Email Etiquette

Email can be a lot of fun or a big pain in the you-know-what! Would you like to get more out of your email time? Any email you receive fits into one of the following 5 categories. Here is a good way to deal with them.


CUTE OR THOUGHT-PROVOKING –Many of us look forward to these.

When someone sends you a cute or thought-provoking email, it is tempting to forward it to all of your friends to show them you like to be connected to them, but do not be hasty.

As we will discuss in a later section, nobody likes “junk” email. If you send too many emails, none of them are “special.” Be selective about which items you forward. This way, your own interests become evident and your emails are something the recipient actually looks forward to.

It is not necessary to respond to all of these emails but if someone forwarded an email to you that you especially liked, be sure to tell them so. That gives you one more opportunity to “connect” with your real friends and it illustrates your tastes, thereby encouraging them to send you other similar items as they get them.

It is better to cut and paste the relevant part of the incoming email which you intend to forward, rather than forward the exact one you received. The person(s) before you probably don’t want you to send their email addresses all over the place, and their computers might have viruses which your recipient does not want.


PERSONAL – These are the very best emails. They are easy to recognize because they have special notes, unusual attachments or unique observations that are particularly relevant to you.

People who go the extra mile to send you a personal email consider you to be a lot more important than just “one of the gang.” They think you are somebody special.

In most cases, these are the emails which deserve the most of your time. We all invest large blocks of our time trying to be liked and finding new friends, but any adult knows there is no friend like an old friend. The best way to attract lots of old friends is to treat new friends well. Responding to each personal email is one great way to do that.

Have you ever had a family member who you also considered to be a friend? These are among the best relationships you will ever have. You should cherish their emails, just like you would a birthday present or a heart-felt hug. Be certain you respond to their emails in a timely manner, usually within 48 hours.

Some of our greatest pleasures in life come from personal emails that we exchange with Veterans, elderly relatives and pen pals. Be sure to include them in your email time.

Don’t send email which contains naughty articles or pictures of anybody. If your email gets forwarded into the wrong hands, you can be charged with lewd conduct or pornography-type crimes. If convicted of those crimes you may be forced to register as a sex offender for all the rest of your life. No short-term giggle is worth that.

JUNK EMAIL – We all get too many of these. Somehow we get on mailing lists which we don’t like.

Do not give out personal information to these people; especially your Social Security numbers, checking account or credit card information, birth date, home addresses, phone numbers etc. If the email “appears” to be from somebody you know about such as eBay or the Walt Disney Company, they do not ask for personal information this way. Instead log onto their web site and provide the information through there.

When you get this type of email, you should deal with it immediately. It is not enough to delete these items because many of them will continue to pester you. HOWEVER, REPONDING TO THEM CARRIES ITS OWN RISK.

Whenever you respond to email, the other party knows that the email address which they have for you is a correct one; and, bad people can then add your name to other lists. So, do not respond to these unless they are from somebody you know to be legitimate.

If the email is from somebody you know to be legitimate, they should provide an opportunity for you to “opt out” or “unsubscribe” from their mailing list. DO SO RIGHT AWAY! Otherwise, over time, your in-basket becomes so crowded with incoming mail it requires even more effort to wade through the mess. Once again, if their “Opt out” form requires you to provide your email address, caution should be exercised.

As sad as it is, you did not win a bazillion dollars or inherit a fortune from someone in an out-of-the-way country. If you really were entitled to such funds an attorney would send you a certified letter and you would have your own attorney respond. Other topics may be equally unwelcomed. Before you delete these emails, be sure to “block” the senders. Then you won’t have to look at their garbage again.

USEFUL – This includes exchanges you have with businesses, churches, schools, groups, officials and individuals with whom you have some sort of professional or established relationship.

There are numerous interpretations to the Golden Rule, but the basic precept applies very well: Always treat other people the way you would like to be treated.

Respond quickly. Use good manners (Please, thank you, you’re welcome).

Remain courteous, even if the other party has done something wrong. This is especially important if you are communicating with someone who is not the wrong-doer. For example, if you were billed for something you did not buy, the person on the other end of your email probably did not cause the problem. They are not the enemy. He/she is trying to help you. If you are nice to them they will want to help you.

If there is some sort of conflict, keep copies of invoices, order numbers and other pertinent communication until the transaction is completed to your satisfaction.

NOT SURE YET – Sometimes we get email that seems intriguing but we don’t immediately know what we want to do with it.

If you have been invited to an event or discover a product you find interesting, but you just aren’t sure what you want to do, mark your email as “unread” so that you will check it again soon. By then you may have a clearer picture of what you want to do.

If you are still undecided after a few days, this is probably one of those things that you find somewhat interesting but the timing is not right for you (otherwise you would have been more inclined to act on the matter.) It is usually better to purge this item or move it into a folder called “not now.” Check back occasionally and see if the matter is any clearer.


Email can be a lot of fun or an unnecessary burden. By implementing these rules you ought to be able to attend priorites, build relationships, avoid problems and use your time efficiently. Oh Yeah, there is one more thing….

PASS THIS ON; preferably, with a personal comment!

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Irreconcilable Differences

My wife and I have been married for nearly 40 years. We have had a few arguments along the way, and there is one problem that just will not go away. It does not matter how many times it comes up, the outcome is always the same. It has to do with walking.

Whenever we go walking together, whether we are in the neighborhood with our dog or on the beach at sunset or simply in the isles of the local grocery store, we have different objectives. She likes to exercise and move briskly, but I like to stroll along at a casual stride. She wants to see as many roses as possible and I want to smell them along the way.

The pattern is predictable. She will be the first one out the door as if she is leading the way. I pull in behind her like a trailer behind a truck. She instinctively tries to set a brisk pace. At first I try to keep up but when I draw closer, she accelerates to an even faster pace. It does not matter how fast I go, it is never fast enough. She cannot stand to have me at her side. She always has to be a half-step out in front as if to urge me to go just a little bit faster. Sometimes I suggest that she go at her pace and that I will go at mine and we can meet her at our destination, but then she points out that if we aren’t walking together it counters the original objective. So, that does not work.

Eventually, I realize “it” is happening again and I grab her shoulder. We have gotten to that point so many times she instantly knows what my message is. She will usually slow down for a moment or two, but she is as anxious to get going again as a kid is on Christmas morning. It is just a matter of time before her subconscious takes over and off she goes undeterred. A few moments later we are nearly jogging again.

Every once in a while a couple gets to the point where they just cannot resolve their differences. This is one of those cases. We have been going for walks for 40 years but we still cannot walk in harmony. No doubt about it, when it comes to walking together we have irreconcilable differences.

Perhaps we should visit a walk therapist.

Dont forget my other blog, currently discussing buying cars.

Stuffed Animal Lifts Head & Yawns

Stuffed Animal Lifts Head, Yawns

If you think taking six months to buy a used dog is ridiculous, you haven’t met Gracie.

It has been 35 years since we acquired our first dog.Fred was a puppy; half St Bernard and half German Sheppard. Since we were Barely in our 20’s, we were naïve about nearly all adult issues, including how to properly care for pets. We could have done much better if we knew the Ten Commandments of Pets.

Fred befuddled us right from the beginning. When we went to work, we put her in the back yard for the day, but she hated that. When we got home we found clawing damage to the back door and several slats missing from our cedar fence. I bought replacement slats by the dozens. A neighbor told us that Fred began chewing on the fencing as soon as we left home. She was so powerful she could chew through a weak slat in ten minutes or so then she got another and another until she opened up a section big enough to squeeze through. Then she ran out to the front yard for a few minutes then she returned to the back yard through the same hole. Naturally, her habit was very hard on her teeth and gums.

When I discovered new damage, I tried to discipline Fred, not knowing that she was incapable of remembering that she had misbehaved 8 hours earlier. We tried everything we could think of, including putting Tobasco sauce on the slats and tying her to a tree instead, but she just barked all day. This went on for a couple of months.

Then the people at the local Dumb Friends League (Humane Society) said Fred was just lonely. They recommended we get a companion dog and let both canines stay in the house when we stepped out. I remember being very apprehensive about letting Fred stay indoors because she was so destructive, but we loved our dog and we were willing to try their recommendation.

We found a large but very gentle Newfoundland, who filled the bill perfectly. Check out these puppies. After that, we let the dogs stay indoors as suggested and found out they were both content. Fred proved to be a 70 pound lap dog and Sabbath was even bigger. They both lived with us for another 12 years.

If we knew then, what we know now, we would have considered finding a ‘”friend” for Fred, perhaps on Craig’s List. Another option might be Doggie Day Care,

After that, our kids dominated our lives and we started to travel so we never felt like we were in the right position to own another dog, until this year. In the late spring, we sold an out-of-state property so, that allowed us to expand the family again. There are some stories in the Archive section below about selling the property and some other articles about our early efforts to find a new-to-us dog.

After several months of investigating various breeds and checking out some of the local shelters (Pet Finders has several hundred thousand animals) we zeroed in on a range of possibilities. We visited a handful of rescue facilities and each trip tugged at our hearts. We met Maxum, Sebastian, Sarge and Teddy Bear among others. They all pleaded with Patty to scratch their bellies; but for reasons unknown, perhaps divine intervention, none of those worked out.

Then we met Gracie. In an ironic twist, there is a shelter in Golden that specializes in Golden Retrievers and Golden Labs. The oft sought combination is called Glabs. We contacted the shelter with a preference list and a couple days later Gracie rolled into town. She came from a shelter in Kansas and spent a couple nights at a foster home.

She took to us right away, which is no surprise because she likes everybody including kids, seniors, other pets and a couple toys. Gracie is about three years old, 65 pounds, very loving and EXTREMELY calm. In fact, she is so at easy that I have suggested she is just one notch above a stuffed animal.

To give you an idea how unusual she is, let me share how Gracie deals with some typical dog matters: Just to be clear, she was this way when we got her, so do not wrongly assume that somehow Patty and I are dog whisperers because we are not.

Now, meet Gracie.

1) When Gracie goes for a ride in the car she immediately lays down, without being told. She does not even try to look out the window.

2) When we gave her a bath, she willingly climbed into the tub herself, then she waited patiently while we scrubbed her down, and rinsed her off. No shivering, no trying to get out, no anxiety.

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3) When a knock comes to the door, she calmly walks over to it to see who came to visit. No Barking, no protecting, no hostility.

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4) When a stranger walks in the room, no growling, no jumping, no running around. She waits for them to offer a hand and then she wags her tail and says hello.

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5) When we eat, there is usually no begging. She calmly lies down nearby. She gets a small treat in her bowl when we are finished.

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6) Gracie is very good on a leash. Naturally, she likes to sniff things as we move along, but she is basically content to stay within a few feet, always on our right side. She is a tireless jogger.

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7) She has two shoe-sized stuffed animal pets of her own. She walks around with them gently cradled in her mouth. If you try to take them away, she lets you have them. She does not chew on them or tug on them. They are more like pacifiers than tennis balls.

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8) When on a walk and the neighbors’ dogs engage in the usual territorial barking, Gracie ignores them. No conflicts ensue. She is not interested in responding to them.

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9) If she gets off her leash, she sits down and waits for you to tell her what to do. So far she has not bolted or even shown any interest in running around.

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10) She has shown no interest in checking out the top of the counters. She could easily get stuff off of thAere if she wanted to, but she is either too dumb, too lazy or too well behaved to show any interest.

Some of the above would suggest that there is no “dog” in Gracie and that has an element of truth. We are playing tag with her and trying to liven her up a bit, but mostly she is peaceful and generally speaking passive dogs don’t change much so why fight it?.

Her name before we adopted her was Li Lo. Some people were saying Lee Low; others said Lie Low; but we changed it to something that is easier to remember and does not sound like answering the phone.

Our son is putting in a nice fence and a doggy door so she can enjoy the outdoors, but for another 10 days or so we have to take her on walks. That is yet another way she has enriched us. We need the exercise.

Nobody knows much about Gracie’s past, but we are guessing she was well treated because she is not afraid, just calm. She responds to whistles and she has a rather wild tail that she cannot always contain. She is happy to meet you and she wants you to know it.

There is no doubt Gracie is special in certain ways. It is odd that nobody has attempted to claim her because Gracie is not the kind of dog that most people would willingly surrender. She is just too loveable.

We have some great plans for Gracie. More on that at a later time.

whaddya think?

feel free to drop by my other blog

91 and a Prisoner in His Own Home

The feeble old man reached out his thin and quivering hand; black and blue from his tired and ailing circulation system of 91 years. He is confined to a wheelchair now because his right leg was amputated just above the knee following a recent incident with a blood clot. The worn out old-timer has few pleasures anymore. Weak and somber, he has outlived two wives, eight brothers and sisters and one of his own children. His body and mind are so tired they belie the man he once was.

Decades earlier, a dozen talented men worked for the old timer and they were happy to do so because he treated them with respect. He was their leader, their provider, their friend. After work his crew and their families gathered at the boss’s home to wash down a few beers. Occasionally they would fetch pizzas from their favorite neighborhood eatery, but more often than not, the old man’s wife cooked Italian food or burritos for them all. They talked and laughed away many fun-filled evenings. The following morning the men would return to begin another day’s work and the pattern would be repeated. This went on for at least a generation, and so, without even trying the old man and his wife created a lifetime of memories for a parade of grateful followers.

The Colorado Mountains provided many opportunities for the old man, his wife and their friends to enjoy ice-cold streams, natural lakes and man-made reservoirs. On most weekends a caravan of campers and used motor-homes followed the old man and his wife to their favorite fishing holes. The old timer was a skilled fisherman, but rumor has it, the old man’s wife was even better. After a day of Extreme Trout Fishing, the hodgepodge of characters gathered around the campfire for marshmallows, hot dogs and trout that were so fresh they nearly flopped around in the skillet. After dinner, a friendly game of penny-ante poker, near a campfire, provided the entertainment. Naturally, the old man and his wife provided a few beers to anybody who wanted them.

Even as the passing years stole pieces of the old timer’s youth, he could still pitch horseshoes like the city champ he once was. Nobody could beat him, except the kids for some strange reason. Occasionally, the old man or his friends would rent a boat or ride motor bikes, but mostly their greatest pleasures came from collecting friends like a powerful spring storm accumulates rain drops.

We all know that all good things come to an end and so it is with the “good ol’ days” of the old-timer and his wife. Now those wonderful decades are nothing more than a faded memory in the idle mind of one old man. He is the last one standing, or should I say sitting – in his cold, leathery wheel chair.

A long time ago the old man and his friends enclosed a long porch, with a tall ceiling, that was attached to the old man’s home. They had no idea that simple project would provide the receptacle for the December of the old-timer’s life. Now, he resides, if you want to call it that, backed into a corner of the elongated room.

A sturdy, custom-made wheel-chair ramp has been constructed in the middle of the room to provide access to the remainder of his old brick home. But, the narrow room and the landing at the top of the ramp are too small for the ill-fitted contraption, so it is clumsy and painfully ineffective. To compound matters, the old man lacks sufficient strength to negotiate the pitch of the ramp or the impossible left-turn into the kitchen that is necessary at the top of the climb. So, in an ironic twist, both he and his chair are held hostage by the very ramp that was intended to provide access to a life outside of what has become his personal prison not unlike that of real senior prisoners.

That damn ramp is much like an unfriendly drunk: Obnoxious and in the way. Surly and mean, it seems to take pleasure in tripping the old man’s guests. On several occasions unsuspecting victims have fallen off of its menacing sides and cursed it as new bruises laid claim to various parts of their bodies. Whenever somebody introduces the idea of removing the defiant ramp, the old man rejects the idea as if it might rise from its own grave to haunt those who played a role in its demise. So it stays there, in the way, provoking the sane.

Since he has no real freedom, he depends on others for any mobility. The old one has gathered a brass bell which he rings whenever he needs assistance. He looks upon his phone and his bed-pan as company. He has not taken a shower or a traditional bath in over a year; those being replaced by sponge baths in his hospital-type bed. There is an electric fireplace just a few feet away. He wears layers of mismatched, but warm, clothes and backs up to the fireplace because he is always cold due to his poor circulation, which is yet another deficiency, which he and many seniors cannot escape.

The primary entry door to the enclosed back porch is at the opposite end of the old man’s quarters. There is also a nearly-antique heat-stove that the old man installed when he and his friends enclosed the space. To this day that reliable old cast-iron stove works so well it could chase Satan himself away. The old man has always enjoyed throwing logs in that old wood burner. It had become a sort of entertainment and comfort for him, especially after the death of his wife.

Like so many other innate objects, that old stove has replaced the human friends in the old timer’s life: friends that the old man once gathered like dust on a windowsill…but, the evil ramp has ruined that too. It separates him from his pot-bellied buddy and prevents him from feeding it the firewood it very much craves. In desperation, the old one prods his visitors to stuff it for him as if it will die like a house-plant that is deprived of life-giving water.

But clearer minds realize that it gets so hot in that room it seems unsafe, so they will not always accommodate his wishes. Eventually, somebody always ends up uncomfortable: The old man cannot get warm enough and the visitors are at risk of succumbing to heat stroke. In the end, the old stove has also let him down.

Sometimes family members will assist the old-timer so that he can temporarily visit the rest of his home for a few minutes, but the worthless ramp is nearly as difficult for them to ascend as it is for him. The upstairs, which is the destiny of the climb, is barely worth the trip. The home has not been remodeled, or even painted, for nearly two decades. Old fixtures, knickknacks and mementos fill outdated tables and walls. The curtains are both too dirty and too old. The living room carpeting was tired long before the old man’s wife died, which was nearly eight years ago. The bedroom in which they once slept is lonely, sterile, and dark. The bathroom, once colorful, bright and cheery, has become sadly gaudy.

Each time the old timer takes that short trip he is confronted with sad disappointment. Once upon a time, the upstairs area of his home was filled with the hustle of activities but now it is like an old train station that once escorted the masses to-and-fro, but has become nothing more than a faded ghost of its former purpose. Realizing there is no joy to be had upstairs, the old man hangs his head and resigns himself to the fact he must return to that cold enclosed porch back down the ramp; his cell.

The old-timer does not like the television or radio and his eyesight makes it impossible to read. He just sits there behind the menacing ramp, staring. Nobody knows what he is thinking. Is it the glorious past, the dubious present or is he secretly yearning to join “his people” in the afterlife? Or, is his tired old mind just floating aimlessly on cruise control? Whatever his thoughts, there can be no doubt: He is hopelessly bored and lonely like so many others like him. Naturally, his family has offered to relocate him to friendlier surroundings, but he would rather cling to the uncomfortable remnants of his past than face the uncertainty of a new enviornment.

Sadly, the old man’s story is not unique. It is the journey of many seniors. They either die or become lonely as all of their friends disappear around them, one by one. Where eyes once sparkled, sadness takes over. Aches and pains and doctor’s appointments have replaced the pleasant activities of their former lives. Worse yet, they have forfeited their future.

They like to talk about the good old days because that allows them to take temporary refuge both from their bleak present moments and their scarier future. And so it is with this particular old man. He sits there, confined and lonely, yearning for the good ol’ days.

About all that matters to him now are the occasional visits from his younger family members and keeping that fire going. These are among the few things that still give him a hint of pleasure.

As I shook his quivering hand all of these things raced through my mind as they do most times when I visit him. I tried to act cheerful because it seems to perk him up.

I know the above to be true because I have been bringing this man his firewood for many years. I do not charge him for the wood because I owe him a great debt. Besides, I love him. For you see, the old man is my step-father. Not surprisingly, he has always treated me much better than he has to, just like he treated everybody else.

His wife was my mother.

I am forever indebted to them both.

Comments Welcomed

a 10-year old thief

A 10-year old thief

I recently received a letter that lent me reason to pause.

It was written in pencil and it was from a 10-year old boy whom I did not know.

Apparently, while visiting our cabin with his parents, the youngster opened a box in the game closet and found a wad of cash (several hundred dollars) that did not belong to him or me. His first instinct was to take it, so he did.

Later that day he told his mom that he had some money and a little detective work by her uncovered the facts. She made him write the letter.

In his letter, the lad told me about his Mom, his Aunt, his Uncle, and his Grandpa. Apparently they all had a talk with him. He apologized for what he did and he was clearly sorry. I thought how fortunate he is for being surrounded by people of such fine character.

I recalled a lesson that my own father once shared with me when I was a junior in high school and Mark and I nearly emptied a full bottle of dad’s bourbon. BURP! PUKE! My dad seemed to have the right balance of recognizing that “boys will be boys” and that people can learn from their mistakes.

Sadly, some kids move from fairly innocent mistakes like Danny's misdeed into much more tragic situations. According to the office of Juvenile Justice there are over a milllion juveniles rotting away in jails right now.

All kids screw up but some of their violent crimes are hard to believe. Danny is luckier than many of those youngsters. These are among the benefits of having loving families.

Following is the letter I sent back to the youngster.

Dear Danny (not his real name),

The jails are filled with people who steal things that do not belong to them. Many of those people never had good parents or a good Uncle or Grandpa to help them when they made their mistakes. You are very fortunate to have such good people to guide you.

When I was a young fellow my father told me that everybody makes mistakes, but it is how you deal with your mistakes that determines how successful you will be.

My father would be very impressed by the way you have handled this.

You have learned to face your mistakes, even when it is hard to do.

I hope to meet you someday. Your letter proves that you are a fine fellow after all.

I forgive you because you deserve it and because I have made mistakes too.

Sincerely,

Mr. Thyfault

I think his parents grounded him for a couple weeks for taking something that didn’t belong to him and they also hugged him for being so truthful.

When it comes to Danny’s family it is like I said earlier, the jails are filled with people who were not so lucky.

Your Comments are welcomed

Sister Carol

Margie, Sarah, Carol, David, Janet, Jeanine, Cherlyn
Shirley, Albert

When I was 8 years old my parents got a divorce, so my sister and I lived with our mother for nearly two years. Then, mom married a man who had 4 daughters, and within another couple years a new baby joined the clan, yet another girl. That left me with six sisters: one full-blooded sister, 4 step sisters and a half sister.

Fast forward five decades and add a bunch of kids, grandkids, great-grandkids, and a wild collection of friends along with a lifetime of activities and you can believe me when I say my family is cool, weird, eccentric, goofy, fascinating and a whole lot of other adjectives.

In spite of a couple bumps in the road along the way, that offbeat gang of siblings has stayed in tact for five decades. However all good things must come to an end and a few days ago the inevitable day came when the first of the group had to fall. Carol was the second oldest. She lost a battle with cancer. MSNBC has released an article suggesting that some cancer deaths are down, but there are still a half-million deaths each year. According to the Mayo Clinic, cancer is the second leading casue of death in women.

Whenever someone dies, there is a tendency to focus on the loss, but in Carol’s case it is much better to focus on all of the great days she brought us. That is because Carol was the wacky one.

If you have ever watched America’s Funniest Home Videos you have seen people like her. Sometimes Carol could be absent minded. She is the kind of person who climbs in the wrong car at the shopping center or puts gas in her car and drives off without putting the hose back. In the early years, if somebody spilled milk at the dinner table, it was most likely Carol.

Carol had a colorful youth. For instance, she is one of the only people I have ever known to give themselves a tattoo. She installed the initials of an old boyfriend in her hand long before tattoos were fashionable. As I said, Carol was the wacky one.

She was not always the most feminine of females and she was fully willling to speak her mind. In fact, she knew a few words that would embarrass the most boisterous characters in a prison locker room. And she was not afraid to use them if she thought it was the best way to make a statement.

As the years ticked by Carol’s antics grew in number. Whenever the family would get together, we frequently relived her goofy days and Carol loved to participate in the conversation. The tales would go round and round. Whenever somebody would remind everybody else of the time that Carol did this or that, she would make certain that some other, equally funny episode, was not overlooked.

About six months ago, Carol reminded us of one such event that had faded into the archives of tired minds. But once she brought it up, sister Janet, remembered the entire ordeal and affirmed the story. Within a few seconds we were all smiling and giggling as Carol relived one of the most memorable pranks of her youth.

As the story goes, Carol was only about sixteen at the time and "borrowed" one of the family cars to go for a joy ride with a few friends. The vehicle in question was one of those old bubble-shaped tank-type cars of the fifties. It had a stick shift, and a giant steering wheel, and no power steering.

Lots of teenagers liked to smoke in those days because it made them feel cool and mature. Carol’s friends were all "acting cool" in that automobile and she had a lit cigarette danging from her lower lip as she came upon a large bump in the road. Naturally, the absent-minded Carol was not paying attention.

Upon impact, the old clunker of a car suddenly jolted skyward. Carol basically lost control of the giant steering wheel and the cigarette flipped upside down and the lit end actually penetrated her nostril. The impact was so substantial that it went up there so far that it could not fall out on its own.

In the mean time everybody else was bouncing around inside that car. Carol’s own instincts were at odds with themselves because she needed to regain control of the car and also attend the lit butt in her nose; but, what to do first? Apparently, she slapped at her nose to get rid of the cig, but she only managed to ram it up there further. As her nose was burning she somehow managed to stop the car and remove the smoking tobacco stick from her blistered nostril and let out a few of those profanities I told you about. Her nose took several days to heal.

As the two sisters told us all the story, they got to laughing so hard I thought they were both going to wet their pants. And, you know how contagious laughing can be. We all knew about Carol’s unusual ability to get into "I love Lucy" type situations. We all knew it was true, and another legendary story was added to an already full book.

Carol had lots of other wonderful qualities and I will never forget them, but the one thing that will stick with us all is how she gave us a lifetime of joy and humor.

We all thank God for Carol.

She was the wacky one.

We miss her already.

Your comments are welcomed

The Misadventures of Whitey and Brownie

Whitey and Brownie - checking out the bird house in back yard

Last Friday Patty and I ended up with a couple of stray hunting dogs (See two previous articles).

Yesterday, our friend Bob called. One of his buddies said he would love to have Whitey and Brownie because he already had another German Shorthaired Pointer and he loved the breed. Naturally, we wanted to make every effort to contact the owner first so we told them to stand by, just in case they were needed.

A little later we made contact with the vet whose name was on Whitey’s tag. The vet knew about the dogs. As it turns out Whitey and Brownie have other names: Clark and Mollie. The vet also had a working cell phone number for the owner.

Their owner, Adam, moved into The Denver area about a month ago. He rented a home in a semi-seedy town about three miles away. Apparently Adam went out of town last week for a couple days and left the dogs with a neighbor who was unable to contain them. By the time we found them, they had been on their own for about 48 hours. Somehow they managed to get by without Patty until then.

Adam was supposed to be by our home around 3:30 to pick up the pointers but he was 2 hours late so I put in a follow-up call. I thought his tardiness might indicate that he really didn’t care all that much about them, so I told him about Bob’s friend; but, Adam assured me he did indeed want to get them back. Adam drove over to get the dogs in a run down van. He appeared to be about 25 years old. Both Adam’s neighborhood and his van told me that he lacks the financial means to properly care for those special dogs.

It looked like the van had already driven around the earth a few times. There was a for sale sign in the window. He only wanted $800, or best offer, for the beat up old van. Each of those dogs was worth approximately that amount. I felt sorry for Clark and Mollie. But in spite of my deep reservations, I had handled the original phone call in such a way that there was no doubt Adam was their owner. I had to give them to him. I invited him into our home.

When we entered the room, something was different. Clark and Mollie were going nuts. I have seen dogs enthusiastically greet their owners many, many times, but I had never seen two dogs get that pumped up. They were whining and jumping all over him. He reached down to acknowledge them and it was obvious the feeling was mutual. He took a seat on our sofa and the two dogs mauled him with love, crying and doggie kisses. They were not content to be next to him or sit on his lap. They took turns jumping up on his head, each one pushing the other one out of the way because they both wanted to engulf him. He was hugging them and assuring them that the feeling was mutual. It was one of the funniest and most touching displays I had ever seen. Even though they had not seem him for 5-6 days they knew exactly who he was and they were thrilled. They obviously all really loved each other.

As we got to know Adam, I completely changed my mind about him. He adopted both of those dogs which says a lot for him. And the actions of those happy, happy dogs screamed to me that the feeling was mutual. I have concluded that Adam may not be able to afford the best home or the best van, but his heart is filled with riches and he really does have his priorities figured out after all. Clark and Mollie made that perfectly clear.

After they all drove off, Patty and I were so happy everything ended so well, we savored a celebration hug. But we did not jump all over each other’s head like the dogs did when they saw Adam. Darn.

The lasting message from this tale is that a first impression told one story, but two energetic pointers, Clark and Mollie, told a quite a different one. The true one. Adam deserves them after all.

God Bless them.

more pictures added to two previous posts

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Doggie Update

Doggy Update

A couple of days ago we invited two stray dogs to spend the weekend with us. In the mean time, some additional facts have visited us. For one thing another neighbor has stated that the canines had been "runnng around" the area for several days before we caught them. Since there are some coyotes and larger dogs around, the strays were not especially safe. That probably led to some anxiety for them. In addition, German Shorthair Pointers are bred for bird-hunting so they are very excitable around the feathered critters. Once they found themselves inside and sperated from all that angst, they slept for about sixteen of the first twenty-four hours.

My friend, Bob, said that premium hunting-dogs like those are fairly valuable, probably in the $800 range. That made me think that the real owners might assume we were trying to steal them, so I called the police. They had received other calls about the dogs in the previous few days that the dogs were running around. I spoke with an officer and told him we (Patty) took them to the vet and we were treating kennel cough and got rid of the fleas. He was glad they were safe and not running around, exposing themselves and others to risk.

Since our yard is not fenced, we had to walk them on leashes. They are high energy dogs who were not trained to walk on a leash. Their natural instincts take over so they want to sniff the ground in search of prey. They are so enthusiastic about their mission they "work" very quickly. Their high energy demands attention. They want to work: sniffing quickly for rabbits and birds. They also like chasing a tennis ball or going for a jog. We have tennis balls but we cannot take them outside unless they are leashed, so we throw the balls for them in the house.

We had to have a way to refer to them, so we named the white male "Whitey". The female has a lot of natural brown color to her coat, so she came to be called "Brownie".

They are smart dogs and caught on quickly. When we walk them separately, Whitey misses his sister to the point that he cries until she returns. He is so attached to his sister, I would hate to see the two of them separated. He is the more hyper of the two. he needs her. Our yard is filled with birds, rabbits and squirrels. Whenever one happens past, Whitey goes crazy. He wants to go work. He "points".

Brownie is calmer and happy to sit next to you, but she has had a couple "accidents".

They are both affectionate dogs and want to be appreciated. They obey some basic commands and love to cuddle. Overall it is easy to see why people like the breed. They are high-energy, lovable, loyal, enthusiastic, and attractive. I have not noticed any shedding. They weigh about 35 pounds.

Today is Monday. We are hoping to hook up with the animal hospital whose name is on Whitey’s tag, but several calls to them have gone unanswered. We have also tried to make contact with the local rescue group, but they have not returned calls either. We will stick with these precious dogs until we find a suitable alternative. They will be wonderful pets for the right family, but that is clearly not us. We want one larger dog, that is less demanding.

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Patty's Critters

Patty’s Critters

I love my wife.

After 40 years of marriage she still does things at which I marvel. The most recent episode began some time ago, but began to take shape just yesterday.

We have a sidewalk about 40 foot long, that leads to and from our back door. It serves as a buffet counter for some of Patty’s Critters. We discovered a few years back that we have to spread the goodies all up and down the sidewalk because there are so many of them they quarrel over whose food it is.

The whole thing is humorous because there is enough food for all of them. Patty sees to that. She doesn’t just throw out food scraps either. That would not be good enough for Patty’s Critters. She usually has at least 4 different store-bought bags of various food types. We have corn kernels, sunflower seeds, and various mixtures of seeds and pellets by our back door.

Once every day or so, Patty makes a run down the runway to provide for her friends. While she is out there she cleans the birdbath and replaces it with water for her feathered friends so they will have a clean place to poop and drink (Yech!) The backdrop to all of this is a wall of roses. Guess who takes care of those.

Yesterday, around 9:00, a couple of young Irish Setters came romping through our back yard. We tried to catch them so we could find out who they belonged to but they darted off so fast we lost sight of them. Patty put out some water in case they decided to come back. A short time later a coyote came strolling by. Not long after that I noticed a full display of birds feasting on the abundant menu of gourmet food that Patty puts out for them. A short time later Patty was enjoying the fact that a rabbit was hiding in the engine compartment of her car.

A group of squirrels is called a dray or a scurry. While Patty was smiling at the little rabbit, a dray was watching her in the front yard and a scurry was waiting for her in the back. For the name of other animal groups click here.

This morning our neighbor called. He said that two stray young dogs spent the night under his back deck and he didn’t know what to do. They were the two setters I mentioned earlier. He noted that Patty is known to Foster dogs from time to time so he enlisted her aid. Naturally, she took over.

A few minutes later the young energetic beasts were gulpping down water like SpongeBob Square Pants would absorb liquid gold. Then she gave them both a good sized dish of dog food with both dry stuff and a can of tastier food mixed in. Since we don’t have dogs of our own, this is just another example of how she likes to be ready because sometimes our boys bring their dogs over for a while. You should see how excited those dogs get when they see Patty.

Within a half hour she had the names off the collars and placed a long distance call to the name and number on the tags. It is some animal hospital in South Dakota. There was no answer, so she left a message. Patty assumed that whoever owned the dogs would want them back promptly so rather than just sit around and wait for the phone to ring, she decided to take them to our vet (Our vet? We don’t have any pets).

Patty asked if they would check to see if the dogs had a chip implant so that they could find the owner. The vet, Bouton’s Veterinary Hospital knows Patty by her first name and they know her heart. They agreed to take a look, for free.

Like most dogs, the setters were enthusiastic about going for a ride with Patty. They all got back a little while ago. The vet told Patty the breed name is actually German Shorthair Pointer. They have no implants but they both have a mild case of kennel cough and they both have a few fleas. Patty brought home some medicine, which the vet gave her for free, for the kennel cough and she is giving them a bath now to get rid of the fleas.

Patty is in a bit of a hurry though, because she still has a couple of elderly people and a sick person she wants to visit later today.

I love my wife. Is it any wonder?

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Crusin the Elb River

One of my favorite trips was just a few years ago with a high school buddy, Mark Walker and his very special wife, Ligia.

Prior to that, I had always wanted to go on some sort of a cruise, but Patty was afraid she might get sea sick, so whenever the conversation came up she found some skillful way to change the subject.

Then one time Mark suggested we join him and Ligia on a river cruise. They were very well traveled and they were thinking of a trip down the Elb River from Berlin, Germany and ending up in the Czech Republic in Prague. The Walkers pointed out that river cruises are much calmer than the ocean cruises and after some minor arm-twisting, Patty agreed to give it a try.

We flew nonstop to Munich then took another plane to Berlin where a Mercedes van picked us up at the airport and delivered us to our boat. The cruise lasted about 5 days. We ate like kings and visited all sorts of river towns that were struggling for survival by catering to the tourists. There were quite a few memories along the way, but my favorite part was a giant fortress in Konigstein that was over 300 years old. When we stood on the top of the wall it was fascinating to imagine what the original occupants must have lived like so many decades earlier. The picture above is part of the main wall. Notice how small the people are on top of that wall and ask yourself how they could have built such an incredible structure.

Eventually, we landed in Prague which was our final destination. It is a beautiful town but man oh man is it crowded, even though we were there near the end of the tourist season. I bought a coffee cup in one of the gift shops there. One of the highlights was a 400 year old Catholic church that was about 6 stories tall. The stained glass windows and open ceilings made a person gawk in awe and wonder how they could have built such an incredible building way back then. There was also the popular Charles Bridge that is over 600 years old. It still carries hundreds of people a day from one side of the river to the other. Our second day there, I had back problems and never got out of my room, but I only missed a few sites.

After we were back and had a chance to reflect on the trip, I thought it was certainly worth it, but I knew I would probably never go on another cruise. Fortunately, Patty never did get sick and she enjoyed the entire experience. But as far as I was concerned, it was an awfully long boat ride for relatively few sights.

Next time, I would just fly to a particular destination, say Berlin, and stay there for a few days. Then, I would fly to another city, perhaps London, and enjoy that place on a more thorough basis. At least I found out what a cruise was like. But we have boats, restaurants, relaxation and other cruise benefits right here in Colorado. I will pass on the boat ride next time and fly instead.

Now I am going to go have a cup of coffee in my Prague cup, thanks to Mark, Ligia and Patty.

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Happy Birthday to Patty

Happy Birthday to Patty

Little Patty Sourwine was born July 30, 1949. This month that lovable little girl will celebrate her 60th birthday. I am pleased to have shared over two-thirds of them with her.

The first time we celebrated one of her birthdays was in the late 60’s. We were boyfriend/girlfriend at the time and about to get married. We completed the simple ceremony in the winter of 1970, just two days before Christmas. When we took our vows we said things like, “til death do us part.” Now it looks like that is how it is going to be. Don’t read into that comment, neither of us has a fatal illness or anything like that. It is just that we have gotten so accustomed to each other that I just don’t see either one of us seeking greener pastures. Besides, I still love her and she tells me and demonstrates that the feeling is mutual so that is that. The truth is, the longer I know her and the more I learn about her the more I love her.

Now that I have spent nearly a lifetime with her, I can say that Patty has grown in ways I could never have imagined. Here are a few of the ways she has impressed me:

Compassion: Anybody who has known Patty is aware of her kindness. You can see it in the way she deals with pets, the elderly, strangers, friends, family and children. She even feels sorry for mice in traps and droopy flowers.

Lover: I guess if you haven’t gotten better in this regard after 40 years of marriage, you ought to call for a “do over”.

Beauty: Patty is not an especially vain woman, but she has always made an effort to look nice. She does not overdo jewelry or makeup. She just lets her natural beauty speak for itself. She is still eye candy to me.

Matured gracefully: Gravity, father-time and chocolate have played a few tricks on Patty, but she just doesn’t dwell on those things. She likes who she is and I do too.

Mommy: Wow, what a mom. I always knew Patty would shine in this category, but she has exceeded any expectations I may have had.

Dogs: If you like to have your tummy scratched you will find Patty to be among your very best friends.

Patience: This is an example of a quality that reveals itself over time. There is no way I could have ever known how strong Patty would be in this department, especially in dealing with an aging parent.

House keeper: As hard as it is to believe, Patty actually derives some pleasure from making the family home a comfortable place to be. I don’t help her enough but she seems to want to do it her way so I don’t see any reason to fight with her over it.

Driver: Over the years, my vision has deteriorated and Patty has become our chauffer. She never complains and she is a very safe driver.

Fun: There is a difference between loving someone and liking them. Patty has earned both. We have done so many things together it is almost a sin of gluttony. We have climbed peaks, walked in beach sand, sat in the front row of concerts, rented an entire luxury box at sporting events, visited faraway lands and laughed together until our stomachs hurt. She is a wonderful best friend.

Church/faith: When we first got married this was not a big part of our lives, but over time, she has found her place and she remains very steady and at peace with her beliefs.

Employee: Patty spent 25 years trying to make cancer patients more comfortable. She showed great promise right away and spent the majority of her career as a coordinator of her department; often giving treatments to dozens of patients each day. Many of the family members sent thank you notes to her for the way she handled their loved ones. Imagine how proud I am of her for that.

Naturally, I always knew Patty was special, but these are a few of the ways that she has surprised and amazed me.

As our time together begins to wind down, we can count over 200 birthdays that we have shared: 40 of hers, 40 of mine, 30 each for our two sons, and probably another one or two each year of somebody else.

I don’t know of any way to make this birthday of hers as special as she deserves it to be. We will probably play the Beatles Birthday song because that has become a ritual for us. We might go out and eat or have the boys over because these too have become common but cherished activities.

Her milestone will not be celebrated by the masses, but I can tell you I am very grateful to have spent over 15,000 days with her.

I guess all that is left to say is Happy birthday, Darlin’. Thanks for sharing your wonderful self with me all of this time.

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Get Back

Get Back

When it comes to reviewing the ominous side of owning our particular condo on the beach, there were only two events in 12 years that were worth noting. The first one was waking up to the disaster on the morning of nine-eleven. The only other negative experience happened within the first year.

That November I decided to go to the condo by myself. I was planning on doing a little late season albacore fishing and otherwise just loafing.The first issue was the transportation.

My friend Bob had a left over one-way airline ticket that was nearing an expiration date and Bob agreed to sell me his ticket for half price. The airlines had not yet been through the nine-eleven experience so their procedures were much looser. But there were still Federal aviation laws and the ticket was not supposed to be transferable, so our secret little plan needed to be kept to ourselves.

So we went to the airport together and Bob checked in as if he was the person traveling. They took my bag without any hesitation. After Bob got his boarding pass, we went around the corner and he handed it to me. From there, I just got on the plane, as Bob, and it seemed like our plan was going to work just fine. Then, just as I was sliding into my seat, an unexpected bummer visited me.

You may have heard the term" ruptured disc" or "herniated disc" or "bulging disc" but no matter what you call it, the pain is incredible. That was the first time it had ever happened to me. If I wasn’t pretending to be Bob, I would have gotten off the plane right then. But, then I remembered that issue about my bag. If I got off the plane they would later have to return the luggage but it was labeled with my name rather than Bob’s name. I wasn’t sure if I had broken any laws or if my arrangement with Bob was just a matter of harmlessly misleading the specific airline. I didn’t want to have to explain myself. As painful as it was, I forced myself to sit down in Bob’s assigned seat.

If you ever knew anybody with a ruptured disc, you know that the best way to relieve the pain is to lay down and take the pressure off of it. Nobody would recommend sitting upright in an uncomfortable airline seat. The thrust of the plane during take-off forced me back into the seat and the pain intensified. Once the plane was in the air I asked the other guy who was in my row with me if he would move to some other seat on the plane so that I could lay down across the three seats in my row. He agreed and I was able to release some of the pressure as I sprawled out the best I could, but it was still very uncomfortable, laying there like a wounded beached whale.

When the plane landed I waddled to the baggage area and asked a younger fellow to grab my bag off the carousel and I felt some mental relief because I had successfully eliminated any risk of getting caught misleading the airline; but my problems were just beginning. I still did not know that I had a ruptured disc, let alone what to do about it. I didn’t know if a day’s rest was all I needed or what I should do. I decided to try to get to the condo and see if the problem would just go away with a little rest.

I usually took a shuttle from the airport to the condo, but they stop at quite a few places along the way so I dragged myself to the taxi area knowing it was going to cost a small fortune to take a 25 mile ride. Once we arrived at the condo, the meter said I owed the driver $75. I gave him $100, 3 times the cost of the shuttle service.

Inside, I should have iced the back to cut the swelling but I never even thought of it. I just laid on the couch and hoped for a speedy recovery. It would be several more days before I felt like getting off the couch. In the interim, other complications were about to take over.

Somewhere along the way, perhaps from laying down in the airplane or taxi, I got a cold. My nose became a faucet, making rest very elusive. Getting off the couch was painful and countless trips to the bathroom to blow my nose was too much for the pipes. The toilet clogged and it would not clear on its own. Fortunately, we have a second bathroom so I used it for the next couple of days, but I disposed all additional Kleenex in a trash can after that.

After several days I was still very sore, but I thought I might be able to make it the hardware store to get a plunger. At the time, we kept an economy car at the property and I soon discovered that getting in and out of the tiny vehicle was very painful; however, I could not lay on a couch, sniffling, forever. I decided to tough it out.

When I came out of the hardware store I noticed one of the tires on the little car was completely flat. I know not to drive on a flat tire, but the swelling and pain in my back were still severe enough that I was not about to climb around in the trunk to pull out the jack and tire, let alone operate a jack to lift the car.

I knew of a tire repair shop about 5 miles away, so I decided to drive on the flat tire and rim, knowing full well that I would have to buy a whole new tire. I am wrong lots of times, but not that time. The tire was destroyed and needed to be replaced. Eventually I got back to the condo and quickly fixed the stool . At least I did not need to call a plumber.

The disc that caused all the problems is known as L3. It is in the loser back. It ruptured quite a few times after that and eventually a surgeon removed most of it. That helped quite a bit but I still wrestle with my back nearly every day.

That whole episode certainly adds up to one giant bummer, but when we compare it to all of the pleasure that the condo has given us, along with hundreds of other people, it is a price I am willing to pay.

The Day America Grew Up

The Day America Grew Up

In recent posts I have been discussing the process of selling a condo-on-the-beach, which Patty and I have owned for a dozen years. Most recently, I have identified the favorite experience of both Patty and me.

After writing those pieces, I decided to flip the coin over to find out it there had been any negative experiences at the condo. Fortunately, I could only come up with 2 negative events. First the simple one. I happened in our fourth year.

One fall, the Albacore fishing was especially good and I flew out there by myself for a few days of extreme fishing. I arrived late one evening and I was planning on sleeping in the next morning. Somewhere around 7:00 a.m. I got a surprise phone call from my oldest son, Adam.

After a groggy hello, Adam asked me if I was watching TV. I assured him I was not even awake, let alone watching TV. He proceeded to tell me some hair-brained fairytale about some unusual hijacking. He persisted in his story,so I turned on the boob tube just in time to watch a jet plane crash into the second building at the World Trade Center.

Later that day, after watching endless replays of the crash and the towers falling down, I realized there wasn’t anything I could do about it so I elected to go fishing anyway. Naturally, the buzz on the boat was all about the day that later came to be known as nine-eleven.

San Diego has a powerful military presence and when we returned from fishing the Coast Guard entered our boat, and others like it, to be certain there was nothing dangerous on board. I guess a fisherman could have beaten an innocent person over the head with a sea bass. Fortunately. they did not consider that to be a substantial risk so they let us enter the harbor.

I returned to the condo and the news of the time was so unbelievable that I joined the rest of the nation in shock. All sorts of experts were trying to figure out who had done that to us and why. That was the first time I heard of Osama Bin Laden and Al Queda.

The next few days we watched our new young President and the Mayor of New York try to put the pieces together for us. After that we would all learn about the people of the middle east and their religion. It was a very sobering week.

I was among the masses who still had a lot to learn about the region and its various peoples.
As you know, things have never been the same since then.

Ironically, the only other negative experience that I associate with the condo also involves a very ominous plane ride. This time, I was a passenger. I will fill you in next time.
　
　

A Special Fishing Trip

A Special Fishing Trip

Welcome! My wife and I are in the process of selling our home-away-from-home, which is a lovely beach-front condo in a northern suburb of San Diego. In previous posts you can find out how and why we decided to sell it as well as Patty’s favorite memory at the property after 12 years. This post is a follow-up to the most recent one in which I identified my favorite experience, and which was the time I went deep-sea fishing with my life-long pal, Ed. In that post you will find out why Ed means so much to me. Now we are going to discuss the special fishing trip itself.

Albacore fishing out of San Diego is the ultimate experience in the San Diego area. One reason is that the Pacific’s water temperature has to be just right or the prized tuna won’t even come within reach; and that only happens once every four years or so. As you guessed, our great fishing trip was right in the middle of one of the best albacore runs in recent history. Ed had never been albacore fishing before. I had gone about a dozen times. But Ed loved fishing and I knew if things went just right, this would prove to be the highlight of all his fishing experiences.

My preferred boat for this purpose is commonly found in an area know as Fisherman’s Landing. It is called the Pacific Queen. It holds about 50 fishermen and has some VERY SMALL cabins for sleeping during the long rides to and from the fishing grounds. Most of the other boats pack all of their patrons into a large bunk room below deck, and that makes it difficult to get any sleep. The owner of the Queen was Mr Makewin. I never actually met him. On some occasions, the Queen would offer "limited party" trips in which only 24 fishers were allowed. These were much better becasue there was more room and the crew could give each man more time and attention. The price was higer, coming in at about $200 per person for a 36-hour thrill. Our trip was indeed one of those limited party days.

Ed and I got on board about 8:00 one evening. The picture above was taken on the deck of the Queen just before we took off. While everybody was busy settling in and registering, the boat eased its way out into the bait tank area and picked up hundreds of pounds of frisky anchovies, which are usually the bait of choice for the prized tuna. That accomplished, we began the all-night trek to the fishing grounds. Before taking up bunks the fishers tend to chat a bit and I was surprised to learn that Mr. Makewin had recently sold the boat.

The Queen is big and only moves along at about 12 knots or 10 miles per hour. It runs on diesel fuel and the scent of the fuel is fairly noticeable. That might make it difficult for some people to sleep, but the rocking of the boat as it navigates it way, is so soothing I never had any problem dropping off.

The boats in the fleet have incredible navigational equipment and can return to the precise spot where the albacore were last known to be, but that is not a foolproof system because the elusive sports fish tend to follow water currents around and those are somewhat unpredictable. This particular trip the school of fish was so large, said to be in the hundreds of thousands, that the captain had no problem finding them.

The boat’s motors shut down about 6:00 a.m. and everybody knew we arrived. The captain got on the microphone and told us his equipment revealed that there were many thousands of 30 pound fish, just below the boat. He knew chaos would be the song of the day so he needed to establish some ground rules. We jumped out of our bunks in nervous excitement and noticed the smell of fried bacon and fresh coffee had overtaken the usual whiff of diesel fuel. We gathered round the galley area and learned important safety issues and certain procedures like how to get those frisky anchovies out of the bait tank and onto a hook.

To the inexperienced fishers the "announcement" ritual is a bit nerve racking because it seems like the fish might get away, but it you think about it, where are they going to go? Besides, if they do migrate a bit the boat has fish finders and can usually remain adrift right on top of them. Before long, there was nothing left to do but go fishing. My great friend and I joined all of the others.

When an albacore takes your anchovy it is one of the most exhilarating experience you can imagine. The big fish takes a deep, deep dive and the line peels off your reel so fast that it hums. You worry that you are going to run out of line and the fish might pull you overboard. But the crew members are quick to help less-experienced fishermen and they tell you exactly when to set the hook and how to slow the powerful tuna down. When the big fish strikes, someone yells "Hook up" and everyone knows they are biting.

It was just a matter of minutes before the first fish was hooked. "Hook up" And then somebody else caught one, "Hook up" then another and another and another "Hook up, Hook up, Hook up." Twelve to fifteen guys had a fish on the line, all at the same time. It was enough to make a fellow drool.

One fish would go left and another one would go deep while still another would go right and yet another was very close to the boat. The crew members have to work like crazy to help everybody avoid getting their lines all tangled up with each other. Sometimes they just couldn’t do it and several lines would join together into such a tangled mess that all the lines had to be cut and everybody had to start over and get new hooks and anchovies.

Most of the action is at the stern, the back of the boat. I was within that group and landed a couple of the prey. That sounds rather insignificant, but those fish are big and powerful. It takes a lot of effort and time to get any one of them to the boat and then on board. My arms were burning from the wrestling matches. Ed took a position at the front of the boat where there were only a couple of fishers, so I only saw him a couple of times. Since there were so many fish to be had I assumed he was doing just fine.

Meanwhile, somebody new was constantly yelling "Hook up." The crew helped the beginners and let the better fishermen fend for themselves. "Hook up" over and over again. Each guy landing all of the powerful gamefish his poor arms could manage. For the next hour or so, there were so many 30 pound fish that the only guys who weren’t hooked up were the ones in the bathroom or galley or taking a break or the ones tying on new hooks.

After nearly 2 hours, the deck was cluttered with dozens of flopping fish. Blood was everywhere and the deck was slippery because of it. Fishermen were stepping all over each other as the boat rocked up and down with the sea waves. Finally, the crew had to shut everybody down to clean up the mess. They dropped many dozens of fish through hatches in the deck to be processed later. Then they cleaned the deck for another assault. Meanwhile, an exhausted group of fishers grabbed a quick breakfast and compared stories.

Naturally, I sought out Ed to see how he was doing. He told me I was crazy for spending so much time at the stern with all of the other fellows. I responded by explaining to him that is where the action usually is. Then he hit me with a surprise. There was an old-timer up on the bow with him who was personally coaching him and they had landed more fish than I had, and without all the craziness. His coach was Mr. Makewin, the former owner of the boat. Imagine that!

While all the rest of us were trying to figure out how to catch tuna on the stern, Ed was fishing with the most respected man in the entire fishing fleets of San Diego. If Ed had to pay for Mr Makewin’s personal coaching, he could not have afforded it. As it worked out Mr. Makewin, was granted some free trips on his former boat out of respect and this was one of those times. I cannot imagine a better way to introduce my life-long buddy to the wonderful and crazy world of albacore fishing.

Natrurally, everybody caught their limit of the 30-pound deep-diving tuna and the crew even took a few extra fish back to give to their own friends and family as well as a facility that provides for seniors. We caught so many fish we didn’t know what to do with them all so we just started throwing them back. Everybody caught their fill and wore out their arms. What an incredible experience.

On the way home we compared notes, ate albacore and complimented the crew. I especially enjoyed talking with Mr. Makewin and my buddy Ed. The memory of that special trip is branded into the back of my head and I will savor it forever because my very dear friend Ed died just a few months later. While we were on that trip, we had no idea that Ed had cancer. Naturally, Ed’s death hurt me quite a bit. As I mentioned in my previous post, I really loved Ed.

This story offers us a fine example of why we need to appreciate the special people in our lives. This wonderful time with Ed lends me a reason to celebrate. I cannot imagine a better way to say good-bye to my pal of 40 years.

And, that is why albacore fishing with Ed is my favorite experience from our years in the San Diego area.

Meet Ed

Meet Ed

If you are joining me for the first time, I am in the midst of a mini-series regarding the sale of a condominium that Patty and I own in California. The previous post was about Patty’s favorite memory after a fantastic 12-year run. This entry is about my favorite memory. It involves the time Ed and I went tuna fishing, out of San Diego.

Before I tell you about the trip itself, a little back ground information is in order. Once you understand my relationship with Ed, I think you will apprecaite why the fishing trip means so much to me. I met Ed when I was 10 years old. He was almost 9. In the picture of two sockless buddies, Ed is wearing the white shirt; It looks like my pants are torn.

I was raised in a family of manly men. There was not much public affection among them, especially man to man. I remember saying when I was a kid "boys don’t hug boys". I don’t know who planted that idea in my mind, but it illustrates the silly barriers that the men in my family kept between themselves.

Even though my father and I loved each other, the only time I remember hugging him was when he was in his casket after suffering a fatal heart attack at age 61. Before that, neither of us ever said I love you to each other. We kind of hinted around at it. We would say things like "We love you guys" In my case, "We" meant Patty and me, and "you guys" meant my dad and my step mother, Bridget. Somehow, dragging the girls into it and making it into "gang love" made all that lovey dovey talk easier to deal with.

Ed’s family was the opposite. They were Italian and very animated. The men hugged everybody including each other. At their family functions they would hug when they entered the room for the first time. After that they would get a glass of wine and start arguing. Wild hand gestures were the norm. They bonded by getting loud and calling each other names. When it was time to go home they would all hug again because the bond mattered more than anything else. They seemed to have their own priorities ln proper order.

When Ed and I grew up together we never did resort to that huggy/kissy/affection stuff but one day, when we were in our 40's, Ed broke the ice. We had just come home from another fishing trip and as he got out of my truck, when I dropped him off at his home, he said, "I love you, man." Even though we had shared several decades, he caught me off guard. I did indeed love him too, but "Boys don’t hug boys" you know, let alone say those 3 particular words that are reserved for the women folk. I couldn’t bring myself to return the verbal affection. I think I grunted something affirmative like, "uh huh." But Ed was not deterred.

Thereafter, Ed stuck with it. He concluded each new meeting and every phone call the same way, "I love you". Before long it just came out. I said it too. It was natural after all. From that moment on, I was Italian, or at least it seemed like it. Ed was like a very dear brother to me. I loved him and I no longer cared who heard me say it. We shared lots of hugs and lots of I love yous after that.

My loving Italian brother taught me that boys do hug boys after all! Affection is normal and so is showing it and saying it. Now I am a chronic hugger. I even hug Patty a lot more. I am especailly glad that my own sons will not have to wait until I am in my casket to hug me or to say I love you. We all have Ed to thank for that priceless gift.

Now that you know how important Ed has been to me, you might understand why a fishing trip with him means so much to me. On the other hand, if you knew how many times Ed and I went fishing together you might wonder why one particular trip can be more important than all the others.

In my next post, I will tell you all about that very special day.