Category Archives: opinion

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ALL THE NEWS THAT’S FIT TO PRINT

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By Suzanne Sparrow Watson

Ely, NV

Downtown Ely

One of the joys of a long car trip is passing through towns that are barely on the map.  Such was the case on our journey up to Sun Valley, Idaho when we stopped for the night in Ely, Nevada.  Where, you ask?  Ely (pronounced EE-LEE) is smack dab in the middle of nowhere.  It is in the eastern part of the state on State Route 93, exactly 250 miles north of Las Vegas and 250 miles south of Twin Falls, Idaho.  This was not our first stop in Ely…it happens to be just a bit past the mid-point from our home up to Sun Valley so it’s a good place to rest for the night.  “Rest” being a relative term.

The nicest hotel in town is a La Quinta Inn that was built about five years ago.  It is pretty much what you would expect from a La Quinta  – the bare minimum of furniture in the room, cold bagels for breakfast, and people slamming doors at 2 am.  This trip we were delighted by people across the hall who left their baying hound alone in the room for five hours.  There are several casinos in town where, we assumed, the dog’s owners were on a hot streak.

However, as I stated at the beginning, I find a particular joy in going through small towns.  Having grown up in a town where everyone knew everyone else, I find it comforting to know that such places still exist.  A habit I picked up years ago is buying the local newspaper to get a flavor of what life is like in these small burbs.  In Ely, the local paper is called The Ely Times.  Clearly they didn’t spend a lot of time coming up with a catchy name.  On the other hand, I think simplicity is key in Ely.  My brother, Bob, has the same fascination with small town papers and we obviously came to that trait naturally since our parents owned our small town paper, the Novato Advance.  Or The Retreat, as some people took to calling it.

Mom and Dad in front of the Novato Advance

Mom and Dad in front of the Novato Advance

Regardless, the name of this blog is a tribute to a column that our mother wrote each week, “A Bird’s Eye View”, in which she regaled people with stories about local activities.  Her riveting articles chronicled such highlights as  “Mr. and Mrs. Tresch went into San Francisco for lunch on Thursday where they enjoyed a crab salad at Aliotos” or “Mr. and Mrs. J.J. Smith entertained their cousins from Modesto last week”.

So it was with some interest that I opened the Ely Times to see what constituted news in this small town of 4200 people.  Here were some of the major stories:

  • “The City Treasurer has been placed on a 90 day review for insubordination.  The Mayor asked her not to write a check to the Fire Chief, but she ignored his orders, asked the opinion of another council member, and then went ahead and wrote the check anyway.”
  • “Mrs. Zelma Brown died in February but the town will be celebrating her life at a memorial to be held at the Pool Park next Saturday.  Refreshments will be served but seating is limited so bring along a chair for yourself.“
  • “The Ruth Mining Days competitions will be held on June 21.  There will be a mill ball toss, rock hammer toss, tire roll and a tug-of-war over mud.  In addition, we will hold the annual Adult Mucking Competition.”
mucking

Mucking..or something like that.

Mucking competition???  I thought that was a skill held by scrappy newspaper reporters trying to “get the goods” on corrupt politicians.  But, being the intrepid reporter that I am, I did a little research and discovered this is a very serious competition, conceived to keep old-fashioned mining techniques alive.  There are seven events in the competition: Jackleg  drilling, gold panning, hand mucking, hand steeling, timber sawing, surveying and track stand. Points are assigned in each event and the lowest cumulative score at the end of all seven events is the overall winner.  I guess it’s sort of the decathlon of mining.

 

I was sorry that we had to miss all of the festivities…I’ve never been one to pass up a good mill ball toss.  Driving out of town the next morning we passed the new Dialysis Center.  I recalled there was an article in the paper about the local quilting guild that donated dozens of quilts for the comfort of the patients undergoing treatment there.  In Ely, if someone is in need, there is someone to help out.

I’m not sure I could live in a town that small again; I’ve grown accustomed to Costco, Starbucks and high-speed internet.  But I envy these people in ways that others envy the Kardashians.  They live life simply, they take care of their neighbors, and the only muckraking they care about has nothing to do with politicians.  I think they’re pretty darn lucky to live in Ely.

 

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BOB’S NEXT ADVENTURE

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By Suzanne Sparrow Watson

Doesn't he trust us to pick his next adventure?

Doesn’t he trust us to pick his next adventure?

Well, here we are, back from our travels with Bob.  Based on the comments he received on his posts, it would appear that many of you are like me – let’s let my crazy brother explore the challenging places on Earth while we lounge in our living rooms eating Doritos.  So purely for our own entertainment purposes, where do we want Linda to send Bob on his next birthday?  It would have to be someplace beautiful with just a twinge of excitement and adventure.  After all, if he’s going to do the traveling for us we want him to go someplace that will give us an adrenaline fix.  Clearly sending him to Kathmandu didn’t kill him off so I think we can up the game a bit.  Let’s consider some of the world’s “garden spots” that might be options for his next trip:

 

 

1.  Brazil – Ah yes, white sandy beaches, girls in bikinis, slow jazz played in the background.  As Bob himself admits, he is a huge Jimmy Buffett fan and Brazil comes very close to wasting away in Margaritaville.  Unfortunately, Brazil also has one of the highest crime rates going.  It boasts (if that is the right word) 14 of the world’s most violent cities. There is lots of gang violence and what they refer to as “quicknappings“, whereby the victim is kidnapped, thrown in a car, taken to the nearest ATM to withdraw money, and then released.  HAH!  Bob could thwart them in no time – he can never remember his ATM pin.

2. Haiti  – Only 8% of the cocaine that comes into the U.S. comes from Haiti, but apparently that’s enough to make it bustling – and dangerous.  Crime in rampant in Haiti but here’s the great thing about Bob visiting there – the carjackings, murders, armed robberies and kidnappings are almost  always against other Haitians.  So as long as he doesn’t a) become a Haitian or b) start dealing cocaine, I think he could be our man on the street in Haiti.

A Honduras hotel with swim-up bar. That's so Bob.

A Honduras hotel with swim-up bar.

3.  Honduras – Oh my.  Honduras as a country currently has the highest murder rate in the world.  And most of them go unsolved.  Partly because it is very common for the crooks to set up fake police checkpoints and then either rob or – it would appear – murder the people who they have stopped.  There are beautiful places to visit in Honduras and some of the hotels even have swim-up bars (see right) but the travel websites warn that the high level of violence deters all but the most reckless of tourists.  Bob – reckless?  No…but he is certainly adventurous and can see right through imposters who say “Badges?  We don’t need to show you no stinkin’ badges“.  Yep – I think he’s our guy to explore the verdant climes of Honduras.  Plus, he’s never been one to bypass a good swim-up bar.

4. Yemen – This country has been in the Top Ten of perilous places for tourists for years.  Travel on roads between cities is dangerous. Armed carjackings, especially of four-wheel-drive vehicles, occur in many parts of the country.  Motorcycles are commonly unlicensed and used as taxis. Well, heck, we already have proof that Bob will climb on the back of a stranger’s motorcycle and take off for parts unknown.  And Yemen has extensive mountain highlands where many people love to trek.  And they don’t have any of those damn stone steps.  Perfect!

 

They are no match for the Parrot Head.

They are no match for the Parrot Head.

5.  Somalia – The Shamo Hotel in Mogadishu serves lobster on their rooftop overlooking the beautiful sea.  The concierge is also nice enought to advise that when you depart the hotel for the airport – a mere four miles away – you hire at least 10 armed guards to escort you.  And of course, anyone who has read about what is going on in that country or at a minimum has seen the film “Capt. Phillips” knows all about the pirates that abound in the region.  BUT…Bob is a steely eyed retired Naval officer.  He could overcome any rogue raiders and take command of their ship.  I can just hear him yelling at the pirates – “Who is the Parrot Head now?”.  Somalia is definitely in his wheelhouse.

 

So let’s take a vote.  Where should Linda send him next?  The outcome of the poll probably won’t matter – I don’t think he’s going anywhere,  exotic or otherwise,  until his knees and hips recover.  But this much I do know, no matter where we might send him he would maintain a great attitude, he would find the best beer, and he would make friends with the locals.  He is a great ambassador for American travelers.

As for me, as you read this we are on our way to Sun Valley, Idaho for the summer.  I will travel through Ely, Nevada and Twin Falls, Idaho.  Believe me, neither of them are anywhere near as exciting as Somalia.  But I hope to have some good travel posts from Idaho, including rafting on the River of No Return.  That is, of course, assuming we do return.

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THE BIRTHDAY DILEMMA

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By Suzanne Sparrow Watson

Alan with his perfect present

Alan with his perfect present

Today is my husband’s birthday.  Which means that for the past several weeks I have been struggling to figure out an appropriate gift for him.  Some years he goes out and buys himself a whole set of golf clubs and then tells me that’s my gift.  But I’m old-fashioned when it comes to gifts.  I think it matters that someone puts thought into finding the perfect present.  Of course, Alan and my definitions of the “perfect” gift differ a bit.  What he really would like is a Shelby Cobra.  He has been known to make a perfect fool of himself by approaching Cobra drivers in parking lots with drool slithering down his chin.  He also would like to have a date with Kate Upton.  He hasn’t seen her in person but I’m sure he’d be drooling over her too.  The chances of him getting a date with her is about the same as me buying him a Cobra.  It’s just not happening.  So I’ve been in my usual quandary about finding him a great birthday surprise.   I was going to send him to golf school up in Sun Valley until he said the other day that he hoped I wasn’t buying him golf lessons because he has miraculously fixed his swing. This is generally what happens every year – I think of something “creative” and it turns out to be the wrong thing at the wrong time.  But I like to have something for him to open on his birthday.  I could rest on my laurels, since bringing Dash the Wonder Dog into our home racked up LOTS of gift points.   But I’ve never been one to pass up the opportunity to have a birthday celebration so I was determined to forge ahead in my quest for a gift.

The "new" sensation

The “new” sensation

A week ago I was lucky enough to get a good hint as he made his daily trek into our office to watch YouTube videos of Brazilian jazz artists.  He just discovered YouTube about six months ago,even though they’ve been pretty popular with anyone who likes cat videos for the past eight years.  He is constantly going up to friends and saying “Hey, have you heard about this YouTube thing?”.  Sadly, given the age of most of our friends, he sometimes finds people who haven’t.  He has created his own account to bookmark all of his music and, for all I know, videos of Kate Upton.  Luckily, as he was watching Ivan Lins for the 1,000th time last week he said, “Gee, I really wish I could take this music with me when we travel this summer”.  I paused.  How could I explain that he could watch YouTube on the iPad?  Instead, I saw an opportunity and immediately began to research iPods.  The next day I bought him the iPod Touch.  As long as he is coming into the twenty-first century I thought I’d drag him all the way – messaging, FaceTime and all the games he desires.  I was going to unwrap it and download several of his CD’s and favorite songs from the Apple Store, but given my success rate with some of my past bright ideas, I have left it in its original packaging.  Which means for the remainder of the day all I will hear is “Honey, can you come in here to help me download?” or “This *&^($# thing doesn’t work!”.  It’s never easy.  But I will give him this – he has a GREAT attitude about birthdays and aging in general.

Old woman birthday cakeWhich is more than I can say for some of our friends.  We know people who either hate to celebrate their birthday or are stressed out about getting older.  Frankly, I think they’re crazy.  First of all, birthdays are the perfect excuse to have a party.   Secondly, and more to the point, getting older is a privilege.  Walk into any pediatric ward at a hospital or talk with a young widow with small children and it becomes very apparent how lucky we are to grow older.  And the old saying is true – if you have your health you have everything.  Complaining about getting old seems a bit selfish or at least  self-centered.  Sure, we have more wrinkles and the bones creak a bit more, but if you’re generally feeling good a birthday should be a mark of accomplishment.  Being as good as we can be at whatever age we’re at is a good goal to have.  Besides, birthdays are the perfect occasion to eat cake and what is better than that?  So Happy Birthday to my dear husband today.  I hope he hears me since I have a feeling he’s going to have ear buds attached to him for the foreseeable future.

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THE WATSONS WALK WASHINGTON – THE END

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By Suzanne Sparrow Watson

Obviously they didn't want to hear my insurance woes.

Obviously they didn’t want to hear my insurance woes.

Our final day in Washington DC dawned bright and beautiful.  We rose early, anticipating our 9:30 tour of the Supreme Court.  As those of you who follow this blog know, I have lost my health insurance, so I viewed this as another opportunity to plead my case.  After all, if the Highest Court in the Land won’t hear me out, who will?  Unfortunately, those nice people who run the Metro apparently weren’t aware of  my plight – or our schedule.  There was a huge back-up that caused us to miss our tour.  On the upside, we got to experience – and smell –  the local Metro riders at very close range.  Despite missing the formal tour, we were still able to view the inside of the building and see the Supreme Court chambers from the hallway.  It is MUCH smaller that you might imagine.  I mentioned this to my neighbor who has argued before the Justices and he agreed with me – he said he had been in small town courtrooms that were significantly larger than the Supreme Court.  So just like the First Ladies’ ball gowns, things are not always the size you would imagine.  As you can see from the picture (left) they apparently knew that I was coming ahead of time.  Of particular interest to us was the exhibit that depicts Sandra Day O’Connor’s rise to the bench. Upon graduating from law school the only job she was offered was as a legal secretary!   But she forged ahead and has been a great example of determination and fortitude.   We visited the gift shop which sells all sorts of  Supreme Court mementos, but somehow I thought it would be hard to take the Justices seriously after seeing them on shot glasses and bobble heads.  We decided to bypass the tchotchkes and move on.

 

Me...being totally ignored by the Speaker of the House

Me…being totally ignored by the Speaker of the House

Our next stop was an appointment with Shelley’s congressman, Ron Barber.  Actually, our appointment wasn’t with him, but with staff that draws straws to see who has to lead the tours for constituents.  We made our way into the bowels of his office building finding, once again, that the office of a Congressman is not as large as you might expect.  Think of your dentist’s waiting room and you’re very close to the size of your elected official’s place of work.  We had a wonderful tour of the Capital Building – the artwork and statues are truly breathtaking.  The capital dome is currently under repair but even through the scaffolding we could see its beauty.  As we entered the National Statutory Hall we passed by the Speaker’s Office.  I wanted to poke my head in, certain that he, of all people, would be sympathetic to my loss of insurance.  Unfortunately, he wasn’t there.  Or so I was told.  They never let me get close.  But then, as if by miracle, as we were touring the Hall, we heard some rustling and sure enough, the Speaker was walking right by us to his office.  I shot up to the front of the crowd, jumping up to get his attention.  You can see his reaction in the picture (right).  Harumpt!  All I can say is, he’s just as orange in person as he is on T.V.

 

We moved on to the Senate Chamber, where we spent a long while, mainly because Abby loved being there and seeing all the goings-on.  Which, frankly, wasn’t much because they were in recess.  Senator Landrieu gave a speech with no one in attendance except the acting chairman.  It’s rather odd to see a Senator give a speech to no one.  Then again, the CSPAN cameras were on so for all I know people back in her state were listening with rapt attention.  Several senators, including our own John McCain, walked through the chambers while we were observing so at least we knew he was working…or passing through on the way to the men’s room.  We then progressed to the House Chamber where I was almost taken down by Security.  We had been through security check lines every where we went in Washington but it would seem they are most sensitive when it comes to protecting members of Congress (which is a bit odd given their popularity level).  In any event, one half of a foil from a stick of gum set off the alarms.  Sheesh!   Once in the famous chamber, we tried to imagine State of the Union addresses from the past and where everyone sits.  As it happens, there was an active debate on the floor concerning the definition of full-time work.  Having spent my career in Human Resources I wanted to chime in with my opinion but I got the distinct impression they were not taking comments from the gallery.  Besides, I already knew the Security Guards on a first name basis.  One more disruption from me and I would have been touring the Capital clinker.

A beautiful building, and the cafeteria serves a great chocolate chip cookie.

Our beautiful Capital, and the cafeteria serves a great chocolate chip cookie too.

Once our term on Capital Hill ended, we took a pedi-cab back to the Smithsonian American History Museum.  Unfortunately, several busloads of intermediate school kids had been let off there to further their education.  Here’s all I’ll say about that:  if you are going to send your child on field trip to Washington, they should be going on tours, not goofing around with their friends as if they’re at the food court of the local mall.  I think I’m getting old.

Finally, we ventured back to Bethesda and to Tommy Joe’s for dinner.  It was our luck that it was Trivia Night.  We named our team “Elementary, My Dear Watson” and took second place.  It was delightful to play as a team; because we spanned so many decades between us, we got most of the answers right.  We only lost because we didn’t quite understand the bonus point system, which Abby tried in vain to explain to us.  We should have let the youngest of our group be in charge.  Anyway, we won a $20 gift card for our efforts.  And Watsons, being nothing if not thrifty, used it when we toured Bethesda the next day.

All in all, I have to say it was the trip of a lifetime.  Even though I made no progress regarding my insurance.  To spend five days with my niece was a gift – we have always enjoyed each other’s company so it was special to share this with her.  And I have to say that if my two great-nieces are any indication of the future generation, we’re all in good hands.  They “get” history and appreciate those who have gone before them.  And for the 26 miles we walked in four days, they were extremely kind about “waiting up” for their Old Aunt Sue.

 

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THE WATSONS WALK WASHINGTON – PART TWO

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By Suzanne Sparrow Watson

Eleanor Roosevelt in 1933

Eleanor Roosevelt in 1933

When last I left you I was in Washington DC,  exhausted, achy and feeling every day of my age.  But sleep is a magical antidote and sure enough, the next morning I was raring to go.   After another trip on the Metro (we had already learned how to shove ourselves into a crowded train car), we began our day at the Smithsonian Museum of American History.  If left to my own devices, I would still be wandering around there. If you love history, The Smithsonian is nirvana.  We toured it twice and STILL didn’t visit every exhibit.  We loved the wing that displays various artifacts from the Presidents’ administrations but were particularly enthralled with the Inaugural Ball gowns of the First Ladies.  Not only were they beautiful examples of couture fashion, but the exhibit gives you a different perspective on the size of the women who wore them.  For example, I always thought of Eleanor Roosevelt as a rather large woman but her dress would indicate the opposite.  So maybe it was just her height that made her seem big.  Or it could be that since this was her first of FOUR Inaugural gowns, the talent of the White House pastry chef took its toll.  I saw a picture of her 1945 gown and let’s just say that by then even a good pair of Spanx would not have helped her into the gown from 1933.  And who among us can’t relate to that?

Holocaust Shoes

A fraction of the shoes in the display

Next we went to the U.S. Holocaust Memorial Museum.  I have always had a special interest in WWII so I was anxious to see it.  I was particularly heartened to see that Katie and Abby were very interested in learning more about it and absorbing all that they could.  The building itself is a marvelous structure, four stories high, light in the center atrium but dark and somber on the perimeters.  As you begin the journey through the museum with movies, pictures and artifacts from the early years of the war, the hallways are quite narrow and gives one a slight sensation of what it must have been like to be hoarded like cattle to an unknown destination – everyone pushing and jockeying for position.  To compare one section or display of the museum as being the “most” anything – frightening, scary, sad, depressing – is futile.   Each person needs to judge for him/herself what is the most meaningful.  Personally, I found the exhibit of over 4,000 shoes on loan from the Auschwitz museum the most unforgettable.  Shoes and other personal items  were taken from the prisoners upon entry to Auschwitz and sorted for distribution to local citizens or shipment back to Germany.  At the end of the war when the camp was liberated there were hundreds of thousands of shoes piled up.  In 1945 when the great journalist Edward R. Murrow visited Auschwitz he saw the shoes and wrote the following:  “One shoe, two shoes, a dozen shoes, yes.  But how can you describe several thousand shoes?”  The fact is, you can’t.

After the emotional experience of visiting the Holocaust Museum we were in need of fresh air and food.  We found our way to the Shake Shack – one of the more delightful eating establishments I’ve frequented.  As the name implies, there is ice cream involved here.  LOTS of ice cream.  We each had burgers and possibly the best french fries I’ve ever tasted and then moved in for the real deal…ice cream.  How good was it?  I could have taken a bath in it.  I’m glad I don’t live in D.C. – I’d be a Shake Shack junkie.  As it was, I needed to get on with the business of why I really came to Washington.

This is as close as they let me get

This is as close as they let me get

The fact is, I have had my medical insurance cancelled due to the ACA.  All I did was raise my deductible way back in 2010 and – whammo! – they cancelled me this year.  Lots of people In Washington had assured me that if I like my policy I could keep it, so I decided I’d go right to the horse’s …. mouth to get some answers.  I started with the White House.  We had requested a tour and I thought perhaps I could just ever so briefly pop into the Oval Office to see if the President would hear me out.  Unfortunately, they told us that they weren’t giving tours that day.  The picture (left) is as close as I got to the Oval Office.  I was going to shout my questions across the lawn but there were some men on the business end of a some weaponry patrolling the perimeter.    They looked like they had had a lot of experience with “kooks”.  I decided to look elsewhere for answers, which brought us to the National Archives.  Nothing like a little bolstering from the Founding Fathers.  I’m not sure they ever had to deal with Blue Cross Blue Shield, but they seemed to be pretty far-sighted on a number of issues so I thought they might also have some insight on deductibles.  Turns out, the line to see the Declaration of Independence, The Bill of Rights and the Constitution was the longest we waited in all week.   After 45 minutes we finally were let into the rotunda where the three documents are displayed.  It is somewhat surreal to see them in person, although “see” might be stretching it a bit  For example, the Declaration of Independence was kept in a west-facing window for over 40 years and was thereafter subjected to flash photography until 2012.  So unfortunately it is so faded that unless someone told you you were looking at the Declaration of Independence, you might think you’re looking at an estimate for getting your car repaired.  Still, to see the founding documents is a real thrill and inspired me to continue on my quest.

Be sure you “subscribe” so you don’t miss out on next week’s thrilling conclusion.

 

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THE WATSONS WALK WASHINGTON – PART ONE

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By Suzanne Sparrow Watson

The Watsons at the Washington Memorial

The Watsons at the Washington Memorial

Several weeks ago my niece, Shelley, asked me if I’d like to accompany her and my two great-nieces to Washington DC over Spring Break. It took me a day to mull it over – not because I didn’t want to go but because I was afraid that “Old Aunt Sue”, as I am affectionately known, might drag down the trip.  After all, my two great-nieces, Katie and Abby, are elite athletes and Shelley is an ace tennis player.  I try to walk 10,000 steps per day, which is about 5 miles, but the sport I excel at is sitting on the couch, knitting and watching re-runs of Downton Abbey.  Often when I move the snaps, crackles and pops that emanate from my back, hips and knees are reminiscent of Rice Krispies.  But what the heck, it was the chance of a lifetime so I packed my ibuprofen and off I went.  Through some cosmic coincidence, my niece’s husband is also a Watson so the trip was dubbed “The Watsons Go To Washington”.  We met up in Dallas and flew into Reagan airport, landing at 12:30 a.m.  I was already way out of my element…even though my “body time” was 9:30, I was ready for bed.  We hopped in a cab and made the rookie mistake of telling our cab driver we wanted the “fastest” route to our Bethesda hotel.  He interpreted that as “speediest” so he took us the long way via freeway vs. the short way via city streets.  So it took 20 minutes and $30 more than it should have.  The rubes had arrived.

The WWII Pacific Memorial

The WWII Pacific Memorial

The next day we set off to see the sights.  We quickly learned the Metro system, which is pretty much like every other rail system in the U.S. – it’s crowded, makes frequent stops, and is full of “interesting” people .  After a 20 minute ride we disembarked in downtown Washington and began our walk to the National Mall.  The first thing that struck me was the sheer size of it.  It spans two miles from the Lincoln Memorial on one end to the Capital Building on the other.  We decided to split up our tour – half one day and half the other.  Since the Lincoln and War Memorials were high on our “must see” list, we began there.  First up was the Washington Memorial.  Unfortunately, it was under construction or as the guides told us, it was undergoing a face lift.  Aha!  Something I could relate to – I felt like I was back in Scottsdale.  We ventured on to the World War II Memorial which is  massive and beautifully thought out.  One side is devoted to the Atlantic theater and the other to the Pacific.  The countries where the fighting occurred and the names of the major battles are listed on the fountains under each cupola.  The most sobering feature was the wall of stars – over 450 gold stars on a field of blue, each star representing 100 men who died in the war.  No WWII vets were visiting when we were there but I imagine it must be overwhelming for them to see such a stunning tribute. 

Abby's perfect picture

Abby’s perfect picture

 

From there we walked along the Lincoln Memorial Reflecting Pool to the (you guessed it) Lincoln Memorial.  Let me just say …it is HUGE.  Oh sure,we’ve all seen it in text books and movies but really, you cannot grasp the scale of it until you’re standing on it.  My knees and I would like to report that there are 145 steps from the Pool up to the Memorial…and another 145 back down.  But the trip was totally worth it.  The Gettysburg address is carved on the left chamber and Lincoln’s Second Inaugural Address on the right.  I was struck by how moving both of those speeches are; they were artfully crafted and in language that is plain yet eloquent.  And most importantly, you get the sense that Lincoln labored over every word until it exactly reflected his beliefs and hopes for the nation.  A bit different from the “double speak” we hear today, written by professional speech writers and delivered via teleprompter.  When we walked around the perimeter of the monument,  Abby, a budding photographer, took the picture (right) that perfectly frames the Washington Monument in the distance.

Next up was the Vietnam Wall.  I’m not sure that anything can prepare you when faced with all of those names on the wall.  It is truly overwhelming.  I knew five boys from my small home town that died in that war.  Seeing their names carved in marble is something I will never forget.  I’ll write more about that experience in another blog.  We sat on a bench near the memorial to rest and plan the remainder of our day.  By this time I was exhausted (mentally and physically) so we ventured to the Reagan Commerce Building for lunch.  I eased myself down in my chair, every bone in my body aching and desperately in need of serious drug intervention.  Alas, I had forgotten to put my ibuprofen in my purse but Shelley saved the day by giving me some of hers.  I don’t think anything has ever felt so good as when those pills started to take effect.  So, now laced with pain-killing drugs, I was ready to go.  We decided to visit one of the lesser-known museums – the National Portrait Gallery.  It is a fabulous museum and, among other things, holds the most extensive portrait gallery of American presidents outside the White House.  I didn’t read the fine print on the information panel and took a picture with my cell phone with the flash feature on.  Apparently this is frowned upon and brought immediate action by the security guards.  I had visions of being hauled off to the hoosegow.  Luckily, they have seen hopelessly ignorant people before and gently told me to turn off the flash.  As if I knew how to do that.  I did notice that they followed me at close range for the rest of the day.

By the time we left the Gallery it was early evening so we headed for the Metro station and back to Bethesda.  I checked my pedometer when we got back to the room and was amazed to see that we had walked NINE miles.  No wonder I was moving like a hippopotamus in three feet of mud.  A break was definitely in order.  Abby worked on editing her photos, Katie went to the gym for a 50 minute run on the treadmill (because nine miles just wasn’t enough exercise), while Shelley and I exercised our arms lifting wine glasses in the bar.  That night I flopped into bed, took more ibuprofen, and prepared for the next day and my real reason for coming to Washington.

To be continued next week…

 

 

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THE LOST DIVAS

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By Suzanne Sparrow Watson

Last Friday night we planned a great dinner with friends, followed by an Il Divo concert.  What we didn’t plan was spending our remaining years lost in a parking garage.

The Seinfeld group was organized compared to us

The Seinfeld group was organized compared to us

How can you get lost in a parking garage, you ask?  Well, apparently pretty easily. It started out innocently enough – we made reservations at Kincaid’s in downtown Phoenix for a nice dinner before the concert.  Problem is, we didn’t check the sports section before we left home and as luck would have it, BOTH the Diamondbacks and the Suns were playing in their respective arenas right across the street.  Which in Phoenix means that every street is turned upside down for “game night” – one way streets are reversed, lanes are blocked off, and the police seem awfully serious about imposing their silly “game night” traffic rules.  So we pulled up to the corner where the Kincaid’s parking garage is, only to be told by a very nice policeman that we couldn’t cross the intersection to get into the garage  – we had to turn left.  Traffic was horrendous and we began to panic that we might lose our reservation.  So my girlfriend, Terri, and I got out of the car to secure our table and left our husbands to find their way back to the parking garage.  Big mistake.  Big, big mistake.  Let’s just say that if Lewis and Clark had depended on these guys to find the Pacific Ocean they would have ended up in Spain.  Terri and I settled into our booth, read the menu, ordered a drink…no sign of our husbands.   Another five minutes went by.  Neither guy had their cell phones with them (naturally) so we couldn’t call.  Finally, my husband came panting into the restaurant with a wild-eyed, distress-call look.  Turns out they couldn’t find the right parking garage.  At which point I did what every woman in America would do – I sent my husband to the booth to order a drink and I went down to our friend’s car to give directions.

That crisis averted, we had a wonderful meal at Kincaid’s with about 40 minutes to spare before our concert,  a 10 minute drive away.  We hopped into the car and circled our floor (P2) several times.  There was no exit.  We circled again, almost getting into a head-on accident when we tried to go “up” the “down” ramp.  Finally we found a ramp and followed it…DOWN.  And the sad thing is that the four of us thought we had achieved success.  We wandered on P3 like Bedouins in the desert until we finally realized that we had only buried ourselves deeper in the garage.  Up we went again to P2 and circled.  By now the language was becoming colorful.  I was imagining a life lived in a parking structure.  Finally we figured out that in their effort to control traffic on game night, the garage had put traffic cones blocking the “up” ramps.  Once we had dispatched the cones (and we’re very sorry to whomever owns that 2010 Toyota that now has a door ding suspiciously the size of a traffic cone) we sped to the theater.  I had purchased reserved “special” parking ahead of time.  It turns out that meant we could park on the fifth level no where even close to an elevator.

Our view from the stolen seats

Our view from the stolen seats

FINALLY, we reached our seats just as the curtain was rising on Il Divo.  People all around us asked us (quite curtly, if you ask me) to sit down and get out of their line of vision.  We attempted to secure our seats, once again wandering about in a quandary, until we figured out that someone was already in our seats.  We quickly found a security person who looked at us with some suspicion.  Frankly, I couldn’t blame her – we looked a bit frantic given our recent brush with Death By Parking Garage.  She reviewed our tickets, scanned our faces, and then assured us she was on the case.  Inspector Clouseau had nothing on her.  She had us stand in the holding area while she marched right back down the aisle to grill the people in our seats.  So while Il Divo was wowing the crowd with their rendition of “Tonight”, the people in Section 3 were being entertained by a security guard, a flashlight, four idiots in a holding area and the scofflaws in our seats.  Turns out, the people in our seats had discovered that someone had taken THEIR seats, so they took ours.  Apparently there is an outbreak of seat-stealing in Phoenix.  Several minutes later, we finally settled in, much to the relief of everyone in the immediate area.

As for the concert…it was FABULOUS.  For those of you who have never heard of Il Divo, they are four tenors who were assembled by Simon Cowell,  of American Idol fame.  They are from Switzerland, France, Spain and the USA and did not know each other before Mr. Cowell decided they would make a great group.  They have previously focused on classical music but this tour they are singing songs taken from the musical theater.  They have soaring voices and their close harmony is worthy of goose bumps.  Phoenix is the first U.S. stop on their world tour and they frequently said how glad they were to be here after touring Asia where no one understood a word they were saying.  Joining them on this tour is Lea Salonga, the beautiful Filipino soprano star of Broadway and the West End.  In 1996 I was lucky enough to see her in London in Les Miserables.  To hear her sing “On My Own” again after 18 years was one of the highlights of my life.  She has not lost one ounce of her talent, range or phrasing.  

Lea Salonga in 1996. One of us has aged.

Lea Salonga in 1996. One of us has aged.

Oh, and about becoming a diva.  We learned from several Il Divo fans around us that if you are really a follower of them you are referred to as a “diva”.  Based on Friday night’s crowd of self-described “divas”, I’d say their demographic skews to the high side of Social Security.  There is something that is both heart-warming and pathetic about senior citizen women shouting out “I love you” to 40-something entertainers.  Someone in the crowd offered to take a shower with the French member of the quartet, which he deftly laughed off.  I was waiting for one of the “divas” to throw her panties on to the stage.  Which, from all appearances, the men from Il Divo could have used as a car cover.

At the end of the night, now considering ourselves “divas” in spirit if not in actual fact, we all agreed that it was one of the best concerts we had ever attended.  If they come to a city near you, RUN, don’t walk, to buy tickets.

 

 

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I COULD DO THAT!!!

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By Suzanne Sparrow Watson

Me - on a slope that looks nothing like the Downhill.

Me – on a slope that looks nothing like the Downhill.

Today is a sad day for me – the Olympics are over.  Champions were crowned, losers were consoled, and the women’s hockey team grabbed defeat from the jaws of victory.  I am a huge fan of the Olympics – Winter more than Summer.  I think that’s because I relate more to winter sports.  Oh sure, I was on the swim team in high school and did some gymnastics well into college, but let’s just say I wasn’t too graceful at either sport.  In fact, someone rather close to me commented that I moved like a hippopotamus in three feet of mud.  But the winter sports! Just strap something on my feet and put me on a slippery surface and I’m golden.  So for the past two weeks I have watched the skiers and the skaters with envy and unbridled enthusiasm.  I have to admit that the slopestyle skiing and snowboarding of any ilk is way beyond me and my knees hurt just watching  the aerial skiers.  But I actually commented to my husband during the downhill ski race, “I could do that!”.  He ignored me, sure that I was just making another of my Walter Mitty-type  comments.  But in my heart, I really do think that I could ski an Olympic downhill course.  Because even though I’m 63, I think I’m 45.

I'm a Gold Medal winner in Doughnuts

I’m a Gold Medal winner in Doughnuts

I mentioned this to a friend the other day and she told me she had suffered from the same delusions until she took the Real Age Test.  She suggested that I go online to Dr. Oz’s website and see just how old my body is.  Simple enough.  I began by answering some obvious questions – Do I Have Aches and Pains?  Do I Suffer from Digestive Tract issues?  Am I Often Anxious?  I was sailing through these questions – any moron could answer this stuff.  But then wise Dr. Oz started throwing in some trickier subjects like “How Much Do You Drink?”.  Hmmmm….this was a stumper.  Our doctor told us that he automatically DOUBLES the answer his patients tell him when asked this question.  So my first quandary was to determine if Dr. Oz is as wily as our doctor.  Not that I drink that much anymore but still…I was trying to determine my Real Age here and I didn’t want to have the alcohol algorithm adding any extra time.  Secondly, there’s the whole seasonal factor.  I drink more in winter because we go out more in winter.  So do I average the number over the whole year or answer for right now?  This was not going to be easy.  I moved on to food.  Fruits and vegetables have never been my strong suit.  We bought a VitaMix a couple of years ago thinking that we would make green smoothies every day but so far I’ve found that it whips up a pretty mean ice cream gin fizz.  Actually, we’re fairly healthy eaters but when faced with a piece of cake or a fresh piece of sourdough bread I have all the willpower of a six-year-old at a birthday party.  Finally, the smartypants people who devised this test ask about your “feelings”.  But not just depression or how often you laugh inappropriately.  They ask you to rate your belief in statements like “Most People Would Lie To Get Ahead”.  Jeez!!  OF COURSE most people do that.  I worked in Human Resources for 32 years and I could tell you stories about made up crap on resumes that would make your hair stand on end.  But…I could see the sneaky Dr. Oz baiting me on this one – if I answer truthfully he will “age” me because I am a negative, cynical, old bitty who always sees the glass half empty.  So I lied.

Proof that Attitude is Everything!

Proof that Attitude is Everything!

When I completed their barrage of questions I felt like I’d been grilled by a prison guard at Gitmo.  I was sweating bullets, just waiting for them to calculate my Real Age.  Turns out I’m not 45, I’m 57.   They gave me all sort of pats on the back for some healthful living and congratulated me on being younger than my actual age.  Still…even at 57 I guess I’m too old to ski the downhill course.  So instead I’ve decided I’m going to focus on Figure Skating.  A few years ago I laced up some skates in Sun Valley and made it around the WHOLE rink once before falling.  Oh sure, it wasn’t exactly a double Axel but it’s a start.  And my new hero is Yvonne Dowlen, pictured here, who is still figure skating at 87 years old.  She says that if she can walk, she can skate.  I like her attitude; I’d venture a guess that she’s never even come close to taking a Real Age test.  And I suspect that when the doctor asks her how many drinks she has per week she gives him a steely-eyed look and tells him to mind his own damn business.

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Samoans Vanish from the Face of the Earth

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by Bob Sparrow

real Samoan

No, not this Samoan

It’s February and my New Year’s ‘diet resolution’ was already as precarious as a politicians promise; then along comes those adorable, freckled-faced girls in green uniforms to push it completely over the precipice.  Yes, it’s Girl Scout Cookie time and I was first approached by those purveyors of baked goods as I came out of my local super market last week.  I rationalize my purchase by telling myself I’m supporting a good cause, and deep down I knew that I was really not going to get much thinner . . . again this year.  So I walked up to their card table set up outside the grocery store door and pondered my options.

I like Peanut Butter cookies and Thin Mints, but I love the Samoans – those vanilla cookies topped with caramel and sprinkled with toasted coconut and laced with chocolaty stripes – they are ‘good-bye diet’ delicious!  I said, “I’ll take a box of Thin Mints, a box of Peanut Butter cookies and 5 boxes of Samoans.”  Yes, 5 boxes. I knew I could polish off one box by the time I drove home from the grocery store.

The next words I heard temporarily shattered my cookie-eating world.  “OK, thank you, but we don’t have Samoans anymore.”  I froze all cookiesand stared at this little person delivering this tragic news and started to put my wallet back in my pocket, “We now call them ‘Caramel deLites’ – they’re the same thing”, she continued as she handed me a box to examine.  I was offended on two fronts, although I tried not to show it as I knew the young lady standing and smiling in front of me with a tooth missing, had nothing to do with either. First, these cookies are not ‘Lite’ anything – a serving, which is 2 cookies about the size of a silver dollar, is 130 calories – that’s more than a pint of Guinness! Just sayin’.  Secondly, and more importantly, are we no longer calling them Samoans because by doing so we could be offending Samoans everywhere?  Was the name changed out of concern for being politically correct?  Give me a break!  What country or ethnic group would not want to have that delicious cookie named after them?!”

who am I     I almost gave the boxes back, but I was fairly sure that the Girl Scout standing in front of me probably didn’t have much to do with the name change and certainly wouldn’t follow my comparing and contrasting the calories with a Guinness.  So I tried to take the high road and paraphrased Shakespeare saying, ” I suppose a Samoan by any other name doth taste as sweet.”  At that point the Girl Scout’s mother, not knowing what her daughter was going to be subjected to next, stepped between her daughter and me and encouraged me to either buy something or move along, that there were people behind me who didn’t care about the name, the calories, or Shakespeare for that matter, saying, “We’re just trying to sell cookies here to send our girls to camp.”  Which was code for, “Quit creeping my daughter out and either buy some cookies or get the hell out of the way.”

On my way home, while finishing off that box of Samoans (I refuse to call them ‘Caramel de-Lites’), I was thinking, about the misuse of the word ‘Lite’ in advertising as well as the hyper-sensitivity to being ‘politically correct’.  I get it that some Native American Indians don’t want to be a ‘mascot’ of American sports teams, but if we’re insulting the Samoans by naming a cooking after products from their islands, then we need to look at changing a number of other food items if we are genuinely concerned about being politically correct’.  To wit:

–       I’m sure we’ve insulted the English by naming a muffin after them?

–       We’ve certainly insulted the Brazilians by naming a nut after them!

–       I suppose Italian pizza should be called ‘Lo-Cal Mediterranean Cheese, Meat & Sauces on Lite Bread’

–       Are we still insulting the Polish by naming a sausage after them?

–       I’m not sure if Scottish folks are insulted by having Scotch named after them – or were they named after the Scotch?

–       And what about the Turkey sandwich?  Oh, never mind.

–       Should Maine lobster with drawn butter now be called ‘Northeastern crustacean with Lite oleo’

–       How about renaming French Fries ‘Anti-American, bath-needing, sniveling, wine-sipping, bastards Fries’frenchman

Well perhaps I do need some political sensitivity training, and I’ll get some as soon as the Girl Scouts bring back the Samoans.

Posted in Family • opinion

PERFECTING “THE POPPINS”

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By Suzanne Sparrow Watson

Martini

The Original

Those of you who follow my brother or me on Facebook know that last Friday would have been our dad’s 100th birthday.  For those of you who don’t follow us…it still would have been his 100th birthday.  He was a much-loved man, affectionately known as “Poppins” to one and all.  Whenever our family gets together we tell funny stories about him and do “The Poppins”.  What is that, you ask?  Well, whenever Pop’s martini ran dry, he would set the empty glass on top of his bald, round head, signifying that a refill was necessary.  He did it at home, of course, but also in restaurants, bars, and airplanes.  It never ceased to get a laugh…and an immediate refill.  So now that he’s gone, anyone who puts an empty glass on their head is doing “The Poppins”.

Last Christmas as the family was gathered at Bob’s house we talked about how we might turn “The Poppins” into a marketing tool for a liquor company.  We agreed that we first needed to make it a “thing” – kind of like Miley Cyrus and her twerking, only funnier and not disgusting.  We had a fun conversation about it and plenty of laughs and then forgot all about it.  But last week, on what would have been his 100th birthday, we posted a picture of him and requested that everyone  hoist a glass in his honor.   We got some amazing toasts but also received pictures of people doing “The Poppins”.  We thought it might be fun for everyone to join in so, really as a public service, herewith is a primer on how to do “The Poppins”.

1.  Start Simple – and Unbreakable.  This is critical.  No one thinks it is funny or cute to have broken glass and red wine spilled on their white carpeting.  So startphoto (4) slowly.  A plastic cup is perfect.  In fact in my opinion the Red Solo cup people ought to be jumping on “The Poppins” bandwagon.  Next, a little bit of liquid adds weight and makes it easier to balance.  Trust me on this.  At our dad’s memorial service I took a plastic cup up to the podium so I could demonstrate “The Poppins” to the SRO crowd.  I knew I was on thin ice to begin with and didn’t want to further annoy the minister by having the cup tumble all over the altar.  So I filled the cup half way with water.  It worked like a charm, although I think I am still going straight to hell after that stunt.  In any event, as pictured right, our good friend Marge Dunn sent us a picture on Friday of her doing “The Poppins” and she has done everything right – plastic cup for outdoors, still filled with liquid, and grinning from ear to ear.  Perfection!

 

Jeff doing the Poppins2.  Improvising is Key .  Sometimes, it is not just a martini or wine glass that needs filling.  As you can see from the picture at left, Bob’s son Jeff chose to do “The Poppins” at work.  Since pretty much every workplace frowns on consuming alcohol during working hours, he chose to improvise.  Smart boy!  A coffee mug is a perfectly acceptable tool and is also good for beginners.  My husband has been putting his empty coffee cup on his head for years now.  Long ago he figured out that whenever I saw him do that I would chuckle and think of my dad.  So instead of saying something like, “Gee, dear, why don’t you get up and pour your own cup of coffee?”, I gingerly pick it up off his head and toddle off into the kitchen.  I suspect he is secretly teaching the dog how to balance his bowl but I can’t be certain.

 

3.  “The Poppins” Masters.  Eventually, with enough practice, you will be able to graduate from plastic cups and coffee mugs to fine stemware.  This gets tricky and should be done with some amount of judgement (assuming that anyone who is putting a glass on their head has some judgement).  For example, if you’re going to your new boss’ house for the first time, I wouldn’t try doing “The Poppins” with their Waterford wine glasses.  However, I once was at a corporate retreat (“retreat” meaning 10 minutes of business and 5 hours of golf) followed by a small cocktail party, where I demonstrated “The Poppins”.  We then repaired to the hotel’s snobby dining room where the waiter apparently thought we were in a gulag.  No water, no bread, no service.  But…at the slight encouragement of my teammates, I put the very fine wine stem on my head and VOILA! the waiter came rushing over to our table.  So…”The Poppins” really does have some practical applications.  Two of the best practitioners of “The Poppins” in our family are daughter Wendy and brother Bob, pictured here.  You can only aspire to be this good.

photoBob doing The Poppins

It is truly a skill worth learning.  You will have fun, make people laugh, and get your glass refilled at record speed. What could be better than that?  So help us popularize “The Poppins” at your next outing and let us know how it goes.  Disclaimer:  Breakage, dry cleaning bills and humiliation are to be assumed by the trainee.