Posted in travel

Wanna Go to Vegas?

By Comments:6 Comments

by Bob Sparrow

South Point Hotel & Casino

It was Monday, mid-morning, work was slow, the guests we had coming for dinner on Tuesday had canceled due to illness and I knew the answer to the question before I asked it, so I wanted to make sure I was ready when I said, “Hey, Linda, wanna go to Vegas?”  Without missing a beat, she said, “I can be ready in an hour.” She was ready in half an hour!  I had just filled the car with gas the day before, so off to Vegas we went.  Linda had called for reservations at our favorite hotel, South Point, but had rooms only for Tuesday night, but nothing for Monday.  She called around and discovered that this time of year was ‘convention time’, so not only were most of the hotels filled, but those that weren’t were charging exorbitant rates, but I assumed the ‘Ms Bargin Hunter’ would find us a place.

As we headed to Vegas, I was excited about placing a ‘real’ bet on the Monday Night game, since my brother and I place ‘pretend’ bets on both college and pro games every week – this year we’re making some ‘pretend’ money.  It was the Bills against the Jets, I liked the Bills to cover and the over, but called Jack on the way out and asked him to ‘research’ it and call me back with what he found.  We were about an hour out of Vegas when he called back, “parley Buffalo to the over”, he said; we were on the same page.  This was going to be fun!!!  We stopped at South Pointe to place the bet and watch the game, plus had a gourmet dinner of a hot dog and a beer. Jack & I were definitely on the same page, but we were in the wrong book!  Jets won and the score was under.  After the game we head further down the strip to Circus Circus, the only hotel with vacancies and a reasonable rate.

Circus Circus made my list

Recommendation #1: Don’t ever stay at Circus Circus.  It is very tired, the circus left town years ago; after waiting 40 minutes to check in, we had to walk across the street into a low-rise, low-rent building with no elevators to our second floor room.  Our room was possibly where they kept the elephants before bringing them across the street to the ‘Big Top’ during Circus Circus’ hey day.  We played some slots (they still had the kind with handles!). then retired for the evening.

On Tuesday morning we could not get out of Circus Circus fast enough, although we felt like we were abandoning the cockroaches that we had befriended there.  So far, our ‘spur of the moment’ get-away had included a hot dog dinner, a bad room at a bad hotel and $200+ in gambling debt.  A Denny’s down the street seemed like the appropriate place to stop for a gormet breakfast!

Checking into South Point felt like checking into the Ritz.  I found a craps table and had great fun and very nice winnings before we noticed a show in the South Point theater featuring The Bronx Wanderers, and thought how bad can they be after our Circus Circus experience, so we bought tickets.

Recommendation #2: If you ever get a chance to see The Bronx Wanderers – do it!!!  They are a father (Vinny Adinolfi, 65 years old) and son (Vinny Jr, 35 years old) band, both play the guitar, keyboard and are lead singers; they also have a great saxophone player and the group has awesome harmony.  They do rock and roll classics from the ‘60s, ‘70s and ‘80s and do it very well – they killed Bohemian Rapsody!!  Vinny, the dad, was a successful record producer in New York and worked with, and had great stories about, most of the popular recording stars of the day.  We finished the evening with a nice dinner at the Silverado Steak House, gambled a bit more and retired to a much nicer room.

While this spur-of-the-moment escapade started out as a disaster, it ended with me thinking I just might ask Linda again, “Wanna go to Vegas?”

 

 

 

 

Posted in opinion

THAT DAY

By Comments:6 Comments

It’s been twenty-two years since “that day”.  September 11 is a date that remains indelibly imprinted in the minds of those of us who watched it unfold. I can still remember almost every minute of “that day” – watching the aftermath of the first plane crash and listening to the TV announcers speculate that it was an errant private plane.  Shortly, of course, we knew it wasn’t an errant plane, but a deliberate attack.  It is still difficult to think about the people who perished that day – people who left home for work on a bright, blue-sky Tuesday morning and never returned.  The very notion of that was – is – frightening.  I don’t think we can collectively sleep quite as soundly ever again.  We learned on “that day” that there are people in the world who wish us harm.  My brothers and I grew up benefiting from the goodwill America garnered from the Second World War.  The notion of being hated was unthinkable.  But September 11 showed us that we can no longer assume that we are perceived as the “world’s good guys”. Now we live in the shadow of “that day” and the impact it has on us continues, especially when we travel.  Before September 11 we could book a flight at the last minute, run through the airport to our gate, and hope the door didn’t hit us on the rear as we boarded our flight.  Now we have to get to the airport hours early, remove our shoes as we enter a security check, and limit the amount of shampoo we carry.

Socially, it brought on a lot of change too. In fact, I’m not sure we yet fully understand the toll that it took on us. Surely our national mindset was altered after watching all of the carnage and grief of “that day”. In the immediate aftermath of September 11 we managed to put our differences aside, but that fraternity has since dissipated.  Contentious elections, warring political extremes and social media have altered how we behave.  The COVID-19 pandemic placed even more strain on our psyche, and it shows no sign of abating.  Just this morning I read about people arguing over vaccines and mask mandates at a local forum.

As someone who recently experienced loss, I have a new appreciation for all of the September 11 families, who, without warning, lost a loved one on “that day”.  None of us can truly understand the void they were left with when their loved one perished so suddenly and in such a violent manner.  But I do know this: we all suffer some residual grief from those attacks.  The losses and changes from the pandemic have only added to it.  So many people now are short-tempered and it’s showing up in our everyday encounters.  Last week the local news reported that 81% of Arizonans have been the recipient of road rage.  That is a huge number, but based on my personal observation I suspect it is correct.

Lifting a middle finger on our roadways, or getting angry at a store clerk, or making demeaning comments on social media is not a sustainable construct for our society. So, what do we do?  I don’t think we throw up our hands and say it’s too large of a problem to solve.  My suggestion is we each try to make a small dent in the problem. If we acknowledge that we all have all experienced trauma since “that day”, then we should treat everyone we meet as we treat someone in grief: with kindness. 

Today the National September 11 Memorial and Museum is airing a documentary featuring first-person accounts of the attacks and their aftermath.  One of the survivors said in her interview, “It’s important that we remember the kindness, and that we take care of ourselves and other people, as we did that day.”

Kindness.  What a wonderful legacy of “that day”.

Posted in Tributes

Hero . . . Gone

By Comments:10 Comments

by Bob Sparrow

Jimmy Buffett

I originally had a rather banal blog on some history and suggestions around Labor Day, ready to be posted Monday, when, on Saturday morning, I got a text from my three kids and a call from several friends, wishing me condolences for the passing of Jimmy Buffett.  What?!!  I’m shocked!!!  He died from lymphoma at the age of 76.    My love and history of all things Margaritaville are well known.

I was introduced to Jimmy in the early 80s by my dearly departed best friend, Navy pilot, Don Klapperich.  After he retired from the Navy, he went to work in Saudi Arabia, teaching the Saudi Air Force how to be fighter pilots.  Prior to cell phones and even the internet, the way we communicated with each other over such a distance was through cassette tapes that we would mail to one another (Yes, cassette tape were quite the rage).  I was, of course, familiar with some of Jimmy’s earlier popular songs, Come Monday, Cheeseburger in Paradise and Margaritaville as well as his hit in 1973 that couldn’t be played on the radio at the time, Why Don’t We Get Drunk and Screw, but Don had sent me a cassette with a song called, Somewhere Over China.  It’s not a particularly great song and not a hit for Jimmy, but for some reason the lyrics resonated with me.  Don, had sent me other Buffett songs, but I really didn’t pay much attention until after this song, so I went back and listened more carefully to the lyrics of Jimmy’s songs.  They were funny and philosophical and while I was never a ‘beach bum’, they touched my ‘wanderlust’ soul.  I then didn’t want to wait for Don to send me more Buffett songs from Saudi Arabia, so I started buying all of Buffett’s CDs that I could get my hands on – new and old.

Parrotheads

I had become a ‘Parrothead’, and so got tickets for the next Jimmy Buffett concert when he came to Orange County, for his concert at a large, outdoor venue, Irvine Meadows.  I forget who it was that told me that to get the full experience of a Jimmy Buffett concert, get to the concert parking lot early . ..  real early.  I did.  Holy Parrothead!!  Four hours before the concert, the parking lot was full of people dressed in all kinds of beach, parrot and pirate gear along with flat bed trucks with grass shacks and sand on the back, serving up bottomless margaritas.  I’d never seen so many men with cocoanut bras in my life!!!  It was truly the best and biggest concert party I had ever attended.  The concert was fun-filled with lots of audience participation as everyone was feeling no pain after a four-hour warm-up in the parking lot.  I saw Jimmy several other times, back in Irvine Meadows, when I took the kids when they were old enough to appreciate the parking lot party, in Las Vegas and even in Michigan where I encouraged my fellow workers there to become Parrotheads.

My Margaritaville flag at half-staff

Aside from writing most of his hit songs, Jimmy performed a lot of duets with many great country stars like Zak Brown, Kenny Chesney, Toby Keith, George Strait, Clint Black, as well as his well-known hit with Alan Jackson, It’s Five O’Clock Somewhere.  But Jimmy was far from a ‘one trick pony’, he diversified and open his first Margaritaville restaurant and bar in Key West, Florida, which I visited years ago.  There are now 23 Margaritaville Hotels, restaurants and casinos with locations in the U.S., Mexico, Canada, Australia and the Caribbean.  He also developed a Margaritaville tequila as well as my favorite beer, Landshark; there is a Broadway play ‘Escape to Margaritaville’; he had his own recond company and he was a best-selling author.  His networth was north of one billion dollars.

A Pirate Looks at Forty is another iconic Buffett song, as this pirate looks back on 40 years of pure joyful entertainment that Jimmy provided me.  My flag with ‘It’s Five O’Clock Somewhere’ banner flies at half-staff this week. .  Rest in Peace Jimmy, you created a better world.  Fins up!

Posted in opinion

LIVE WITH JOY, CHEER THE TEAM, EAT THE CAKE

By Comments:6 Comments

By Suzanne Sparrow Watson

Finally, it is college football season once again.  I have waited almost eight months for the season to begin, and yet, it is tinged with some sadness.  The conference realignment – and the collapse of the Pac 12 – has made this season bittersweet.  Almost all of the traditions and rivalries will end this season and the Pac 12 teams will scatter to the winds.  Or the Midwest.  The advent of NIL (name, image, likeness) has forever changed the landscape of college sports.  The notion of a “student athlete” has been reduced to a money grab.  A few months ago I suggested to a friend that the major colleges stop providing academic scholarships to the big-time sports stars so that deserving students who actually want to attend college for an education might use those slots.  The major conferences in football and basketball could develop semi-pro programs, intended for the sole purpose of providing a pipeline of players for the pros.  No pretense of attending those pesky classes would be required, just play ball and collect the money. Regardless of how all this shakes out, college football has changed forever and we either go with it or give it up. I’m not ready to give it up.

Last week, buried in the headlines about conference realignments, was an uplifting story about Sister Jean, the team chaplain for the Loyola Ramblers men’s basketball team.  The sister turned 104 on August 21 and she is still going strong. The Sister was born Jean Dolores Schmidt, in 1919, the same year as our mother.  She was raised in San Francisco, so I like to imagine that Sister Jean and our mother crossed paths at some point, although I suspect Sister Jean was much more serious than our mom, who loved a good gin rickey when she saw one.  Sister Jean attended St. Paul’s High School in the beautiful St. Paul’s Cathedral in SF and played on the girl’s basketball team.  After graduation in 1937 she entered the Sisters of Charity of the Blessed Virgin Mary convent in Iowa.  She eventually returned to California to further her education, earning BA and MA degrees.  She taught school in California until 1961, when she moved to Chicago to teach at Mundelein College. She was hired by Loyola in 1991 when it merged with Mundelein.  She planned to retire in 1994 but was asked by the administration to stay on as the team chaplain to the men’s basketball team to help student athletes keep up their grades so they could maintain their eligibility to play. Imagine that.

Sister Jean cheering on the team in 2018

She steadily provided counsel to the students and cheered on the basketball team without fanfare. In 2018 she became a household name when the team made a Cinderella run to the national semifinals — the farthest Loyola Chicago has made it in the NCAA Championship Tournament since 1963. Sister Jean’s spirited antics on the sidelines attracted national media attention and won over the hearts of viewers across the country.  Afterwards she quipped, “It only took me 98 years to become an overnight sensation.” In March 2021, after getting vaccinated against COVID-19, and at the age of 101, Sister Jean traveled to Indianapolis to watch Loyola beat the Georgia Tech Yellow Jackets and eventually make it to the Sweet Sixteen.

Sister Jean celebrating her 104th birthday

Today Sister Jean still keeps the door to her office open for students to drop in and chat. She is still active as the team chaplain, emailing scouting reports, encouragement and advice to each of the players after every game. And she still opens every home game with a prayer, in which she urges the refs to make good calls, the players to share the ball and God to nudge the Ramblers to a big W. Last year, at the age of 103, she published a book, Live with Purpose!,  filled with her trademark sense of humor and good-natured observations about her century of life.  On her birthday last Monday, she celebrated with the students and CAKE!  I love this woman!  Today she will throw out the first pitch at the Cubs’ game against the Brewers at Wrigley Field and on August 31, Sister Jean will be honored with a block party at Loyola’s Water Tower Campus.

What’s not to admire about a woman who lives her life with joy, cheers on college sports teams and eats cake?  She is my new role model.

 

 

 

Posted in travel

Hilary – Much Ado . . .

By Comments:7 Comments

by Bob Sparrow

Flooding in Palm Springs area

Over this past weekend, while most people in southern California were preparing their homes and yards for the arrival of Hurricane Hilary, we, Mark & Kathy Johnson, Bob & Jeanne Pacelli and Linda & I, headed to San Diego to celebrate the 50th wedding anniversary of the Johnsons, who had rented a beach-front home on Mission Bay.  We were heading right into what was projected to be the teeth of the storm.

Hilary, at the time, was rated a Category 3 hurricane; I looked up the definition:

Winds up to 129 mph!  Devastating damage will occur: well-built framed homes may incur major damage or removal of roof, decking and gable ends.  Many trees will be snapped or uprooted, blocking numerous roads.

Road to Death Valley

The last time a hurricane of any category hit California was in 1939!  Undaunted, we headed down Interstate 5 to San Diego on Saturday morning and noticed that the freeway was packed . . . going the other way, out of San Diego.  We were clearly going ‘up’ the ‘down’ staircase?  We wondered, is this a smart move?  We concluded, “Ahhh, we’ll be fine.”

Before we left home, we made sure all of our outside furniture/umbrellas were secured or put away.  We did the same at the Mission Bay home on Saturday evening.  We were preparing for the worst, which we were told by local meteorologists that it would be Sunday afternoon through Sunday evening.  By the time we arrived at the beautiful bay-side home, Hilary had been down-graded to a Category 2 hurricane, meaning winds up to 110 miles per hours – still significant!

The group weathering the storm at Mission Bay

Once there, we got more news, Hilary had been further downgraded to a Category 1 hurricane, and perhaps just a ‘Tropical Storm’ (winds 65 mph).  It was actually fairly balmy as we sat on our patio and watched volleyball and other various activities on the beach.

We could not have had a better place to watch the storm, in fact, once we got there and parked our car, we never got back into it until four days later when it was time to drive home.  Aside from a great pontoon boat ride, we had two dinners at the Oceana restaurant at the Catamaran Hotel, which was on the beach about 100 yards from our house.

An Oceana Hurricane!

We were getting a light rain most of the day along with mild winds, but nothing extraordinary – we kept waiting for Hilary to hit.  She did finally hit, but it was more of a playful slap than a hit.  Oddly enough, we were disappointed that we weren’t going to experience a once-in-a-generation hurricane/tropical storm in southern California.  As it turnd out, the most ‘catastrophic’ thing that happened was our power went out for an hour or so and we were forced to use a flashlight and candles to play some games at the house until the power came back on.  As it turns out, the deserts and the mountains got hit much worse than any of our coastal cities.  Rain is, indeed, unusual in southern California in August, and the Tropical Storm did cause some major flooding the desert and mountain areas, but it just seemed a little anti-climatic to us on the San Diego coast after all the hype.

As it turned out the closest we got to a hurricane was the one I ordered at the Oceana bar.

 

 

 

 

 

Posted in travel

Mulligans in Michigan

By Comments:8 Comments

by Bob Sparrow

Traverse City, Michigan

It had been thirteen years since I jumped on a plane in Orange County to Detroit on a Monday morning to go to work, and then flew home on Friday night – yes, I ‘commuted’ to Troy, Michigan, mostly every week for five years, so I knew the way to Michigan.  But this trip was not about work, it was about golf.  Actually, it turned out that golf was a lot of work!  The Sagers, Budds, VanBoxmeers, and us, headed to Traverse City in northern Michigan to enjoy four of the over 1,000 golf courses in the state of Michigan.  Those who have been to northern Michigan understand just how beautiful it is – lots of trees and everything is so green!  We got lucky with the weather, as it was not too hot, not too humid, but, as Goldilocks would say, “Just right”.  Our lodging for the first half of the week was in an awesome, four-bedroom condo at the A-Ga-Ming golf complex.

We traveled on a Sunday and had a tee time at the A-Ga-Ming Sundance course set for Monday morning, but the Sagers’ and VanBoxmeers’ golf clubs decided they wanted to spend some extra time in Dallas.  So, no golf on Monday; our free day of Tuesday was rescheduled for golf and on our golf day of Monday was rescheduled for a self-directed tour of Traverse City, where we had lunch on the roof top bar of the Hotel Indigo, that provided us a beautiful view of the West Arm of Grand Traverse Bay.

Happy to be playing the 19th hole

We took this free day as an opportunity to visit an old friend of Linda’s and mine, Shiela Nittman, who used to live in our neighborhood back in Orange, but she and husband, Helmut, were now retiring in their beautiful second home overlooking Torch Lake, which was only about twenty minutes from where we were staying.  It was a great visit, as Shiela regaled us with stories of the surrounding area.

Later that day we also visited a friend of John’s, Cindy, who lived in the area and used to own the Colorado Mining Co. restaurant in Denver and knew John when he played for the Denver Avalanche, NHL hockey team.  She had one story after another, either about the hockey players coming into the restaurant and causing havoc, or the night Elvis came in and they made him a huge peanut butter, jelly and bacon sandwich.  We ended the evening having some indigenous white fish and walleye at Gray Gables, a nice restaurant in Charlevoix.

Room from The Adventures of Ozzie & Harriet

Looking for golf balls in a field of sunflowers

After another day of bad golf for me, we changed locations from our four-bedroom condo in Ag-A-Ming to the Grand Traverse Resort & Spa, a nice, but dated, facility.  Our room looked like something right out of 50s.  We had a free day, meaning no golf, to just tour the area, so we went into Traverse City for breakfast, then stopped by a large field of sunflowers that we spotted along the road; there was a place to pull over and take photos, so we did.  Dinner on the 15th floor of the Grand Traverse Resort & Spa building – beautiful view, just an OK dinner.

After three rounds of frustrating golf for ‘Double Bogey Bob’, that’s me, I can’t tell you how excited I was that we booked the Jack Nichlaus designed course, ‘The Bear’ for our last day of golf in Michigan.  Here’s the description of the course:

“One of the toughest golf courses in America, featuring Scottish terraced fairways, tiered greens, deep grassy roughs, moguls, mounds and deep pot bunkers, along with lakes, ponds, forests, streams and fruit orchards.”

Another broken club!!!

The course was about this friendly

Oh great, all that to deal with plus FRUIT ORCHARDS . . . on a golf course??!!  I didn’t sleep well the night before, wondering whether I had enough balls to get through even the front nine!  But, as it turned out, it wasn’t as bad as it sounded . . . IT WAS WORSE!!!  It took three hours to play the front nine!!!  Not wanting to miss our dinner reservation and being totally frustrated with ‘The Bear’, we quit after 12 holes and headed to the showers!  Travel tip: Don’t play this course unless you are a very good golfer, are in a very good mood and have plenty of time . . . and balls!

Our last supper was at the Turtle Creek Hotel & Casino, and it was probably our best of the trip, made better by the fact that Camus wine was half-priced, and after what we’d been through, we all needed something to help us forget that round, or two-thirds of a round, of golf.

Northern Michigan golf: Check

 

 

 

Posted in Family

WHAT WE LEAVE BEHIND

By Comments:21 Comments

By Suzanne Sparrow Watson

Thank you to everyone who responded to my post about the passing of my husband, Alan.  It has been a trying few weeks, but your notes and good wishes made a bad situation just a bit brighter.  I do not plan to dwell on this subject, and I promise that in my next blog I will return to writing about fun subjects like why we have national donut day or rant about what is going to happen to the Rose Bowl now that the Pac 12 is the Pac 4.  But today I want to share some thoughts about my experience that might be of help to you.

As regular readers of this blog know, last fall my friend Pat Miles Zimmerman and I published a book that built on her experience after her husband died.  Over the two years that it took to complete the book I listened to the widows’ experiences and read the advice from professionals in an interested, but perhaps detached, way.  After all, I was not a widow.  I did learn some tips from the chapters on legal and financial issues, but being the Type A that I am, I already had my affairs in order, had a great estate attorney and a trusted financial advisor of 20 years.  The other chapters, dealing with more emotional issues I read with interest, but could not relate to them.  Now, all of the sadness and sentiment of being widowed has hit me full force, and it is a gut-wrenching experience. So, here is some advice, that I strongly encourage you to consider.

First, what we leave behind for our surviving spouse can greatly influence the grieving process.  Because I had everything in order, in the few days Alan and I had after his diagnosis we were able to spend them talking about our life together, our family, and what he wanted for my future.  I did not have to scurry to collect passwords, bank account information or try to understand our investment strategies.  This has been invaluable.  I have read that losing a spouse is the worst kind of grief because it affects every single thing you do from the moment you wake up to the time you go to sleep.  It has been much harder than I anticipated, but at least I am afforded the luxury of simply missing him.  I cannot imagine that hurt being exacerbated by stress over not knowing how to pay bills or how to access his iPhone.  I urge everyone to get your affairs in order ahead of a crisis – it will pay great dividends in your emotional well-being and to some extent, help in the grieving process.  Last week one of Alan’s closest friends prepared a binder for his wife that contains all of the pertinent information she will need when he passes.  He told her, “This is for Alan.”  It touched me that Alan’s spirit left behind such a thoughtful, and practical, gesture.

Second, the legacy we leave behind is greatly influenced by how we treat everyone with whom we come into contact.  I have been overwhelmed by the beautiful cards and letters that friends have sent me, some relating stories about Alan and how they met him.  But I have been particularly touched by the employees at our club that have reached out to me expressing their sorrow at his passing.  They all said the same thing: he was always nice to them.  As one of the staff said, “I will miss him.  He was a good man.”  His niceness extended to others who worked with us. Two days after Alan died our air conditioner experienced a problem.  Ken, our regular A/C technician came to fix it and asked me where Alan was.  When he learned of his death, Ken got tears in his eyes and gave me a big hug.  He said, “He was always so good to me – made sure that I had water when it was hot and lent a hand when I needed it.” It makes me happy that the legacy of being good to people is also part of what Alan left behind.

Finally, maybe it pays to leave something a little quirky behind just to make your loved one smile.  I have gradually been going through Alan’s things, distributing sentimental items to the family, particularly his two sets of golf clubs which our two grandsons now possess.  I know that would make him very happy.  But he also left behind some curious items, among them 13 (!) new golf gloves, most still in the original packaging.  All I can imagine is that with all of his trips to the PGA Superstore he occasionally felt the need to purchase something, so he settled on golf gloves.  I had to laugh when I found them, and now our son-in-law won’t have to buy golf gloves for many years to come. I loved that Alan is still making me laugh, even after he’s gone.

Again, thank you for reaching out and all of your nice comments.  I know that I will eventually create a new normal.  I believe that life can still be beautiful, even when there’s broken parts.

Posted in Family

A Time of Tragedy & Comedy

By Comments:6 Comments

by Bob Sparrow

This theater logo, of the famous faces – Melpomene (tragedy) and Thalia (comedy), which is Greek in origin, has come to symbolize the last few weeks for me.  Incredible highs and incredible lows.  The tragedy obviously comes from the passing of Suzanne’s husband, Alan, in late July.  We all cried when we read the beautiful tribute she wrote here last week.  The comedy comes from a family reunion that was planned months ago and was on the weekend that immediately followed Alan’s passing.  While our hearts were with Suzanne, in Arizona, our funny bones were in our backyard during the ‘Gathering of Sparrows’.  This family’s sense of humor can be attributed to one man, our father, the original Jack Sparrow, or Poppins, as he was affectionately known.  Aside from being one of the nicest and most gentlemanly people that God put on this earth, he had a tremendous sense of humor, that has been passed on to his children, to our children, and to their children.  What an amazing legacy!

Poppins

The following are the players who attended the reunion, or ‘ReOnion’, as we called it, because . . . well, it sounded stupid: Brother Jack Sparrow and wife, Sharon; Jack’s kids Shelly, who flew in from Tucson and her daughter, Kate, who flew in from northern California; Jack’s son, Matt, who drove in from Tucson with his son, Jackson and daughter, Madelyn.  Sharon’s son, Brad, his wife Betsy and their three kids, Riley, Allie and Zack, who drove all the way from Placentia.  My kid, Stephanie and her husband Jason, and their two kids, Dylan and Emma; and Linda and my kids, Dana and husband, Joe, and their two kids, Addison and Mack, and our son, Jeff and his wife, Pam.   Great music was provided by participants who forwarded me their favorite songs that I put on a playlist that ended up being over 250 songs long.

Most of the time was spent outside, with the young kids in the pool and the adults trying to figure out if they wanted another pina colada from the never-ending machine, a cold Landshark from the beer cooler or a Klapper (cheap rum and diet cola) – some put a lime in it for a ‘Dapper Klapper’, there was also the option of using non-caffeinated cola, ‘Napper Klapper’, but no one was napping this weekend!  Cigars were also plentiful.  ‘Butcher Block Joe’, provided one of the tastiest BBQs I’ve ever had, with ribs, chicken, pulled pork and brisket – soooooooooooooooo good!!  Dana’s key lime pie put a perfect period at the end of that delicious sentence.  After dinner drinks included, pina coladas, Landsharks, Klap . . . OK, you know the drill.

Hoping that a picture is worth a lot more than my words, following are some photos from the event; the first being the ‘Hat Parade’ – where everyone had to wear a hat.  It seems I have a hat fetish, as I’ve got a closet full of them, so I felt it was time to come out of the closet . . . with my hats!!

Jackson’s ‘long arms’ provided the selfie of the ‘Hat Parade’

 

Pizza at the ‘Kids Table’

Kat & Madelyn – Two Beautiful Sparrows

 

Capt. Jack Sparrow at the ‘Wall of Masks’

 

 

 

 

 

Great food thanks to Joe & Dana

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A mustachiod Mac looking very suspecious

‘The Kids’ – Dana, Matt, Steph, Shelley, Jeff

‘Clinging Cousins’ Ems & Adz

We missed you, Sis!!!

Oh yeah, the other event that occurred is that I achieved one of the two major goals that every golfer has.  The first goal  being a ‘hole in one’, which I have never had in all my 66 years of golfing; the second is ‘shooting your age’, which I did accomplish last month by shooting a 79 at Yorba Linda Country Club.  I thought I was going to have to wait until I played ‘miniature golf’ when I was 104!

 

Posted in opinion

WALKING A GOOD MAN HOME

By Comments:59 Comments

By Suzanne Sparrow Watson

My dear husband, Alan, passed away on Friday.  He has had a tough year, diagnosed with early Alzheimer’s, tongue cancer, c diff, COVID, hospitalization for a second bout of c diff, and heart rhythm problems.  Yet through all of that he kept an upbeat attitude and his wonderful sense of humor. In February he had successful surgery on his tongue, but oral cancers are usually aggressive and by mid-July he began having problems swallowing.  On July 19th a scan showed the cancer had recurred and there was wide-spread metastasis.  No further treatment was possible.  He went into Hospice on July 25th and died July 28th.

Indulge me in writing a bit about him.  He was born in the Philippines just prior to the outbreak of WWII; his father was a Scottish businessman stationed in Manila.  When the war broke out, Alan, his parents and brother were all interned in a Japanese prisoner of war camp.  It was as grim as you might imagine, in the end living on one cup of rice for the family and sheltered only in a lean-to shanty. They were rescued in February 1945 and chose to immigrate to the United States.  They settled in Pasadena, California, where Alan grew up and was involved in sports, achieved Eagle Scout rank and according to his mother, excelled in creating general mayhem.  He always had a twinkle in his eye and an ability to schmooze that served him well over the years.  His profession was in marketing for large commercial insurance companies, and he was well-suited to the job.

Alan had two children he adored: a son, Colin and a daughter, Wendy.  He considered Wendy’s husband, Steve, to be like a son. Alan loved being a “Grandpa” to Wendy’s two boys, Matthew and Jake.  They held a treasured place in his heart and they had him wrapped around their tiny fingers from the moment they were born.

He explored many hobbies over the years, but in 1990 began playing golf and in it he found his passion.  When he retired, he spent a lot of time playing, but he also enjoyed practicing.  He was a true “range rat”.  He visited the PGA Superstore so often that I once suggested he get a job there. He loved watching hockey, particularly the Montreal Canadiens and the Washington Capitals.  But mostly he was a rabid USC football fan.  And I mean a fan.  Every fall he asked me to mark the SC games on the calendar and woe be to me if I scheduled any social engagements that conflicted.  Our friends would gently suggest that there was such a thing as a DVR, but Alan insisted (and I kind of agreed) that nothing beats watching sports live.

He was a loving, devoted dog dad to Dash the Wonder Dog.  In fact, I coined the “wonder dog” name because for 20 years Alan did not want a dog.  When he finally relented and we got Dash, Alan became putty in his paws.  In almost every photo I have of him he is holding Dash.  They created a special bond and Dash turned an indifferent pet owner into a complete sap.  Dash truly did wonders for him, especially during his trials this past year.

This is a very sad time for our family.  Dash is confused and keeps looking for him, which breaks my heart.  I know our lives will never be the same.  But I have tried to look for bright spots along the way these past few days.  First, and most importantly, the whole family was able to fly here the weekend following his diagnosis to spend time with him.  They were able to tell him how much they loved him, and he could do the same in return.  He told Matt and Jake how proud he was of the young men they have become, and that is a gift they can treasure for the rest of their lives.  He and I were able to spend time saying all the things we wanted to say to one another.  He knew how much I loved him, and I know his wishes for me as I go forward.

The second gift was the friends who gave me support and comfort this past week. My friend Debbie brought me support in innumerable ways, not the least of which was being here when the hospice transport came, and Alan left the house for the last time.  My friend Marge drove down from Idaho in hopes of saying goodbye to Alan.  After a two-day drive she arrived at our house at the exact moment they were transporting Alan to hospice.  She went with me to hospice each day and to the mortuary to make final arrangements.  My niece Shelley came up from Tucson for a day to spend time with me and give me a much-needed hug.  I am so blessed to have such a loving family and friends, all of whom have offered support and love, both in person and from afar.

I know I have a difficult road ahead of me, but I am trying to be grateful for the time we had together.  Next month we would have celebrated 36 years of marriage.  Many years ago, someone asked me why I thought Alan and I were so happily married, and I told her that he made me laugh every day.  I think that was our “secret sauce”, as no matter how irritated we might get over something, we always ended up making each other smile.

I am also grateful for the way in which he passed.  It was not sudden, nor was it drawn out.  He had the opportunity to tell all of us how much we meant to him, and he heard how much we all loved him.  Not everyone gets that experience at the end of their life.

I stumbled on this phrase from Ram Dass a few months ago that struck a chord then and has resonated a lot this week:

Sharing our love and our gifts
With any who join us on our roam,
Enlightenment comes to let us know
We Are Just Walking Each Other Home.

Rest in Peace, my sweet angel Alan.  It has been my privilege to walk you home.

Posted in Historical

All the News That’s Unfit to Rhyme

By Comments:4 Comments

by Bob Sparrow

Red Posey?

I haven’t traveled in several weeks, and there is not much of interest going on in my life currently, so my options for writing this week’s blog are significantly limited.  But you belong to a loyal following, who have come to expect something interesting, entertaining or thought-provoking each week.  That’s what you paid for when you signed up for our blog . . . oh, wait a minute, the blog is free!  But you understandably still have some expectations.

Those of you who have been with us from the beginning (that’s the summer of 2011) know that we started out, not with a blog, but writing ‘tribute poems’ for people who would request something for a birthday, anniversary, or other special occasions.  That was called ‘Red Posey’ – I forget why.  It was fairly short-lived.  We then started a blog, something that, prior to saying “Let’s write a blog”. we’d never heard the term, but plunged in, writing a four-stanza poem, twice a week, following the format of the popular national newspaper of the day, USA Today, which had four sections, world news, business, sports, and entertainment.  This iteration of the blog was called, Morning News in Verse, with a by-line that read, All the News that Fit to Rhyme.  If we were still doing that today, it would look something like this:

 

We read of the soldier who escaped to Korea

And all of this year’s political diarrhea

Of flooding and fires and all that looks grim

Of airlines that cancel their flights on a whim

 

We hope that our stocks continues to rise

And that interest rates stop reaching those highs

We see that AI is improving with haste

As we’re praying to Google that we won’t be replaced

 

The Open was won by B. Harman with ease

Bringing the rest of the field to their knees

Sooner, no, probably later, baseball will end

Which means college football season begins!!!

 

The writers are striking the actors are too

With no movies or TV, just what will we do?

You could stop browsing your phone to find a new friend

Try face-to-face meetings and re-start an old trend

 

After reading that, it becomes fairly obvious why that format only lasted about six months and why we were ready to move on from poetry to prose – my Iambic has clearly left my pentameter!.  We moved on to the current format in March 2012.

We’ve seriously considered taking the blog off of Facebook, as we don’t agree with some of the information gathering algorithm they use (If you don’t see our blog next week on Facebook, you’ll know that they took us down after reading this!).  So, even though we’re not big fans of Facebook, it is popular with our peers (the ‘older’ age groups), and thus it is where most of our readers read our blog, so big tech wins again.

If you too are not that happy with Facebook, you can ‘subscribe’ to this blog by pressing the ‘Subscribe’ button in the right-hand column of this blog and have it go directly to your ‘Spam’ folder in your email.