonders. The last time we were there (Christmas 2021, which, yes, feels like two weeks ago, not two years) we climbed down a mile into the Grand Canyon. (And yes, climbed back up.)

Me, looking determined but mighty relieved, climbing out of the Grand Canyon

This time, we “did” the Painted Desert, the Petrified Forest and the Meteor Crater. After all that we were just too goldarned tired to make it to the Lowell Observatory. Next time.

We also did a bit of Christmas shopping. Here we check out the display of Cheap Plastic Shit (Note Child decked out in non-plastic Mom-knit hat)

We also hung out around the house, where I continued my Hat Attack by knitting one for The Guy Who Is My SIL’s Dad, otherwise known as The Child’s Father-in-Law. I love this guy; I really do. No sooner had I whipped it off my needles, revealing that it was for him, when he grabbed it and put it on his head. “I love this hat,” he said, grinning from ear to ear. (Conversely, my SIL, whom I adore in spite of this, took one look at his hat, thanked me, then dropped it into a basket of many many hats. Sigh.)

Mark and his son James (my SIL) not wearing their handknit hats, but looking extremely cute anyway

Which brings me to the ostensible subject of this piece: what to call this guy. “The Child’s Father-in-Law” is accurate, but not very snappy, though I suppose it could be shortened to “The Child’s FIL.” Nah, no one will get it. Then, as noted above, there’s “The Guy Who Is My SIL’s Dad.” Still no good.

Huge petrified log — and Co-Father-In-Law, Dude

I googled, and here’s the best I could find: “A father-in-law is the father of a person’s spouse. Two men who are fathers-in-law to each other’s children may be called co-fathers-in-law, or, if there are grandchildren, co-grandfathers.” For mothers-in-law, same deal.

They used to train astronauts at the Meteor Crater, hence the spacecraft

But google as hard as I could, I could find no citing for the relationship between me (a mother-in-law) and him (a father-in-law). “Parents in law?” Blech. I guess I’ll just call him Mark. (And yes, speaking of the name “Mark,” I did tell him the one about the guy at Starbucks who told the barrista he was “Marc with a ‘C'” and got a cup labeled “Cark.”) He laughed, which is yet another reason (other than wearing the handknit hat) that I like him.

Painted Desert and Mother-in-Law, Moi

Oh, he’s not perfect, by any means. He leans Libertarian (which endears him to The Dude), and, at one point, he regaled the occupants of the Ford 350 with the entire history of the iPhone which he read from the screen of (yes) his iPhone.

Christmas Hike: The Child and Me, flanked by two Co-Fathers-In-Law

But he’s sweet and funny and a great cook who cleans up after himself (see top photo for proof) so he’s aces in my book. I doubt if he really cares what you call him. As long as you call him for dinner. Or a new knit hat.

Mark’s hat during a rare moment not on his head (It’s topping a teapot)

Amagansett, New York. January 2024