Our Motto
"There's nothing you don't want to know"
The first major newsworthy event of the year has to do with what some might say was a long overdue haircut.
Friday, February 2
After more than seven months since his last one, Eddie finally decided it was time for a haircut. I’m sure he would have arrived at this conclusion much earlier if he’d been cursed with thin, Nelson hair. As you can see from the “before” picture, his thick head of Richard hair gets poof-y as it grows.
Increasingly, he had found long hair to be an annoyance.
“I have to spend so much time in the shower,” he recently complained.
And his bangs had to be interfering with his vision – although this moptop style is a common sight. More than half of the high-school-aged boys who bag groceries at Copps sport this look.
After dropping Eddie off at Great Clips, I ran a few quick errands. Upon my return, I noticed only one 
person sitting in a barber’s chair, his neck, ears, and forehead clearly in view.
Omigod! Eddie really went the distance, I silently gasped.
He’d been unclear to how much he wanted to shed.
“Do you recognize your son?” asked the woman who performed the shearing.
Eddie looked at me for confirmation, as if to say I did the right thing, didn’t I?
“I have to admit it’s quite a transformation,” I said, my attention focused on a large pile of Eddie’s hair on the floor.
Complete with the return of his Dumbo ears, though I didn’t publicly note that observation.
Now that Eddie has worked off the “baby fat” in his face – and the rest of his body, for that matter – his newly chiseled features will make him look handsome no matter how he chooses to wear his hair.
“I wonder what kind of reaction I’ll get at school,” he contemplated, obviously pleased with himself and expecting positive reviews.
“Your mom is going to be very pleasantly surprised,” I predicted, proceeding to mimic her jubilantly enthusiastic reaction. (Which was right on the money!)
Eddie gave me a follow-up report as soon as he returned home from school (and his late-afternoon conditioning session) on Friday.
“I’m amazed at how much everyone likes it,” he beamed.
That’s because people can better see your handsome face, I could have responded. But I didn’t want to give his ego too big of a massaging.
Andy called me on my cell phone as I drove back to Middleton from a WLA legislative committee meeting yesterday afternoon.
“Where are you?” he asked.
I told him.
“When are you going to be home?”
“I don’t know. I have a few stops I need to make along the way.”
“Can I have money for a haircut?” he asked.
“So you saw how good Eddie looks in short hair?” I teased.
“Dad, I really need a haircut,” he pleaded, missing my playful tone of voice. “I hate it when my hair gets long.”
At most, it had grown to cover not quite half of his ears.
But indeed, Andy, cursed with thin, Nelson hair, has always preferred to keep it short.
“Don’t you have any money of your own?” I asked
“No,” he replied brusquely.
Does that mean he has no money in his checking account -- he has a debit card – or is he just being cheap? I wondered.
Since Andy was scheduled to work at Circuit City from 5:00 to 10:00, I needed to be home by 4:00, a deadline I missed by two minutes.
“Tyme Machine” Dad coughed up a $20 bill, and Andy went on his way. At t his point in the morning, I have no idea if he got a haircut. I tend to avoid Great Clips during the late afternoon/early evening as there’s usually at least a 30-minute wait.
Hopefully, Andy will keep that $20 tucked away in his wallet for a subsequent trip.
Then there was our spring break trip to Springfield, Illinois, and St. Louis, Missouri.
Friday, March 23
Road trip!
These two words still conjure up a sense of anticipation and excitement for me – particularly when the destination is a new one. I feel like an explorer looking for additional territories to claim and conquer.
I’ve had this travel bug for as long as I can remember. I’m sure all the cross-country trips I experienced as a very young child – none of which I can remember – caused the infection, though that hardly seems the appropriate word to use. And for the past 50+ years, I’ve never cared to be inoculated.
Our plan was to leave early yesterday evening. Knowing that Eddie would be the last one to return home, I took care of one of his last-minute duties: cleaning the kitty litters. Boxer’s took me all of 15 seconds to complete; it looked untouched, though that turned out not to be the case. Jack’s litter box, on the other hand, required an extra piece of equipment. I couldn’t break up what had become a solid clump just using the plastic scooping-and-sifting device. I went to the garage to retrieve a scraper – the tool we use to remove ice from the sidewalk and driveway. That’s how hard Jack’s litter had become.
Maybe it’s time to get Jack a new litter box, I thought.
The only selection at Walgreen’s didn’t have high enough sides. Jack sometimes kicks up a dust storm before relieving himself. The only other option, Mounds Pet Food Warehouse, located on the opposite side of the Beltline in Middleton, was closed due to a power outage, which also affected the traffic lights in this area, not to mention (as we learned later) the houses in the development where Gretchen and her family live, three miles to the west. As it was the middle of rush hour, I was lucky not to get stuck in traffic.
You don’t really have to be doing this, I chastised myself, particularly since our late-afternoon schedule didn’t provide me with much flexibility.
Sometimes, though, JoAnna’s and Eddie’s inattention to the needs of the cats really irritates me.
“You need to call the vet about Jack….soon!,” I urged JoAnna when she called to report that she was on her way home from work. (Far from the first time that I’ve made this demand.)
I then briefly described my little misadventure without sounding too overbearing. I didn’t want to dampen the family mood on the start of our road trip.
I imagine that Gretchen will have an intimidating task facing her on Saturday when she stops by the house to check on the cats – and take in the mail and newspapers.
It shouldn’t surprise anyone that I became the designated driver. JoAnna sat to my right and the boys were in the back, just like the all-American Ward Cleaver family. What continues to puzzle me is how I can have two sons who have no enthusiasm for highway driving. (In Eddie’s case, no interest in driving at all, it seems.) I would have guessed that at this point in my life, I’d have to fight for the privilege of driving – that I could be a passenger whenever I pleased. Funny how things don’t turn out as predicted sometimes.
Less than five minutes from home, Andy’s cell phone rang. It was Gretchen, of course, and for the next few minutes they jabbered back and forth, a totally superfluous conversation. But this is just the perspective of an aging Baby Boomer, someone who has yet to fully embrace this not-so-new-anymore technology. In fact, it still feels like a novelty whenever I use my cell phone.
“Andy, do you really need to have this conversation right now?” JoAnna asked in exasperation.
There were more than a few moments during the trip when JoAnna and Eddie and I felt that Gretchen was actually with us.
Driving after sunset, the radio tuned to a station playing music from the 1970s, I might have convinced myself that absolutely nothing had changed during the past 35 years. Outside of the fact that my wife and two sons were with me, the only reference points were the highway signs, the fuzzy dots of lights on a flat and broad horizon (I-39 south of Rockford is a desolate stretch of highway), and music that was popular during the wanderlust period of my life.
At the halfway point of the evening leg of our trip, we stopped at Delaney’s Family Restaurant in LaSalle, Illinois. Initially, Andy had tried to steer me in the direction of a KFC, but I told him that we were looking to experience some local color. Not that Delaney’s possessed any special or unique qualities. It’s the type of locally owned establishment that is still able to compete successfully with the chains for travelers’ business. Although one-half of the restaurant appeared to be reserved for truckers, we didn’t see any big rigs parked in the lot.
As far as our orders were concerned, we went 3-for-4 in the customer satisfaction department. My Philly cheese steak sandwich tasted slightly better than adequate, even though a portion of the roll looked to have been five seconds from getting scorched. JoAnna’s reuben looked thin and plain enough to pass for a standard grilled cheese and meat, but it still met her road-food standards. Eddie ordered a Western burger without the ham. (The barbecue sauce was the main attraction here.) Andy found his plate of chicken wings lacking in flavor, but he ate most of them anyway. He also made a trip to the extensive salad bar, his plate laden with mostly mayonnaise-laced selections.
Once we left the restaurant, we sprinted to the car to avoid getting wet. The onset of rain didn’t come as a surprise, as we had observed regular flashes of lightning, some of them quite spectacular, across the entire southern horizon. Much to my relief, the rain stopped within fifteen minutes.
We arrived at our Springfield motel, the Ramada Limited North, at 10:45. Originally, I thought it would be closer to midnight, but we got an earlier-than-planned start and made excellent time once we were south of Rockford. (Illinois drivers love to go fast.
Not that it made any difference in our late-evening plans. We all got ready for bed shortly after we checked into our room.
None of us experienced the most restful night’s sleep. Andy was especially restless. Every time he moved, it sounded as though he was trying the break the bed apart. Poor Eddie. It must have been a bumpy night for him.
I woke up at 7:30 with the other half of the bed unoccupied. I assumed that JoAnna got an early start on the free breakfast buffet. Even on a vacation, she can’t sleep in past 7:00. She had returned to the room by the time I finished my shower. I found her sitting by the window, the black-out curtain opened wide enough to provide sufficient light to read by. She’s re-reading Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, the 6th book in the series, in preparation for new title to be published this summer.
The view through out motel window was not pretty. A bruised gray sky. A steady rain. A puddled parking lot.
“At least our plans are to be inside today,” I noted, although we had hoped to do some walking to the some of the Lincoln historical sites in the downtown Springfield area.
Our first stop was the Abraham Lincoln Presidential Museum, a very impressive facility that opened to the public on April 5, 2005. The museum’s two large galleries and two theaters are designed around a central plaza.
Journey I begins with a reproduction of Lincoln’s childhood log cabin home continues through his pre-Presidential years, most notably a trip to New Orleans where he allegedly saw a slave auction and his years as a lawyer and legislator in Springfield.
Visitors enter a scale model of the White House South Portico to begin Journey II. The first exhibit is a display of dresses worn by Mrs. Lincoln and her rivals. The rest of this gallery space p
rovides an overview of Lincoln’s Presidency, the Civil War, and his assassination.
Ghosts in the Library is a 15-minute holographic film, shown on a specially designed set, that very effectively explains the purpose of the Lincoln Library. It almost made me want to apply for a job there. Lincoln’s Eyes, shown in its own theater, is a 17-minute multi-screen, special effects presentation, complete with strobe lighting and booming sound effects, that tells Lincoln's story through the eyes of an artist painting Lincoln's portrait. An elderly woman in a wheelchair sitting nearby stuck her index fingers in her ears during the loudest portion of the film. For those of her generation, I’m sure it’s not how they expect history to
be presented.
Our impressions? Simply stated, the four of us agreed that it was one of the best historical museums we have visited.
Although the sky was still gray when we left the museum, the rain had stopped, which allowed us to proceed with our plans to visit other historical sites in the area.
The old state capitol is just a block away. Construction of this beautifully restored Greek Revival building began in 1837. Because of its close association with Lincoln – he tried cases before the Illinois Supreme Court, borrowed books from the state library, and schmoozed with other lawyers and legislators – the old capitol has remained a focal point of downtown Springfield, perhaps more so than the current one. In 1966, the building was d
ismantled and rebuilt to allow for the inclusion an underground public parking garage and space for the Illinois State Historical Library. Although the exterior is still original, the interior was completely reconstructed, but, except for the electric lights, you might think otherwise. Looking into the various rooms from the spacious central hall – the Supreme Court, the legislative room, and numerous smaller offices – you get the feeling of having been transported back in time 150 years.
The square surrounding the old capitol is home to numerous restaurants. Scanning the possibilities, I pointed out an Irish bar and grill, but Andy immediately vetoed the idea, offering no specific reason.
“I just don’t want to go there,” he insisted.
Instead, we started to walk in the opposite direction, along a route that would lead us to the Lincoln Home. The next thing I knew, though, JoAnna and Eddie had made a detour into Del’s Popcorn Shop, a small store that had a colorful array of Easter confectionaries in its display windows. The smell of freshly made popcorn is what had lured them inside.
“Why are you buying popcorn now?” I asked, with obvious irritation. “We’re just about ready to eat lunch.”
“Dad, take a chill,” Eddie advised. “We’re on vacation.”
Del’s has been in operation since 1934, and somehow they’ve managed to preserve an old-time atmosphere and maintain a successful business.
As we continued our walk, a restaurant across the street caught our eye. A protective entry awning stretched from the side of the building to the edge of the street, like something out of an old Holly
wood movie. The restaurant took up a modest area of the first floor of a five-story, red-brick commercial building, dating from the 1880s and restored to its former glory. Springfield, obviously, has an excellent track record when it comes to historic preservation of anything remotely associated with Abraham Lincoln.
Maldaner’s has been in business since 1884. The rich, ornate interior design makes you feel as though you’ve instantly stepped back into time. Dressed very casually, the four of us probably felt a little bit out of place at first. The majority of customers seemed to be local businesspeople dressed for important meetings. We were made to feel welcome, though, and, as it turned out, were very glad that we stayed. Eddie made the best choice and ordered what an older, impeccably dressed gentleman at a neighboring table was eating: the meat loaf special, served with mashed potatoes and gravy and green beans.
“I have to learn how to make this kind of meat loaf,” I said after savoring a sample. (Eddie allowed just one very small one per customer.) The flavor and consistency of the recipe was out of this world. It made my moist, flavorful chicken salad sandwich almost pale in comparison.
Our lunch turned into something of a smorgasbord, as we all sampled everyone else’s entrée. JoAnna ordered crab cakes (with curry sauce, baby mixed greens, papaya salsa) and Andy’s club sandwich (French bread with bacon, ham, turkey, lettuce, tomato, & mayonnaise) is something I could eat on a daily basis and never get tired of.
If we ever return to Springfield, Maldaner’s will be our first stop.
The final stop on our Springfield itinerary was a guided tour of the home where Abraham and Mary Todd Lincoln lived from 1844 to 1860. During this time, the house underwent two major expansions and renovations, after which it was considered a fit residence for the upper-middle-class family that the Lincolns had become. Although he was born in a log cabin, Lincoln’s life followed the trajectory of the American dream.
It’s a quick 90-minute drive from Springfield to St. Louis along Interstate 55, and our hotel, the Crowne Plaza, is located just a few blocks from the first Missouri exit. A parking ramp is conveniently located right next door. The only delay occurred in a cramped lobby area as we waited in a slow-moving line to register for our reserved room. A group of six college students from Florida needed 15 minutes of special attention from two of the four desk clerks. Who knows what the problem was. We weren’t close enough to overhear any of the conversation going on.
We were pleasantly surprised by the spaciousness of our suite: living room, kitchen, two bedrooms, and two bathrooms. Constructed as part of a downtown urban renewal project in 1965, the building was originally an apartment house, one of three identical, 29-story, black-glass-clad structures. (The other two buildings are still apartments.) From our location on the 17th floor, we had a panoramic view of downtown St. Louis looking north and the Mississippi River, the historic Eads Bridge, and Illinois looking east.
Our hectic sc
hedule provided us with very little time to unwind. Within fifteen minutes, we were on our way to the Edward Jones Dome, home of the St. Louis Rams, for the semi-final games of the NCAA Midwest Regional basketball tournament. The Dome is a five-minute walk from the Crowne Plaza. Staying downtown kept the need to drive to our destinations to a minimum.
Less than half of the available space inside the Dome – seating and playing areas – was used for the tournament. The facility seats 70,000 for football, its designed purpose. The announced attendance for Friday’s two basketball games was just under 26,000.
Since we didn’t have Wisconsin to root for, we decided to split our allegiances. Each of us wore a different t-shirt that we purchased at one of the many concession stands: Florida (JoAnna), Butler (Eddie), UNLV (Andy), and Oregon (me). We were all hoping for an upset in the Florida-Butler game, however, and for awhile it looked as though we might get our wish. Not surprisingly, Florida’s muscle proved to be too strong in the final minutes of the game. (Or you could buy into our conspiracy theory. The refs were quick to blow the whistle against the Butler players since CBS had already punched Florida’s ticket for the Final Four, knowing that the Gators would be a sure ratings winner.)
After a very long and eventful day – the Oregon-UNLV game didn’t end until after 11:00 – we were all eager to get back to our hotel room.
One of the ground rules that JoAnna and I set for the boys during our trip was that they couldn’t sleep in past 9:00. We wanted to provide as much time as possible for sightseeing.
On Saturday morning, JoAnna and I were up more than an hour before the boys. We walked to a nearby convenience store and purchased some food to have on hand in our room: cereal, milk, fruit, crackers, popcorn. We also stopped at Downtown Donuts for two cups of coffee and a bag of the featured attraction.
Even with the 9 a.m. reveille, the boys took a full hour to get showered and dressed. Andy, of course, needed the most prodding. Undisturbed, he would have likely slept in until noon.
We walked to Gateway Park, more specifically known as the Jefferson National Expansion Memorial. Entrance to the underground ticket counter and the Museum of Westward Expansion was slightly delayed as all visitors had to empty their pockets and walk through a metal detector. The line to get tickets for a trip to the top of the Arch snaked back on itself three or four times – at least a half hour wait, we guessed. Since JoAnna’s fear of heights was going to keep her on the ground anyway, we decided to spend the rest of the morning browsing through the museum’s exhibits, most of which focuses on the two expeditions of Meriwether Lewis and William Clark.
Andy's first prom
Wednesday, April 25
The Middleton High School prom takes place this weekend, and Gretchen and Andy are attending. (Andy never went while he was in high school.) He picked up his tux this afternoon and was eager to show it off to me, not trying it on again but carefully describing each item in his ensemble. (Black pants and jacket with a gray pinstripe, white shirt, light gray vest, dusty pink pocket handkerchief – which coordinates with Gretchen’s red gown – and a regular, not bow, tie with very narrow angled stripes in hues of pink and gray.)
“I really look good in it,” he said immodestly, adding that the pinstripes make him look slimmer. (I’ll let you be the judge with the pictures I send.)
Thanks to Gretchen’s marketing skills, the tux rental was free. Ten of the 10%-off coupons she distributed were redeemed. Each referral reduced Andy’s cost by 10%. The kicker, though, was that Andy had to pay $49.95 for the tie he’s wearing. And I’m sure the Men’s Warehouse marked it up at least 500%.
Oh well, it’s still a good deal. The last time I rented a tux, for Governor Doyle’s first inaugural, I paid close to $100. And I chose the basic black model with no frills – and certainly without a frilly shirt.
Sunday, April 29
The first time Andy called me this weekend, he had just left the house for Gretchen’s. I was to follow him 15 minutes later to take pictures, along with the rest of the parents, of their prom party.
“I forgot the corsage,” he announced. “Be sure to take it out of the refrigerator before you leave.”
The “Straushaus” is located in Prairie Home Estates (shades of Lake Wobegon), a relatively new development of upscale home on a hilly terrain about four miles west of here in the Town of Middleton. (Most people don’t realize there’s any difference between the two municipalities, as they both have the same zip code.) The picture-taking provided me with my first opportunity to see the inside of their home.
Walking through the front entrance and a small reception area, you enter a family room around which most of the rest of the house is arranged. There’s a large kitchen with an oversized counter space to the right. A format dining area is located to the immediate right of the reception hall. A formal living room, probably never used, is to the immediate right. Stairways lead to the upper and lower levels. The high ceiling of the family room gives this area of the house a spacious feel, although the rest of the first floor (what I saw anyway) is designed on a more intimate scale, surprisingly so based on the house’s impressive facade. The family room is framed on three sides by a railing on the upper level, which adds to the feeling of openness. The “upstairs” is where the four
child
ren’s bedrooms (and 3 full baths) are located. A recreation room – plus laundry and storage, I imagine – is located on the lower level. (For some reason, I can’t bring myself to call it a basement.) A master bedroom suite is “tucked away” on the first floor. Although I didn’t see this space, I’m sure it takes up as much square footage as half of our house.
While the girls finished primping, Margaret, Gretchen’s mom, pointed out to me who was whom. I found it interesting that she referred to all of the other parents as “Chelsea’s mom”, “Elise’s mom”, etc. I thought it odd that she didn’t know the names of the moms of any of Gretchen’s best friends. But I guess when you have three other children to raise and a large extended family living in the immediate area, there’s only so much information you retain.
Outside of Kurt, Gretchen’s dad, who spent the first 15 minutes after my arrival continuing to work on the construction of a deck (which he hopes to complete in time for Gretchen’s graduation party), I was the only dad in attendance until we moved outside for a second series of pictures.
Installation of new carpeting in the family room.
Saturday, May 5
To say that I was obsessing over this weekend’s major project would be an exaggeration. It was frequently on my mind, though, which is probably why I couldn’t sleep past 5:30 this morning. I had already visualized how things were going to take place: start along the outer three sides of the room and work our way to the windowless wall.
Although I collected a variety of cutting and scraping tools from the garage, I found that a boxcutter, one of a half dozen or so that found its way from Circuit City to our house, was all I needed for steps one and two: ripping up the carpet and pad.
I immediately felt a wave of pent-up humiliation as I started out.
We allowed guests to enter this room, I thought, horrified. No surprise that we added so many area
rugs.
Looking at the underside of the carpet, I understood why cleaning it during the past few years made no change in its appearance. Countless spills had permeated every fiber within large amoeba-like designs.
JoAnna joined me shortly after 7:00.
“Why didn’t you wake me up?” she asked.
“You were sleeping so peacefully,” I said.
We finished up by 9:00, way ahead of my visualization schedule. Using pliers, we were able to pluck the carpet staples out of the subfloor with ease. And the shop vac came in handy for cleaning up all the debris.
Later in the morning, JoAnna bought annuals (mostly impatiens and coleus) for the back yard. We plan to put them into the ground tomorrow. Even if we had the time today, it’s almost too cold to do so. The temperature has remained in the 50s for the most part.
Tuesday, May 8
After all that obsessing – or should I say “visualization” – the recarpeting project is now quickly over and done with.
Initially, the carpet installers were scheduled to appear at the house first thing Monday morning, i.e., around 7:30. Just when I expected a truck to pull into the driveway, the phone rang. It turned out that we were second on the list of destinations, and the day’s first stop required the moving of furniture.
“We should be there around 10:30,” a pleasant man’s voice announced.
I gave him my work phone number and then kept to my office for the rest of the morning. My medication for high blood pressure usually makes me feel like a backed-up faucet for an hour or so, but I didn’t experience this feeling yesterday. It never fails, of course; whenever I leave my office to go to the bathroom, the phone call I’m anticipating is returned during my absence.
As the clock dragged slowly past 11:00, I started to get a little nervous.
Did I somehow mix up the numbers? I wondered.
But I was sure that Carpets Plus had both my home and work phone numbers in their records.
Fortunately, it wasn’t much of a wait after this point. I met the installers at the house at 11:30, and they quickly went to work. They had most of the pad laid out before I left. When I returned home for lunch at 1:30, Andy and Gretchen were sitting on the new carpet and rubbing their hands across the fibers.
“It’s so soft,” Andy marveled.
We were all ready to get a head start in putting the family room back in order. I had even brought two small, wheeled platform trucks from the library to move my too-heavy-to-carry rolltop desk back into place. (We didn’t want to drag it over a newly installed carpet, especially a shaggy one.)
After I retrieved the trucks from the car, Andy expressed a few ideas about changing the previous family room arrangement. He might as well have started to wave a red flag.
“You better run that past your mom first,” I cautioned. “Besides, why should we listen to any of your suggestions?” I added, teasingly. “You’re going to be gone in a few months.”
I called JoAnna at work, and her response was simple and direct.
“Don’t put anything back until we’re all home.”
At 5:45, Eddie was the second to arrive home.
“How come you didn’t call for a ride?” I asked.
Usually he’s not done with track practice until 6:00.
“I didn’t want to have to wait,” he replied cryptically.
At least I wasn’t sure what he meant by this response.
Even more so than Andy, Eddie couldn’t wait to get the family room back in order.
“Why do we have to wait until Mom gets home?” he complained.
We didn’t have to wait that long, actually, as JoAnna showed up five minutes later.
We started with the rolltop desk, which actually went quite smoothly, thanks to the little platform trucks on rollers. This piece of furniture proved to be the only item that JoAnna repositioned – and just slightly so. N
ow I’ll face south instead of west when I sit here.
From this point on, getting the room back in order was a breeze. The couch and love seat are so light that a person with excessive strength and balance could probably carry them without any assistance. Andy – the bum – didn’t return home until nearly everything was back in place. The Middleton boys’ lacrosse game was more important than helping out his family. Maybe it’s just as well he stayed away. In that way, we didn’t have go to through an unproductive discussion of how the room should be rearranged.
I have to admit that when I first walked into the newly recarpeted room, I wondered if maybe we should have gone a shade or two darker.
It’s like we died and went to beige heaven, I thought.
Once the room was refurnished, though, the wood of the rolltop desk and storage table really stand out in a very positive way. (Our couch-side table is still on back order.) Barb’s blue knitted comforter provides an attractive darker color highlight. JoAnna and I agree that it all fits together just as we hoped it would.
The components (as opposed to the storage) section of the computer desk fell apart when Eddie and I tried to wheel it out of the garage. A not unanticipated outcome. A couple of years ago, I managed to jerry-rig this junky piece of furniture back to stability. We’d recently talked about buying a replacement desk anyway, something not so bulky-looking. In the meantime, though, we set up a card table as a temporary measure. Andy will probably use the storage section of the computer desk in his Milwaukee apartment. He and his roommates can start moving in furniture as early as June 1st. Of course, we don’t have too much we can part with right now.
With the garage serving as a temporary holding area for the family room furniture, I can understand why some people end up parking their cars in the driveway or on the street. In our case, with no basement and no attic, it could be especially tempting to use our garage for additional storage space. Not that it doesn’t already serve this purpose. Most of the cabinets from our “old” kitchen were transferred there. But if push came to shove, half of the stuff we keep here could easily be tossed out. Not the baby blankets, though. JoAnna and I hope to be able to pass them onto our grandchildren some day. (Andy is going to be 20 this year, and, so far, he doesn’t seem to be inclined to wait as long as his dad did to get married.)
nergy to move more than my right arm.
choices you offer to people, the longest it takes them to make a decision.
I’m currently listening to Mayflower, which is not about the street on which we live. It tells the story – minus all the mythology that has developed through the centuries – of the voyage of the Mayflower in 1620 and the settling of Plymouth colony. 
60" round tables. 
ughter coming from under the canopy. JoAnna and Cindy were holding forth with a group of mainly DWD folks. I wouldn’t be surprised if most of this group is also nursing a hangover today.
Early last week, I called Steve Parks, an electrician who’s done quite a bit of work for us, for some advice. Last year we experienced blown fuses twice – at the beginning of Andy’s graduation party and our Bastille Day party. We solved the problem by putting the three Nesco roasters on different circuits. (Note that it took us two sessions to learn the lesson.) Steve’s short-term advice was to do what we had already done. His long-term recommendation is to upgrade our electrical system to 200 amps, which, in retrospect, we should have done in conjunction with the kitchen remodel.
checked the fuses, which I coded according to room and appliance, but nothing we did brought back power to three of the four outlets along the north wall of the kitchen. We were amazed that the stove was the only thing affected. Curiously, the microwave, which is positioned directly above the stove, continued to operate.
Luckily for us, they had just returned home after being away all day. At first, JoAnna hesitated but then quickly realized she had no other immediate options.
esday, July 25
extensive taxi service.
all practice this week. 
rewarded him with a huge ovation as he took his bows.
his meal. Andy and Gretchen headed off to her house, and most everyone else adjourned to the family room to watch Flicka – seems like all that Hollywood can manage nowadays is remakes and do-overs – while I cleaned up the kitchen.
criss-crossed much of the United States. By 1909, more than 100 different shows, large and small, were in operation. The major-league, deep-pocket operations of the Ringling Brothers and Barnum & Bailey circuses set the standard. World War I accelerated a decline in the circus’s cultural impact, which even the go-go years of the Roaring Twenties couldn’t reverse. By the 1950s and 1960s, the last-gasp years for most of the remaining operators, canvas tents gave way to municipal arenas. When we first moved to Warren, the circus used to set up at the airport on the West End. (In the 3rd or 4th grade, I remember seeing slides or photographs – or maybe it was even home movies – that someone’s dad had taken and brought to school for Show and Tell.) I also recall a traveling carnival spending a few days on the land where the Holly Apartments now sit. I know I made at least one visit there, but whether it was with family, friends, or on my own is long forgotten. Back in the day when I rode my bike from one end of Warren to the other, it wouldn’t surprise me if I had just taken off on my own. And without saying a word as to where I was going. 
