Month: December 2021

My father died six years ago today. I don’t make a point of remembering the the date of his death. I was reminded of the anniversary when my brother, John, emailed to thank me for passing my father’s ring along to him. It was a long time coming. When Peggi and I took my father to the hospital for the last time, they asked us to take his ring, watch and wallet. I still use the wallet. I put the ring and watch in a drawer and forgot about them.

My father wore the ring as a wedding ring but he bought it when he was almost sixty while he was working in New Mexico. I decided to have four rings made from a mold of the original ring. Our friend, Kathy, recommended the Gem Lab and they did a great job. When we picked up the four new ones we could not tell the original from the copies although the copies were actually a higher quality silver. The Gem Lab placed them in identical boxes and my sister Ann shuffled the five like a shell game and each picked one. My sister-in-law Char chose for John because he couldn’t make the drawing. John won and I gave it to him on Christmas Day.

Ironically, as a woodworker it would be dangerous for him to wear a ring. I remember getting my high school class ring stuck on a long string of shopping carts that I was pushing while working at my uncle’s supermarket. I nearly tore my finger off.

I think of my father all the time.

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I remember paddling into a cove where a beaver was working on a nest. Can’t remember where we were. We inadvertantly rattled the beaver and it chased our canoe for awhile. We’ve never seen beavers in Durand but we see plenty of evidence of their handiwork. Judging by the size of these wood chips they must have some serious teeth.

Our morning walk is my favorite part of the day. It clears the air and raises the bar for the day’s experience.

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We followed ski tracks into the park this morning. It may not be a white Christmas but it is a white Christmas Eve. You would never know that up at the lake.

Every ten years or so I get a chance to reconnect with Greg. An art major at IU when I was there, Greg was the real deal. I lived in the dorm, Greg saved on rent by living in his art studio in the Fine Arts building. In a sense he never left the studio. His apartment in NYC, all 185 square feet of it, is a rent controlled, fifth floor walkup.

Greg called this morning and we talked for an hour or so as if no time had passed at all. Many of our mutual friends have passed but we were able to engage and laugh in the present. Greg lamented how young artists can’t afford the city anymore and he missed batting around art notions over a cup of coffee. I offered that this observation may just be shaped by our age but he wouldn’t have it. He told me he limits his reverie. By doing so, the exercise is more satisfying and it leaves more time for him to work on his art journal/journey. I’m glad he made time to touch base today.

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Everybody asks if our new metal roof is noisier in the rain and we haven’t noticed that. We got the roof hoping the snow would slide off instead of building ice ice dams as it melts. Our first snowfall is indeed sliding off. Very slowly. And it looks sensational behind our blue LED Christmas lights.

I was packing up my drums last night when Phil, the guitarist in Margaret Explosion, texted. “People all around me are testing positive. I think it is unwise to pursue the gig tonight.” We haven’t seen anyone except for Jedi who came over for a Christmas beer yesterday. The text took me back. Were we being reckless going out with Omicron in the air? Probably but we went for it. I texted Jack to see if he was available to sit in on his instrument of choice. He wasn’t so we performed as a trio. We had done so a few other times, at High Falls and then at a funeral but never at the little and the Wednesday before Christmas is traditionally a big night there.

I particularly like the minimal palette. I love it when there is air around Peggi’s sax and I can hear the full shape of Ken’s double bass notes. The café was almost full but not like holidays past and there were notable absences. Peggi and I had talked about doing “God Rest Ye . . .” but forgot. Someone called for an encore and we tore it up with the minor key holiday classic.

I may have mentioned that I found a dollar bill on a path up from Titus Avenue Extension. Today, walking long the western side of Durand Lake I spotted a twenty and a five curled up on the path. I quickly shoved it in my pocket.

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We couldn’t decide. Rake leaves yesterday when it was in the 60s or wait until after the wind storm and rake today. We chose yesterday and I’m glad we did. It took us three hours to gather all the branches and sticks that had snapped off our trees in last night’s wind.

While we worked I imagined us in Madrid for today’s derby between the crosstown rivals of Atlético and Real Madrid. Of course we will be pulling for last year’s league champion, Atlético, but they are underdogs this year. 70,000 people in a stadium would be too much but a good seat in a crowded bar would be ideal. But how would we scream or drink Mahou while wearing a mask?

We’re happy for our friend, Louise, who appears in this week’s New Yorker. Not an article by her but about her, attesting to how hardship can be a source of good things, up front on the letters to the editor page.

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Sometimes we walk to Kathy’s, sometimes she walks to our place. We walk early, she walks late so when she texted that she was stopping by we started a fire in our front yard fire pit. Originally conceived as a safe way to hang out during last year’s winter months it might be doing duty again. I had just bought some of Buffalo’s Hayburner so we each one of those and it was quite comfortable.

Titus Avenue doesn’t stop at Sea Breeze Drive, the former 590 North. It continues down to the bay as Titus Avenue Extension. We walked down there this morning. It is a wonderland as the road winds down to the water. The houses are built into the hillside like in Belair but in this case, they are funky. They look small from the road but when you get down to the bottom and look up at the backs of them they are three and four stories. The whole idyllic setting takes a dark turn when you get to the bottom. Their is an abundance of American flags, most with that blue stripe in them. The biggest house looks like a tacky country club with a giant Trump 2020 flag still flying in the front yard. The very last houses have dogs in the yard, on duty, barking their heads off at anything that moves. The guy in the very last house was in his driveway smoking while his dog barked at us. We were not more than twenty yards from him and I could tell he had seen us but he wouldn’t look at us or say hi. His big dog was at his side barking its head off at us while we looked across the inlet at the two gigantic new houses going up across the inlet at the bottom of Seneca Road. It’s much nicer over there. People are happy and friendly. We’ll stick closer to home next time.

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