From A Bird's Eye View

Posted in opinion

Golf :-) #%&@!

February 15, 2016By Sparrow/WatsonComments:4 Comments

by Bob Sparrow

I love golf. I think it is the greatest game ever invented. It requires both unique mental and physical skills, it combines camaraderie and competition and it’s one of the only sports you can play while smoking a cigar and drinking a beer. Personally, I’ve had the pleasure of playing some magnificent courses from Kapalua, Hawaii to Kiawah, South Carolina.

I hate golf. It is exasperating, demeaning and expensive. It brings out the worst in us, it impugns our self-worth and facilitates, no encourages, cheating. Personally, my first bad experience with golf was when my high school golf coach said after a round, “The best two balls you hit all day were on #7 when you stepped on a rake.”

Kapalua, Maui, Hawaii

If you play the game, you know exactly what I’m talking about; if you don’t, there’s no way to explain the fascination of hitting and chasing a little white sphere around a cow pasture. To try to put it in perspective for both camps, I would say that golf can be defined as 4½ hours of a series of calamities interrupted by an occasional miracle, or as John Feinstein put it, ‘a good walk spoiled’.

The subject probably needs a little fuller vetting, so let’s tee it up.

Scots skipping work to play golf

Golf had an ignominious beginning, (what a surprise) dating as far back as 1261, when the Dutch cursed while they played a game with a ball and a club. But the modern game of golf is considered a Scottish invention where the first documented mention of golf was in Edinburgh in 1457 when King James II banned golf in an attempt to encourage archery practice, which was being neglected. So even back then, men were sneaking out of work to play golf.

Some say it was named golf because all the other four-letter words were taken, but the word for ‘club’ ‘striking’ or ‘cuffing’ – lord knows I’ve ‘cuffed’ the ball many a time, has an interesting etymology. The word started out spelled as ‘gowfe’ which led to ‘gouff’, which led to ‘gowf’, which led to golf, which led to club throwing, sandbagging, and in the 70s, white men dressing like black pimps. Personally, I think the word will ultimately evolve into ‘goof’. And it’s probably not a coincidence that golf spelled backwards is flog. Some say the name golf came from initials that meant Gentlemen Only Ladies Forbidden, but that is just an ugly rumor probably started by a man whose wife could beat him at the game.

And why, you ask is golf made up of 18 holes, not 10 or 20 or an even dozen? The story goes something like this:

Kiawah Island, South Carolina

During a discussion among the club’s membership board at St. Andrews, Scotland in 1858, one of the members pointed out that it takes exactly 18 shots to polish off a fifth of Scotch. By limiting himself to only one shot of Scotch per hole, the Scot figured a round of golf was finished when the Scotch ran out.

A great story, but unfortunately not true. Early courses were 5-7 holes, played two or three times. It wasn’t until 1764 that golfers at St. Andrews decided to combine the first four short holes into two to produce a round of 18 holes, although it was still a 10-hole course with 8 holes being played twice. However, it would be over 100 years before 18 holes became the standard for golf frustration.

In my opinion the best explanation of the origin of, and exasperation with, the game of golf comes from the late, great Robin Williams; even if you’ve seen this before or not a fan of golf, I think you’ll enjoy this short video. Spoiler Alert: there are a few f-bombs in the video, OK quite a few, so get the children out of the room before listening.

They say that golf is a game you can play for a lifetime, but what they don’t say is that you’re going to get worse every year until you finally can’t straighten up after you make your last putt.

But until then . . . “Fore!”

Posted in opinion

THE ST. VALENTINE’S DAY MASSACRE – OF GOATS AND DOGS

February 8, 2016By Sparrow/WatsonComments:6 Comments

By Suzanne Sparrow Watson

A Krispy Kreme Valentine

This week many of you will experience panic attacks as you realize that Valentine’s Day has once again occurred on February 14th. I’m always baffled when I hear people (well, mostly my husband) say “What day is Valentine’s Day?”, as if it changes from year to year. Personally, I’m not a big fan of the holiday. I’ve seen too many people treat their significant other rather shabbily all year long and then think that a $9.99 bouquet of roses from Safeway will make up for it on Valentine’s Day. But I do realize that I may be a minority in this respect, since millions of people around the world mark the occasion with cards, flowers, and it would appear, oversized teddy bears and lacy lingerie. So I got to thinking about how we began this tradition. Of course lots of people say it’s a “Hallmark” holiday and as you will read, the greeting card industry has certainly benefited from the day, but it turns out that Valentine’s Day has been celebrated for centuries and by some very unlikely people indeed.

There are many theories as to how Valentine’s Day got started and even who St. Valentine was. The Catholic Church recognizes at least three different martyred saints named Valentine or Valentinus and they can’t quite decide which is the original cupid. Sounds like the old “To Tell The Truth” program to me. In any event, the most popular legend contends that Valentine was a priest who served during the third century in Rome. When Emperor Claudius II decided that single men made better soldiers than those with wives and families, he outlawed marriage for young men. Valentine, realizing the injustice of the decree, defied Claudius and continued to perform marriages for young lovers in secret. When Valentine’s actions were discovered, Claudius ordered that he be put to death – on February 14. Before his death, it is alleged that he wrote his jailor’s daughter a letter signed “From your Valentine,” thus setting up the greeting card industry for the next two thousand hundred years. Around 498 A.D. the Pope, who was not a big fan of pagan holidays, decided to combine the remembrance day for St. Valentine with the pagan rite of Lupercalia, which was celebrated on February 15. Never heard of Lupercalia? The short version is that it was a fertility festival highlighted by two sacrifices: a goat for fertility and a dog for purification. That sounds about right.

During the Middle Ages, it was commonly believed in France and England that February 14 was the beginning of birds’ mating season, which added to the idea that Valentine’s Day should be a day for romance. That seems just the slightest bit odd. Really, when was the last time you stared out the window at birds mating and thought, “That is SO romantic!”. For that matter, who in the heck watches birds mating? Nevertheless, as the years went on the holiday grew more popular. Chaucer and Shakespeare romanticized it in their work, and it gained popularity throughout Britain and the rest of Europe. By the middle of the 18th century it was common for friends and lovers of all social classes to exchange small tokens of affection or handwritten notes, and by 1900 printed cards began to replace written letters due to improvements in printing technology. It is believed that Americans began exchanging hand-made valentines in the early 1700s. In the 1840s, Esther A. Howland began selling the first mass-produced valentines in America and it’s been downhill ever since. Howland is considered the “Mother of the Valentine”. I think in some circles she might be known as the “mother” of something else. She made her creations with real lace, ribbons and colorful pictures known as “scrap.” Or “crap”. I forget. Today, according to the Greeting Card Association, an estimated 1 billion Valentine’s Day cards are sent each year, making Valentine’s Day the second largest card-sending holiday of the year, right after Christmas. Which brings up an interesting fact: women purchase 85% of all the Valentine’s that are exchanged. I was stunned by that fact until I thought more about it. Modern day traditions guilt men into buying flowers, candy, dinner and the aforementioned lingerie. All women do is buy a card and we’re good to go.

And since everything these days has a Presidential spin, I got to thinking about whether there were any romantics among our former Presidents. It’s well documented that John and Abigail Adams had a wonderful 54 year marriage and were very devoted. And the Reagans were renowned for their doe-eyed looks at one another. Harry Truman apparently wrote such torrid letters to Bess that she burned them all lest someone else read them. Although I don’t think Harry’s love notes would even make it on to TMZ these days. But there were also some head-scratchers among our former commanders-in-chief. Woodrow Wilson, who was thought to be a pretty stolid guy was widowed after a 27 year marriage and was completely heartbroken. Until six months later when he was described as a “school boy” when meeting his second wife, Edith. Perhaps the most unlikely romantic was Dick Nixon. We all remember him as rather stiff and sweaty, but apparently in his youth he was quite a romantic…and maybe just the slightest bit desperate. Turns out that he was so enamored of Pat that he would offer to drive her and her suitors on their dates just so he could spend more time with her. Kind of sad, really. But then again, Valentine’s Day is named for a martyr so for all I know he exemplifies the holiday. In any event, I hope you have a wonderful day regardless of how you choose to celebrate. Just don’t go sacrificing any dogs.

Posted in Tributes

The Turntable That Turned Back Time

February 1, 2016By Sparrow/WatsonComments:26 Comments

by Bob Sparrow

The ‘Time Machine’

I took a most unusual and sentimental journey this past week and never left my house. My trip was facilitated by my new ‘record player’. My old turntable, that I had purchased in Japan in 1968, had become inoperable many years ago and with the arrival of first, the CD and then the iPod, I never saw a need to replace it. So my 75 or so 33 1/3 LPs remained silently tucked away in a closet for many years.

There was a time not too long ago when you couldn’t even find a turntable to buy, but in recent years it was discovered that turntable fidelity equaled or surpassed many of the digital-age playing systems, so they’ve made somewhat of a comeback. A new turntable would not only allow me to once again play my old albums, but it would enable me, for the first time, to play the record collection of my departed, best friend, Don Klapperich.

Lt. Cmdr. Klapperich

After Don was done flying F-4 Phantom jets for the Navy, he took a job in Saudi Arabia working for a U.S. company that was contracted by the Saudi Air Force to teach them how to become better combat pilots. When Don left for Saudi Arabia in the late 80s he did not want to take with him his rather large record collection, which include both LPs and 45s, so he asked if I would hold on to them for him. I stored them with mine in the back of the closet and had not thought much about them . . . until now.

Linda, having read my letter to Santa Claus last year, got me a turntable for Christmas. I decided that I would set up an ‘entertainment center’, such as it is, in my office in the upstairs loft. I built some shelves and started the process of moving records from the downstairs closet to the newly built shelves upstairs. I took them a handful at a time, not because I couldn’t carry more, but because I wanted to reminisce as I flipped through each one as I brought them to their new home.

The ‘Entertainment Center’

There were many duplicates among Don’s collection and mine, as both of us were part of the ‘Folk Scare of the ‘60s’ and were thus big fans of the Kingston Trio, The Brothers Four, Bud & Travis, The Limeliters and Peter, Paul and Mary. But after that, our collections took two very divergent paths, mine was more pop, things like Neil Diamond, The Everly Brothers and Linda Ronstadt; Don’s reflected his personality: eccentric, esoteric and genius. Classical masterpieces, Broadway musicals, Classic rock, Gregorian chants, pop, flamenco guitar, bluegrass, opera – you name it, he had it. It was an unbelievable collection of eclectic music. Looking through these albums was like exploring the many facets of Don’s complex personality. He may have been the only white, 16-year old in America who owned every one of Ray Charles’ albums. As you might guess, it took me quite a while to move 200+ albums upstairs, as with each handful I had to use my new turntable to hear at least one song on each trip. Then I found it.

The ‘Radio Show’ Record

Wedged between the Berlin Philharmonic Orchestra’s rendition of Beethoven’s 9^th Symphony (Don’s personal favorite) and Janis Joplin’s Farewell Songs was a record in a plain paper sheath, no album cover, no label, no markings of any kind, just uneven grooves cut into a black vinyl disc. I was delirious with anticipation as I gingerly placed it on the turntable and eased the stylus onto the first cut.

In 1961 when Don and I were seniors in high school we, The ‘Neverly Brothers’, were asked to sing on Hugh Turner’s radio show, ‘What’s Doing in Novato’, on KTIM, which was broadcasting from Pini Hardware on Grant Avenue in downtown Novato. Don’s parents recorded the show from home by putting a small tape recorder next to their radio – which is the excuse I’m using for the way we sounded. Don’s dad then took the recording into San Francisco and had it ‘pressed’ into a record. I had only heard the record once, shortly after his dad brought it home.

The ‘Neverly Brothers’

I remember that day like it was yesterday; it was bad enough that we were nervous about singing on the radio, but through the window in Pini Hardware we could see a most-attractive girl, Carole Garavanta, who was definitely out of our league, sitting in her parked convertible in front of the store watching us through the window and listening to us on her car radio. She was probably waiting for us to stop singing so she could come into the store and buy some wing nuts. We sang three songs and were interviewed by Hugh Turner, answering questions about ‘our music’ and what we planned to do after we graduated in June from Novato High School.

I sat motionless, mesmerized by the spinning record as it took me back to that time and place. We sounded like . . . a couple of naive high school kids. As the record came to a scratchy end and I was brought back to the present, there was a smile on my face and a tear in my eye. It was great to hear Don’s voice again.

Just a few days away from the four-year anniversary of Don’s passing, his record collection has helped me understand a little bit more about my enigmatic best friend; and discovering our ‘radio show record’ was a gift that he probably didn’t even know he left me . . . or maybe he did.

Posted in opinion

THE LYRICS OF OUR YOUTH

January 25, 2016By Sparrow/WatsonComments:13 Comments

By Suzanne Sparrow Watson

45’s – remember those?

T.S. Eliot once said that April is the cruelest month. Perhaps that is so, but this year it seems that January is vying for that ignominious honor. In addition to the cold winter storms hammering both coasts, and the plummeting stock market, we also seem to be losing icons of the entertainment industry at an alarming rate. Pat Harrington, Dan Haggerty, Alan Rickman, and Wayne Rogers to name but a few. Perhaps the greatest loss has been experienced in the music world – most notably Natalie Cole, Glenn Frey of the Eagles and David Bowie of, well, David Bowie. For those of us of a certain age, it seems that with each death a bit of our youth gets taken away. I got to thinking about that the other day as I was listening to a tribute to Mr. Frey. The radio host played “Peaceful Easy Feeling” and I was instantly transported back to 1972, remembering exactly where I was living and the beat up record player on which I played their LP.

I don’t know about you, but I can bookmark my younger days by the singers and songs of the era. In 1964, I was standing waiting for the school bus when everyone’s transistor radios began playing a song from a new group: the Beatles, singing “I Want to Hold Your Hand”. Just to illustrate why I never became a record producer, I remember turning to my girlfriend and saying I thought the lyrics were stupid. So much for my ability to spot a trend. But somehow that first exposure to the world’s most successful quartet is forever etched in my memory. In the summer of 1966 I was at a party with a young man by the name of Greg Susser. When the 45 of Percy Faith’s “Theme from A Summer Place” dropped on to the turntable Greg and I went out to the dance floor. Mid-way through the song, under the starry skies, he leaned down and said to me, “For the rest of our lives, when we hear this song, we should remember this moment”. Quite a romantic play for a 17-year-old with chin stubble. But the fact is, for the past 50 years, every time I’ve heard that song I do think about that party. It would be a more sentimental story if I said that we went on to have a great romance but actually I never saw him after high school. Still…the moment is cemented firmly in my memory because of that song. And in 1973, after a day skiing at Squaw Valley, I was in the bar dancing with a ski patrol member who was a new arrival from Germany. The song “It Never Rains in California” came on and he whispered to me – “Do you mean to tell me it never rains here?”. It seemed like such a ridiculous question, given that we were surrounded by several feet of snow. Every time I hear that song I think about him and wonder whether he was smart enough to figure out how to get back to Germany.

Legendary Glenn Frey

With the passing of Glenn Frey and David Bowie every media outlet has played their songs in tribute. For the most part, I could place where I was when their songs were hits and miraculously, I could remember most of the lyrics. Yet, if you threatened me with my life, I could not tell you the name of the book I read last month nor could I quote any passage from it. I gave this some serious thought – why can I recall lyrics from 50 years ago but not remember anything I read last month? I did some quick research (meaning I Googled the phenomenon) and found several interesting articles addressing the issue. Clearly, I am not alone in my selective memory. It mostly comes down to this: repetition and rhyme. It turns out that our old piano teachers were right – the more we hear something the easier it is to memorize and ingrain that “muscle memory” into our brain. Part of the reason that we recall songs from our youth is that we played them over and over. Remember when your mom yelled “Turn off that darn record player, I can’t hear that song one more time!”? Well, turns out, we were actually imprinting the song in the deep recesses of our memory.

The second reason we remember is due to the rhyming nature of most songs (think “American Pie”). Our brains anticipate a rhyme, thus making it easier to remember the whole phrase. For example, in the song “Mary Had a Little Lamb” the first two lines are ‘Mary had a little lamb, whose fleece was white as snow’, so your brain anticipates not only a word that rhymes with ‘snow’ but one that can also be joined to that sentence in roughly the same amount of syllables or ‘beats’. This greatly reduces the number of available words your brain has to consider and so helps you remember the whole lyric more quickly. Since we are programmed to remember song and rhymes better than prose, we can hum our high school fight song well into our old age.

At least now I understand WHY I remember old lyrics. But I can’t recall the name of that nice appliance repairman that was here in October. Perhaps if he’d sung a song I would stand a better chance.

Posted in Holiday observations

How Are Those New Year’s Resolutions Going?

January 18, 2016By Sparrow/WatsonComments:8 Comments

by Bob Sparrow

It’s only half-past January and statistically 46% of you have made New Year resolutions that are now 100% in jeopardy. The rest of you didn’t bother to make any resolutions, so once again our blog will be useless to you. For those still reading, as a public service, ‘From A Bird’s Eye View’ is offering simple, yet ineffective ways to approach your resolutions this year.

First, let’s look at the word resolution – it come from the root word ‘resolve’.

(ri-zolv) a transitive verb (duh, who didn’t know that?) of Middle English/Latin origin, originally meaning to dissolve, melt or loosen.

Inexplicably, over time, this word has come to mean ‘to come to a definite or earnest decision about’. So essentially the meaning has changed from ‘loose’ to ‘definite’ – with this kind of beginning, it’s no wonder resolutions are so hard to keep. But let’s not let semantics get in the way of our resolve to help you attain or forget those resolutions you so optimistically made just a few weeks ago.

I’ve done a little research and, in order of popularity, here are the Top 10 New Year’s Resolutions nationwide, followed by what some have said are insightful, others have dubbed useless, suggestions that could help make this year different . . . or not.

Weight loss – by far the most resolved lie of every New Year. This harkens back to the original meanings of ‘definite’ and ‘loosen’, as in you’ll ‘definitely’ be ‘loosening’ your belt. Statistically, middle-aged to older adults gain between 6-8 pounds per year (women a little more than men – sorry ladies), so in order to lose weight, you not only have to lose the extra weight you already carry around, but lose the weight you don’t even have yet! Not fair. Let’s face it, you’re probably not going to lose weight again this year, so just buy bigger clothes so you ‘feel’ thinner.

Improve finances – Unless you have a plan to win the lotto, get a different job, are in line for a big promotion, have a rich relative with a bloody cough, or are delusional about how the government is going to help you, this is not a resolution, it’s a wish. Want to improve your finances? Stop buying those $5 lattes every morning! And just so you know, statistically, right after you win the lotto you’ll be struck by lightning.

Exercise more – This is a trap resolution, if you don’t exercise at all, lifting another glass of wine would be exercising more, so here’s a real tip: Don’t underestimate the power of the walk. Every day, start at your house and walk 10 minutes down the road, then walk back. That’s it! If a bar or a Baskin-Robbins is 10 minutes down the road, walk the other way.

Get a new job – Many who read our blog are either retired or too far down the road in their careers to genuinely consider this resolution, so reword this one to say, ‘Get spouse a job’.

Healthier eating – The list of foods that are healthy and unhealthy for you continues to change on a regular basis; so let me make this simple; assume the foods you’re currently eating are or will be on the ‘healthy’ list and continue to eat them, and drink . . . more water and less alcohol. Wait a minute, did I just suggest you drink less alcohol? Forget that, but do drink more water.

Manage stress better – this resolution assumes a) you have stress and b) you’ve been managing it poorly. It’s been reported that a certain amount of stress is actually good for you, so this year assume that whatever stress you have, is good for you. There now, doesn’t that feel better already?

7. Stop or reduce smoking –If you are still smoking, you already know that cigarettes contain more than 70 cancer-causing chemical compounds, which along with second-hand smoke, significantly affects yours and other’s respiratory organs and immune systems and that half of all long-term smokers will die of tobacco-related death. So there’s nothing that I’m going to write here that’s going to convince you to stop. However, if your doctor has told you, like mine has, that your body is actually low on the tar and nicotine found in Cuban cigars, then smoke ‘em if you got ‘em.

Improve a relationship – If you’re bad at relationships, which statistically all of us men are and we just don’t know it, start with something simple, like improving the relationship with your dog. Let him know that you’ve peed on the carpet a few time yourself, of course you spent the night in the doghouse, but it was like camping with your dog. Just remember that your dog will forgive you long before your spouse will.

9. Stop procrastinating – I’ve got a lot of stuff on this, but I’ll get it to you later.

Stop/reduce drinking alcohol – I think this one was worded incorrectly, it should read, Stop reducing alcohol drinking. This raises several questions:
1. What alcohol has the best affect on your health?
2. If some amount of alcohol is actually good for you, isn’t more better?
3. Can I actually drink someone handsome or pretty?
4. How does alcohol actually improve my personality?
5. Does alcohol really make me invisible sometimes?
6. Why does alcohol make me sing better?

I think the key here is to remember that whatever the question, wine is probably the answer!

However you’re managing your resolutions this year and even if you didn’t make any, the good news is that January is almost over and then no one will be talking about resolutions anymore.

Posted in opinion

RAIN, RAIN, GO AWAY!

January 11, 2016By Sparrow/WatsonComments:11 Comments

By Suzanne Sparrow Watson

Rain, rain Go AWAY!

Those of us on the west coast had an odd experience this past week – wet stuff fell from the sky. In buckets. It would be foolish and terribly inappropriate of me to complain about the “El Nino effect” but for me, this lousy weather came at a most inopportune time. As of last month, I became officially unemployed. Each Wednesday for the past 13 years I have tottered off to the local yarn store to sell yarn, provide help and teach classes. I loved my job and learned quite a bit over the years – a bit about knitting and a lot about people. But the owner, who is 78, decided that she’d had enough of worrying about the business and decided to toss in the towel. Now, you’re probably thinking, “Wow, 78! No wonder she didn’t want to work anymore.” But you would be wrong. For the past 10 years (inspired by a happenstance viewing of “Dancing with the Stars”) she has been involved in ballroom dancing. And not just slow-paced Viennese waltzes. She goes for the Latin dances and participates in competitions all over the Western U.S. So it wasn’t a lack of energy that caused her to close the store. Regardless, I now have a day of the week that I have to fill. This “extra” day, along with all of the rain this week that washed out my golf games, caused me to stay inside and finally face my demons: my unfinished projects.

Each spring I make a list of everything I want to accomplish over the summer when our weather is akin to a microwave oven. Some of those projects roll over from year to year. Okay, some roll over for a lot of years. Organizing thousands of photos, for instance. But other items on the list are much more manageable. So this week, trapped inside by Mr. Nino, I decided to tackle them.

Monday: It hasn’t rained like this in ages! At last I will get some “inside” work done. I pull together all of our home improvement receipts for the past 15 years, put them into an Excel spreadsheet and figure out the cost basis of our home. You subscribers who know me and have followed all of our major re-do’s on the house can appreciate just how daunting a task that was. I finalize all of the paperwork for our tax return and file everything away. At last I can check these items off the list. I love this weather!

Is “1-2-3-4” too obvious?

Tuesday: Today I vow to finally clean up the piece of scratch paper containing all of my passwords. I’d like to use the same password for everything because, frankly, these days I only retain water. Unfortunately, every company requires something just a bit different – consequently, my piece of scratch paper has become my memory. Finally I organize it all and have it in a secure location even Dick Cheney would have trouble locating. That was my morning. I look out the window and it’s still sprinkling. So I clean the house with a vengeance. This weather is sure good for getting things done.

Wednesday: I meet a friend for coffee and get home just as it starts to rain. Dash the Wonder Dog, who will not set his princely foot on a wet surface, is now wondering what in the hell happened to our morning walks. And just why am I home on a Wednesday? How is a dog supposed to get any sleep, for cryin’ out loud? Undaunted, I tackle my next “to do” – writing a piece for a class I’m teaching next week at the knitting guild. This exercise actually has a dual purpose: I can use up all of the ink in my printer. Last week I bought a new one but then realized that the old printer had a lot of ink left in it. Ink cartridges, as we all know, are the modern-day equivalent to the old cell phone scam when they’d give you a phone for free but then charge you a month’s wage for the service. So I wrote my piece, printed out 50 copies, and installed the new printer. I am truly ready for the rain to stop.

W comes after V, right?

Thursday: I awake to what is now a familiar sound – rain battering against my bedroom window. This is the rainiest day of all. My dear husband suggests that we go to a movie, but then it is raining so hard we’re afraid the washes on the roads will fill and we won’t be able to get back home. Yes, living is Scottsdale is sometimes like living in the backwater of Montana. So…what to do? I finally hang a couple of pictures in my den bathroom that have been sitting there for four months. I decide to play Candy Crush on my iPad. Three hours later I rouse from my stupor. I saunter into the kitchen and re-alphabetize my already alphabetized spice rack down to the third letter. My normally pleasing personality is turning just the slightest bit sociopathic. If this rain doesn’t stop soon someone is going to get hurt. I think it’s me.

Friday: Have I mentioned that my husband is home all day with me? Every. Single. Day. He did go out earlier in the week to get me Starbucks, which gained him about a million husband points. But still. It’s a lot of togetherness. He is spending his days watching You Tube videos of road trips we have taken or want to take. I am in my pajamas contemplating just how much Vicodin I have saved up over the years. I HATE this rain!

Finally, finally, it dries out and once again we see the sun. The National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration just declared that El Nino has peaked and the worst is over. Thank God…I’ve run out of projects and patience . And Vicodin.

Posted in travel

The Best & Worst of 2015

January 4, 2016By Sparrow/WatsonComments:8 Comments

by Bob Sparrow

Twenty-fifteen was a RED BANNER year in terms of playing ‘Where’s Waldo’ and showing up in a lot of fun and interesting places. I’ve enjoyed having you readers come along vicariously, which has prompted many of you to ask, “Where are ‘we’ going next year?” As of this writing it seems I’ll be lucky to get to the end of my driveway to pick up the paper, so forgive me if I do a little reminiscing of the mostly Good, but sometimes the Bad and the Ugly of my 2015 travels.

1^st Quarter

Good: Visit with Suzanne and Alan in Scottsdale where I had my Best Cigar of the Year, A Cuban, from Bob Gett, while overlooking Scottsdale sitting in his and Liz’s beautiful backyard after a delicious dinner.

Bad Idea: Using my National Geographic Expeditions to travel the world ‘through beer’; good at the time, bad the next day.

The Best Place to Live: Completing the ‘Southern California Trifecta’ – breakfast at a golf course in Palm Desert, lunch at a ski lodge in the San Bernardino Mountains and dinner at Duke’s in Huntington Beach.

2^nd Quarter

Ladder Canyon

Havasupai

Great: My time with the ‘odd couple’, Patrick Michael and Marc Webb, on our hike through the unique terrain of ‘Ladder Canyon’ adjacent to Joshua Tree National Park.

Best time with my in-laws (No that’s not an oxymoron): Rochester, Minnesota celebrating Warren & Phyllis Barnes 70^th Wedding Anniversary.

Biggest surprise: Hiking in the draught-stricken Grand Canyon in the Havasupai Indian Reservation with Rick & Chris Fisher and finding gushing waterfalls generated from flowing underground springs.

Bad and Sad: the overweight and unfriendly Indians at Havasupai.

Bad prediction: Saying LA would never have an NFL team; it looks like they could have up to three by next season. Good: Rams; Bad: Chargers; Ugly: Raiders

Kathmandu, Nepal

Bad news: The earthquake in Kathmandu, Nepal that destroyed thousands of homes, including Dom’s, our Himalayan guide; fortunately the family survived with no injuries.

3^rd Quarter

Best time with the family: No question about it, our family gathering at Rocky Ridge at Lake Tahoe – great place, greater people!

Baltic Cruise . . .

Best photo: the photo I took of the ‘No Photos’ sign as I was trying to sneak into Russia at Passport Control in St. Petersburg

NO PHOTOS!!!

Best reunion: After 28 years, seeting Mira, our au pair for Dana, in Helsinki

Best & Worse: St. Petersburg – spectacular sights, depressing people

Great traveling companions: Jack & JJ Budd, John & Judy VanBoxmeer and John & Mary Billham and of course Linda

Ugly: The living conditions in Sachenhausen, the concentration camp outside of Berlin

4^th Quarter

The Inca Trail

Winaywayna, Peru

Good: Winaywayna – the mini Machu Picchu, without the crowds

Bad: Mosquito bites I’m still scratching

Ugly: Disneyland-like crowds at Machu Picchu.

As 100 year old, Frank Sinatra would have said, “It was a very good year.”

So while I’m working on some adventures for this year, I’m sure you’ll find lots of laughs from our politicians in this election year.

Posted in opinion

GO AHEAD – MAKE MY (NEW YEAR’S) DAY

December 28, 2015By Sparrow/WatsonComments:5 Comments

By Suzanne Sparrow Watson

Thank you, NCAA!

Last year I wrote about a Scottish New Year’s tradition – Hogmanay – that I assumed no one still living celebrated. So it has been startling to see more than 200 people from around the world have Googled the event and were directed to our blog site. Heck, I don’t pretend to be the Emily Post of Hogmanay but apparently there is not a lot of resource material on how to celebrate New Year’s like a true Scot. So it got me to thinking that maybe this year I should shine the light on other obscure new year celebrations from around the world. After all, in the U.S. the NCAA has taken care of our celebration by kindly scheduling the two semi-final BCS bowl games on New Year’s Eve. Personally, I’m not a fan of going out on New Year’s – or staying up until midnight for that matter. I’m thrilled that on Thursday night I will don my formal sweat pants, start a fire, open a bottle of wine, order a pizza and watch football. But in case you’re interested in doing something a little more exotic, we here at “A Bird’s Eye View” offer up the following suggestions from around the world.

Jump in to 2016: In Denmark, people celebrate December 31 by climbing up on chairs and at the stroke of midnight, they leap off of them to signal their “jump” into the new year. I don’t know about you but I’ve been at many a NYE party where climbing on the furniture was de rigueur but that was 30 years and 30 martinis ago. At this age I have visions of my friends struggling to even get up on a chair, much less jumping off one. Heck, they have had broken hips and torn ACL’s taking their dogs for a walk. Perhaps all of the climbing and jumping should be left to young Danes with strong bone structure.

Talk to the Animals: In both Belgium and Romania, farmers start the new year by talking to their animals. What separates the sophisticated Belgians (who really should be focusing on their chocolate) and the crazy Romanians is that in Romania they believe that if the animal communicates back then it portends bad luck for the year. I don’t want to seem critical here but I think that if you perceive that your cow is talking back to you, bad luck is not your biggest problem.

A flea marketer’s delight

Re-decorate: In South Africa, it is a new year’s tradition to throw old furniture out the window on January 1. When I first saw this photo it reminded me of our old neighborhood on “bulk trash day”. It’s amazing what people throw out – and how little of it is still on the street after the midnight raid of Ebay enthusiasts. In any event, for those of you who wish to re-decorate but are getting some resistance from your spouse, you can just throw everything into the street on Friday and claim that you are channeling your inner South African.

Eat, Drink, and Eat Again: In France, the beginning of a new year is marked by eating a stack of pancakes. Not those leaden “All You Can Eat” type down at the Waffle House, but light, fluffy cakes that melt in your mouth. I eat a stack every Sunday at our local café so I guess I will be right on trend this week. In Estonia, they celebrate January 1 by eating as much as they can – they refer to it as “Eating in Abundance Day”. Quality is of no concern, they are driven by the sheer quantity of food they can consume in a day. Given that as the criteria, I think I’ve been celebrating Estonian New Year’s for the past month.

They could fight for the WWF

Duke it Out: Finally, my favorite tradition – the Peruvian fist fight. Every December in a small village they celebrate the Takanakuy Festival, whereby residents engage in fist fights to settle their differences. Brilliant!! Seriously, how many of us have wanted to haul off and slug somebody when they’re being annoying? Just this morning in the grocery store there was a woman who trailed me around the store speaking on her cell phone in a loud voice about her lawsuit against her employer, her daughter’s no good boyfriend, and on and on. Despite several dirty looks from those around her (mostly me) she persisted. Now if I lived in Takanakuy, I could have simply given her a good jab to the left jaw and no one would have blinked an eye. It’s probably just as well we don’t celebrate this tradition, it being an election year and all. Things are dicey enough.

I hope this has gotten your creative juices flowing on how to celebrate New Year’s. Whether you choose to watch football, gorge, jump off a chair or talk to your dog, my brother and I wish you and yours a very HAPPY year ahead.

Posted in Holiday observations

The Night Before Posting

December 21, 2015By Sparrow/WatsonComments:18 Comments

by Bob Sparrow, with apologies to Clement Clarke Moore, author of The Night Before Christmas

‘Twas the night before posting and I had not a clue,

Should I write more of Christmas or the year that is new?

My head’s filled with carols that are driving me crazy

My shopping’s not done and my blog thoughts are hazy.

No travel this month or adventures been on

And I’m wondering if the creative juices are gone.

Could it be all the food and the drink I’ve consumed

That’s dulled all my senses? This week’s blog is doomed!

Then a Grinchy idea popped into my head,

Instead of some prose, I’ll do rhyming instead.

This will be cinchy was my first lazy thought

I started to write; and discovered it was not!

I remembered back when our subscriptions were low

When we tried to rhyme news that most readers don’t know.

So I still didn’t have any subject to write,

No people or places to shine a bright light.

Suzanne wrote last week of our holiday caper

And I stooped to hawking some Trump toilet paper.

What I now look to ponder is the day Christ was born

And the glee of a child on a bright Christmas morn.

And looking to others to help where we can,

To enjoy peace on earth and good will towards all men.

Of families that gather by a warm Christmas fire

And pray that our leaders will lead and inspire.

To thank all who serve, those brave women and men

Whose Christmas with family they’ll miss once again.

To share Christmas joy in the time that you spend,

For nothing replaces our family and friends

So to briefly conclude what I wanted to write,

Happy Christmas to all and to all a good night.

*****

From our families to yours, Merry Christmas

and a Healthy & Happy New Year!

‘

Posted in opinion

BOB’S CHRISTMAS BIRTHDAY TREE

December 14, 2015By Sparrow/WatsonComments:13 Comments

By Suzanne Sparrow Watson

A sentimental Christmas memory

This past weekend I celebrated an annual tradition – putting up Bob’s Christmas Birthday Tree. Yes, today is brother Bob’s birthday and like most kids who had the misfortune to be born around the holidays, his birthday usually morphed into a birthday/Christmas celebration. In his case, his birthday was the day our mom chose to put up our Christmas tree each year. So really, between getting screwed out of a proper birthday party and being a middle child it’s really a wonder that he didn’t develop a twitch. This year as I put up my tree I thought about a friend’s comment last week – that she hated the holidays because it brought back such sentimental memories. This time of year does make us miss those who are far away and especially those who have shuffled off this mortal coil, but I guess I have the opposite reaction. I admit not all Christmases are created equal, but I love that the holidays cause me to pause and reflect on the special ones I’ve had over the years. One of my favorites is of the year our daughter came home from her freshman year in college. We made plans to attend Christmas Eve church services followed by dinner at a swanky restaurant, but as the hour approached we all decided it was too much effort. Instead we donned our jammies, ordered Chinese takeout and watched “Christmas Vacation” on TV. Now THAT was memorable – we still laugh about it today. And of course, some of the best Christmases were spent watching our grandsons when they were toddlers, racing out on Christmas morning amazed that a tree that had been barren the night before was now laden with intriguing boxes and bows, confirming their notion that Santa Claus really DOES exist!

Singing, as usual

My fondest memories seem to be of “coming home” to our parent’s house for Christmas. I pondered that this weekend as I was putting the Santa Claus with the fake nose and glasses on my tree (somehow it always reminds me of Bob). As I think back, Christmas seemed so easy then. Our mom did all the planning, shopping, wrapping, cooking, serving, and I’m embarrassed to say, cleaning up. Like a lot of young adults, college and our careers took us in different directions, but most Christmases we gathered at mom and pop’s and immediately began to act like little kids. We laughed, drank, ate, drank, sang, drank. On Christmas Eve mom would put out a large buffet and around 5 o’clock friends would begin to arrive to share in our “spirit”. Usually those spirits flowed until the wee hours of the morning, and then our parents would arise on Christmas morning to prepare for the arrival of our grandmother, aunt, uncle and cousins for brunch. Our father often commented that he felt like “a hippopotamus in three feet of mud” on Christmas morning. But mom would always put on a spread and Dad would fix his famous Christmas Ice Cream Fizz*. Again, we kids were of minimal help. So of course I think about those years as fun – I didn’t have to do any of the work!

A jolly man indeed!

This pattern held true for many, many years right up to my favorite Christmas memory. In 1981 we gathered once again at mom and pop’s house – Jack left his restaurant in Tahoe for a night, Bob and Linda came up from Orange County and I made the one hour trek from the East Bay. It was a Monday – I remember that because we had Monday Night Football on and Don Meredith kept singing “Turn Out the Lights”. For whatever reason, we were more giddy than usual that year. Then at some point after dinner someone suggested that we serenade the neighborhood with Christmas Carols. GREAT IDEA!!!! Mom didn’t approve of our shenanigans and I’m sure had images of being run out of town. But the rest of us grabbed another drink and off we went. Now you need to know that Bob and Linda actually performed professionally at that time and are both great singers. Jack and I can carry a tune. As for Pop…well, let’s just say that dad had more gusto and enthusiasm than actual talent. But he was an extremely good judge of character so he knew which neighbors would find us amusing and which might throw old shoes at us. So off we traipsed, arm in arm around the neighborhood singing our hearts out. Most everyone laughed, some gave us cookies and some even offered to refill our glasses (which was really not necessary at that point). We sang for about an hour, which I think is how long it took us to run through our Christmas Carol songbook. Then we collapsed in gales of laughter at home. The next morning, sure as rain, Pop was up making us his Christmas Ice Cream Fizz. We didn’t know it at the time but it would be the last Christmas we would spend at mom and dad’s house. The next year Bob and Linda were expecting their first child and from then on, when we could, we gathered at their home in Southern California. But I’ll always remember with fondness the rollicking good time we had that final year.

Hopefully you have some wonderful memories that sustain you during this holiday period. If so, consider yourself lucky. And finally not to be forgotten – please join me in wishing a very happy birthday to my very special brother. Hopefully he won’t have to put a tree up today.

*As a special gift to our readers, once again this year I am providing the recipe for Pop’s Christmas Ice Cream Fizz. Trust me, it will make that time you have to spend with your brother-in-law that borrowed your lawnmower and/or $5000 much more bearable.

POP’S CHRISTMAS ICE CREAM FIZZ

Fill a blender 1/4 full with ice cubes

Add 6 jiggers of gin

Add 4 scoops of French Vanilla ice cream

Add 1 small bottle of soda water (the size you get in a 6-pack)

My brother Bob adds an egg so the white adds some froth, brother Jack doesn’t add an egg. Personally, I’d add it just because you can then claim it’s a protein drink.

Just blend it well and – voila – you have a concoction sure to put a rosy hue on everyone and every thing!

Our mom served them in a wine glass with a dash of nutmeg. As we got older we would conspire with Pop and ditch the wine glass for a chilled beer mug from the freezer. Saved having to go back for seconds…or thirds.

Pop, near 80 years old, still making magic