#3612

Saturday morning ... not a normal morning for the two of us.  Up at 5:30 am.  No coffee, no breakfast but hurry, hurry, hurry to get to downtown Flint Michigan to witness the 34th running of the  Crim Festival of Races 10 mile road race.  The little run about town is actually one of the foremost 10 mile races in the country with runners coming from all over to compete.  World class athletes compete for some pretty sweet prize money, too. 

Now if you expected just a few hundred runners you'd be woefully under-guessing.  Try over 16,000 total for all the races.  Yup ... that's over sixteen thousand!  Keep in  mind that on a normal day in Flint you might find a couple of hundred people spread around the downtown area.  Picture this ... 16,000 racers and probably 40,000 spectators lining the various courses.  The 10 mile run alone had over 10,000 entrants.  Flint was alive again.  There were races for all ages and abilities from 1k to 10 miles in length.

But we really didn't care about all those thousands of runners here for the big spectacle ... we were here to see just one particular runner.  Our son, Steve, was making his inaugural attempt to run those rugged ten miles.  Training for the past several months in one of the hottest summers in years, he kept at it adding miles to his routine until he was able to do the 10 miles. 

Now it's nearly race time.  A little nervousness was apparent as Steve prepared for the start.  His soon mom-to-be wife, Jenny, helped him with his race documents and gave him a steady stream of moral support as did his mother-in-law Sharyn, as well as my Sharon and me.  The excitement was building.

Downtown Flint was bulging with racers of all shapes, ages and colors and before long Steve headed off for the start line.  He quickly disappeared into the mass of runners.  I'm pretty sure the three of us each said a little silent prayer on his behalf that he'd not have any problems ... though he probably didn't know it.

I grabbed my camera and headed off towards the starting line only to discover I was lost in the throngs of runners and had no idea where Steve was.  No big deal I thought ... I'd catch him as he rounded the block about a mile from the start.  I headed over to a spot I thought I'd see him only to find the crowd of onlookers three deep.  I did get there just in time to see the lead runners go by.  Three Kenyans whose long, lean legs were stretched out and hitting the pavement at a steady cadence most runners could only dream of.  Already they were pulling away from the pack.  And keep in mind the pack for this race was over 10,000 strong.  I waited as hundreds upon hundreds went racing by.  Straining to find Steve amongst the thousands.  Just to get a glimpse would be good enough for me.  As I just about gave up, I saw him on the other side of the street running along a a pretty good clip.  He seemed relaxed and fresh ... but then again ... it was only a mile into the race.  What would he look like at the finish?

I made way back to our gathering point near the finish line to wait out the rest of the race.  Steve's best time for that distance had been about 1 hour and 50 minutes so with about 25 minutes to spare (I thought), I headed up to the finish line to get some pictures of him coming across.  Arriving there I wiggled my way up to the front row and to my surprise about a minute later I caught sight of him coming down the street towards the finish line.  Wait a minute!  He's early!  Way early than what we'd expected.  But there he was.  Smiling too.  In full stride with arms raised in the air as he crossed the finished line.  Our kid had made it and ... it was his best time at that.  Wow!  The family finally has an athlete.

It was really hard to describe how we all felt.  After all it was just a bunch of people running around and getting sweaty ... but it turned out to be far more than that.  It was a very tangible accomplishment for Steve.  Something that took effort and perseverance.  A moment Steve will always remember and a moment we were all so proud to witness!

Still livin' the dream.

Phil

Not our finest hour(s)

It sure seemed like a good idea ... at first.  But after 3 holes into the back nine the message was clear.  The game of golf requires some skills, of which not one of the four of us remembered to bring to the course today.   Playing golf is nothing like riding a bike.  You do forget.  We all forgot.  Like golf great Lee Trevino once said "my golf swing is so bad it looks like a caveman killing his lunch!" Well I think we all had lunch out there.

2 1/2 miles of hacking, whacking, and swishing our way through the floral and fauna.  No hazard untouched, no ball unmolested.  If the little white orb wasn't creased or scuffed ... it was lost.  Now I know why the likes of Titleist, Nike and Callaway make these things by the millions.

And so it went.  If it wasn't for good friends and good weather it would have been like Mark Twain once said "Golf is a good walk spoiled".  We took a normal 120 minute round and manage to stretch it into a 240 minute ordeal taking somewhere over 300 strokes to get home.  No wonder we were pooped after finishing.

So we'd like to thank the course managers for not issuing a lifetime ban on our return, the makers of Ben Gay and Ibuprofen and of course of each other for being able to have a good laugh.

Still livin' the dream but thinking about giving up golf again.

Phil

BG&I Golf Open

The first annual BG and I Open (Ben Gay and Ibuprofen Golf Open) is officially over.  You won't see much coverage on ESPN or any the greater South Haven media outlets, but it happened ... and I was there.  There to pay witness to what might have been the single most important golf event of the year, was yours truly.  Connoisseur of this test of man verses the sculpted landscape of 9 of the most challenging holes of in all the golf world (at least they were today).  Some holes so tough you couldn't even pound a tee into the granite-like soil.  A course for real men.  And real women.  32 of South Haven's, some would say, finest summer citizens.

A peek at the pre-tournament field indicated that there were indeed several classic 'ringers'.  Disguised maybe as carpenters or paper industry workers, these guys somehow slipped into the field of hackers and wannabes.  These 'ringers' quickly surfaced on the first tee ... booming their drives into the morning haze as their partners whacked, hacked, and whiffed their way on to the first fairway.  It was going to be a long day.

As the tournament bore on, it quickly became apparent that the wise perpetrator (perp) of this event had balanced the teams up pretty well by forcing the 'ringers' the numbing opportunity to play with hacks like me.  We hacks actually serve a great purpose on the golf course as we tend to slow the game down to more of a gentleman's pace.  None of this one-hour forty-five minutes for 9 holes for the likes of us but the more genteel pace of say maybe 2 1/2 to 3 hours.   We hacks have discovered that golf is more like fine wine as it is enjoyed best by sipping slowly and savoring each glass.  Conversation and tormenting your partners is what the game is really about; not precision athleticism.

As the morning heated up, it and our back muscles began to throb like the beat of a rap song, the last hole came into view.  Oh merciful one, I thought.  The end is near.  The pain will soon be soothed by a frosty cold one in the clubhouse.  So as the round ended in a blaze of forgettable glory, we limped into bar to tally our scores.  Looking around it was apparent that many were putting on a good front to hide the pain and agony of defeat.  Laughing and joking around could not cover up the sight of this senior group (except for those 'ringers') of golfers as they gingerly eased themselves into their chairs and you could hear our collective sigh of relief that the game was finally over.  All winners .. just because they finished the round and as in most sporting events ... the best teams really did win.  So the combination of hackers and ringers worked out pretty good.  Strength and weakness ... graceful and clumsy ... old and young alike.  Old age and treachery make good partners with youth and skill.

As it turned out, the first annual BG and I Golf Open was a great deal of fun.  It forced many of us to actually get some exercise and have fun while doing it.  Sadly some of us were reminded that what was our golf game is no longer and that any thought of a return to those yesteryear's should be soon be forgotten.  So just enjoy the moment and enjoy your friends ... those things that are really the most important in our lives.

With hand firmly grasping the ibuprofen bottle ... I'm still livin' the dream.

Phil

Good Friends ... continued

Why two casinos in a single day?  Two good reasons as it turns out.  First, and most important was our good friend Bill's birthday celebration dinner.  A tradition our Battle Creek friends have honored for many years.  We each get a turn each year and it is a great excuse to get together and hug the old feed bucket.  Bill is aging as gracefully as most, though claims that vodka is really the magic elixir from the fountain of youth and is most responsible.  With wife June, friends Paula, George, and Kim and, of course Sharon and me, we made the best of the generous buffet at the casino and celebrated in style.

The second part of the evening was a returning visit to the music of Tony Reynolds (http://www.ynotsing.com/).  With keyboardist/vocalist Mark Kahny (http://markkahny.blogspot.com/) the duo made for another great evening of jazzy, inventive arrangements and great fun for the audience.  Playing in a casino room has got to be tough and this casino is no exception.  Annoying slot-machine noises coming through the doors plus a lighting system best suited for a 1971 disco floor, these pros played through and around these distractions.  Even a boisterous group of drinkers in the rear (who cared less of who or what was entertaining the rest of us) were treated smoothly with quick witted humor.  Mark's well-known for his keyboard work with a left-hand bass line the likes I have never heard as good.   Tony did  the new/old standard of Louis Armstrong's "It's a Wonderful World".  Great lyrics to begin with, Tony kicked into his 'Satchmo' voice for the last verse and it could bring a tear to your eye it was so good.

These two entertainers are worth seeking out.  If you live in Southwestern Michigan, check out their websites and find a venue they are playing.  You'll have a great time.

Still livin' the dream.

Phil

Good friends

Not too often do folks from Iowa leave their home state and venture out and explore other states.  Maybe they go to Illinois or even Wisconsin ... but Michigan?  I guess the logic is ... with all this corn and livestock, why leave? Well we know a few brave souls from the Corn State who sneak out now and again and after a little coaxing our friends, Jim and Carol, did just that.  We met them last winter in Alabama and became travelling companions for the winter.  Staying in contact, we urged them to drive up and spend a few days with us this summer.   We all agreed on a date and before long they were at our door.

It was great to show them around South Haven and have them meet all our friends here at Cousins RV Park.  Easy to meet and easy to like, they fit in like family.  One thing we do have in common is our desire to try new eateries in the area.  The places we wanted to go to here in South Haven were packed as the Blueberry Festival was in full swing so we headed to Douglas and had a very nice meal at the Mad Dog Grille.  A fairly new place, the menu was interesting and service was great.  Not too pricey and even has an outdoor patio for dining under the stars.  I'd recommend it.

The time went by way too fast and before we knew it they had to return home.  But not without enjoying another common interest we have.  Casinos!  Since they were headed West we thought we'd follow them for a bit and stop at Four Winds Casino near the Indiana border.  Thinking it would be fun to we spend a couple of hours there and maybe even avoid leaving another donation to the Indian Nation.

We certainly had a great time, ate good, enjoyed a few blueberry treats (cookies, donuts, and coffee cake), and  are looking forward to seeing them again soon.

So as they headed west to Iowa we had plans to then head East.  Not home, but to another Indian casino ... this time at Battle Creek's Firekeepers Casino.  But the occasion wasn't gambling.  Stay tuned for the next part of a very busy day.

Still livin' the dream and enjoying our friends.

Phil

Where's the ibuprohen?

With the Cousins RV Park's 1st annual golf outing just around the corner, many of us have been forced to actually see if we could still even swing a club.  The mechanics of swinging a club do seem simple enough.  Just watch the guys on TV each weekend.  Effortless balance of man and club ... the ball climbing into the sky and gently landing like a feather some 300 yards down the fairway.  Arms and torso twisting in complete harmony with powerful legs driving the entire process.

This first hurdle some of us are facing is ... can I even find my clubs?  I looked around the basement and garage and found a few 'woods' but couldn't locate my irons.  A light bulb went off and I remembered I had given them to my son, Steve.  Since I hadn't been playing for the past 10 years or so, why not let him use them as he plays quite a bit.  A phone call quickly confirmed what had happened to them.  Steve said he had, in turn, given the clubs to one of his friends.  So now what do I do? 

A quick trip to several of the local golf shops on the east side of the state confirmed that I couldn't buy just a couple of irons but had to buy an entire set.  Ugh!  I really didn't want to spend the money for just one golf outing so I now started to wonder if I could play a round with only a 3 wood and a putter?  Driving out of town on our way to South Haven, I stumbled upon a store that sold used sporting goods.  Eureka!  I walked in and found matched set of Arnold Palmer Irons.  Throw in two dozen balls (hope that will be enough) and $61 dollars later I was ready for play.

Having the clubs is one thing ... hitting a ball with them after a 10 year hiatus ... is another.  Once I got back to South Haven I sought out a driving range to hone my rusty skills.  What?  No driving ranges?  Now what?  Checking with some of my neighbors I soon learned that one of the local courses has a driving range so I grabbed my new sticks and headed out.

The guy behind the counter said that will be $12 bucks when I asked to hit a few balls.  $12 bucks!  I didn't want to play 18 holes but just hit a few balls.  My what 10 years out the golf loop has done to prices.  So I coughed up the $12 and was handed a large bucket of balls and he said take any of the gas carts out to range.  This sort of made me feel better that at least I got a cart to ride but really ... $12 for a bucket of balls!

Anyway I strategically picked a spot on the range whereas no one could see me and began a little warm-up.  Ouch!.  Where did those muscles come from?  I'm sure I could feel things tearing and ripping in my back, arms and legs.  Oh, and did I mention my neck?  After about a dozen swings I had had enough.  But since I still had 3/4 of the balls left, and it did cost me $12, I must press on.  The more I tried the worse my swing got.  "Get back to basics" I kept telling myself.   But since I couldn't remember what the basics were, I was really screwed.  So the physical pain continued. The mental pain actually got worse.  A couple of guys showed up to hit a few balls and guess what?  They picked a spot right behind me.  Now they could see all my golfing skills, up close and personal.  So now I think I have an audience and whatever skills I used to have, have left me forever.  I am now once again ...  a true hacker.  And I had to pay $12 bucks to uncover this uncomfortable truth.

Finally the bucket was empty.  Pain was shooting throughout my body like little lightening bolts.  It was even painful driving the cart back to the clubhouse.  I'm doomed.  Another one of life's great embarrassments will occur next Friday when I step on the first tee.

My only consolation is that I won't be alone.

Still livin' the dream and continuing to overdose on ibuprophen.

Phil

Guess who's coming to dinner?

We've been running at about 120 mph for the past two weeks so the thought of doing nothing for a few days seemed almost intoxicating.  The morning started off well with several of the guys jabbering with me about the upcoming golf outing.  You know pre-game posturing.  All claiming (including myself) various medical or equipment problems that will undoubtedly cause us to perform poorly in the event.  Men have been doing this since caveman ... so we're all good at it.  As mid-day passed, Sharon finally decided to attend the local art fair so she and a friend drove off leaving me with nothing to do.  Nap time,I thought.  But wait ... I did need a quick trip to the store so off I went thinking I'll get that down time when I got back.

As I pulled back into the park I could see my friend Jerry standing along side the road so I pulled over to say hello.  He said  "so you're my benefactor this afternoon!"  "What", I said.  "Oh Sharon called and invited a few of us over for dinner in about and hour", he said.  Ummm.  "News to me" I said.

I was met at the door by Sharon who was hustling around getting stuff ready for the apparent upcoming party.  I said "we're having people over for dinner?"  She assured me it was no big deal as we were just having hot dogs and chips and everyone was bringing their own drinks.  So I said "who's coming over?".  As the names began to flow out this wasn't a little dinner get-together but just about everyone on coach row.  I took a deep breath, headed for the medicine cabinet for some chemical help, and thought it wasn't such a bad idea after all.  We could showcase or Flint specialty .. Koegel hot dogs and real Flint Coney sauce.  (http://www.koegelmeats.com) All smothered in mustard and onions; a little hometown treat we've told everyone about so what a great time to share the goodness.

Anyway ... the evening went well, about 16 were fed and burped.  The perfect summer evening.

Still livin' the dream and enjoying our friends.

Good idea?

It seemed like a great idea at first.  Sharon volunteering to remodel our granddaughter's bedroom while her folks were vacationing.  A little paint, a little carpet and wala' ... a two-day job and back to South Haven in time for 'happy hour'.  From my vantage point it looked to me like a couple of days I could goof off a little ... maybe work on the golf swing, may have lunch with my son, maybe just do nothing.

So we headed back to the east side of the state.  Great plans of what had to be accomplished in the next few days swirled around inside our old TrailBlazer as be motored home.  The more we talked the more I began to better understand that my anticipated vacation might not be quite like I had envisioned.  Sharon, you see, likes to help others by nature.  Most of us know this.  However sometimes she likes to help out by proxy.  That is, she'll help ... but old me will do the work. I do feebly complain over the years but to what good I ask.  She's usually doing something good for somebody and this project was no exception.

Though she was adamant that she would be doing the entire project herself, I got to thinking (to myself of course) that she had never painted or remodeled much of anything for the many decades we'd been together.  I was caught in her trap again.  Whoa is me.  She volunteers and I get to do the work.

And so it began.

We arrived at my daughter's house and the scene of the crime.  A teenager's bedroom.  That special refuge where they can escape from Mom, Dad, Brother, and other troubles big and small.  Sort of like Guantanamo Bay but without the barbed wire.  The room was, to put it mildly, not quite ready to paint like I had thought.  Actually it was sort of like she didn't know we were coming that day.  But there was no turning back.  The mission must begin and the dust, and other teenage treasures began to fly.  Furniture dismantled and moved.  Various pieces of long-forgotten clothing materialized from under the bed, special little articles of memorabilia from 2nd grade, posters of rock stars (I've not a clue who they were) but all part and parcel of my granddaughter and her life experiences.  Even at the tender age of 15 it's okay to be nostalgic.

Getting started is always the worse part so ,with that underway, the next chore was picking out paint colors.  Now you need to understand that my granddaughter is not introverted nor is she bashful.  She speaks her mind and knows what she likes.  So when she and Sharon went out to pick out colors it was a no-brainer.  On the other hand, Sharon was probably having serious heart palpitations after seeing the choices.  I think I heard the terms 'bold' and 'obnoixous' when she and Sharon described what was picked.  No matter to me.  She made the choices and I'm good with it.  Kids got rights ... sometimes.

Anyway the room was finally emptied, walls taped and ... here we go.  I agreed to get them started and show how to hold the brush, handle the roller, spread on the paint, then I'd leave.  First off Sharon was charged with edging the walls prior to using the paint roller.  A skill in which she had , up to this point, either had seen me or Bob Vila do a few times.  Not exactly of the best training but it was all she had. So now armed with that suitcase of tricks she tackled her assignment with cautious exuberance.

Carefully manipulating her paintbrush like a maestro's baton, she inched along the wall.  I could see that in the 24 inches she had completed there was now more paint on her than on the wall.  The 'bold' was already running down her hand and had found a place on her pants.  I was doomed.  No escape to the golf course.  No goofing off for me.  She needed help so, if you know Sharon, who could deny her?  Certainly not her spouse of over 44 years.

And so the day went, and well into the evening as well.  A pretty good 14-hour day with both kids helping Sharon and I out.  There was no doubt not one of us could have done the job alone under the timeline we had.  Not that the job was completely done that day either.  As I began painting the 'obnocious' color I soon realised the paint's pigment kept separating and it would not properly cover the wall.  So back to Lowes, get another gallon, and do the wall over the following day.  Ugh!  Speaking of Lowes ... I think in total we made 7 or 8 trips there to get one thing or another for this 'little' job.  So much for my planning skills.   

So was this whole project better than packing up the grand kids and going off to Cedar Point Amusement Park for a couple of days?  Maybe it depends on who you ask ... but was it fun for me?  Yes it really was!  The room looks great, though a bit bizarre, and best of all we had some great times with the grand kids.  Our granddaughter was really into helping us get her room remodeled.  She worked hard and did things that neither Sharon nor I had either the flexibility or energy to do.  She was in charge of all low level painting that required getting down on hands and knees.  If she hadn't have helped I'd still be there .  My grandson helped drag the heavy old carpet out to the garage.  Quite a bit of strength I'd say.  Since I took it out of the room on to the porch. I can attest it was a heavy, awkward load.  We're really proud of both the kids and even the dog Charlie sort of cooperated by not rubbing up against any wet paint.

Another small chapter has been written in our life book.  We're pretty lucky and still living' the dream.

Phil

A great evening

We stopped last night to one of our favorite hangouts in the area, The What Not Inn (http://www.whatnotinn.com/), just north of South Haven on the Blue Star Highway near Fennville.  An unpretentious little place that serves good food and real live music.  The place was packed, not unusual for a summer weekend, but we patiently waited for a table.  As we stood in line at the door, the entertainment for the evening Tony Reynolds (http://www.ynotsing.com) started another set and I was immediately hooked.

Accompanied by a talented local keyboardist, he covered the musical gamut from Al Jarreau to Micheal Jackson, Sinatra to Marvin Gay.  A vocal range of some four octaves with the smoothness of grandma's gravy.  But singing ability alone does not necessarily make the entertainer. 

What does make an entertainer, in my opinion, is what he can do with his audience.  Can he win today's short attention span listeners over with his personality.  Well let me tell you that Tony Reynolds has really got this part figured out.  At times calling out for requests from the fully engaged patrons, he didn't disappoint a one.  Even if he didn't always know the all words, he would improvise; and in perfect pitch.  No sour notes in this guy's song book. 

He's not new to the music scene by any means having been a backup singer for Tom Jones for many years plus he has performed on all the day and night time TV talk shows.  It was a fun evening and we'll make a point to see him again when he's in the area.

Another little surprise awaited us as we were listening to Tony perform as a beautiful voice arose from the depths of the back kitchen and followed along like a phantom background singer.  Tony acknowledged the girl behind the grill as Patty.   Patty cooks, waits tables, pours drinks and maybe even owns the place and ... can really sing.  Tony invited her to take the mic so she shed her slightly soiled apron and made her way to the stage.  Sultry, yet powerful, this gal can belt out a tune.  She, in her own right, has quite a following in the area and I can see why.  Jazzy, bluesy and pop standards are what's she's made of and the crowd loved her and her music.  Tony was the consumate gentleman in sharing the stage.

A great evening was had by all so ... if you're in the area sometime, check out the WNI. (check out both websites above)

Still livin' the dream,

Phil