SCHOOL DAZE

By Suzanne Sparrow Watson

Dash the Wonder Dog in a quieter moment

Dash the Wonder Dog in a quieter moment

Over the past three months we have been doing LOTS of homework around our house.  Studying, practicing, shouting. Lots of shouting.  Let’s just say the atmosphere has been a little tense.  As much as we rehearsed, success was infrequent and attention spans were non-existent.  But finally, last Saturday, our big day arrived – Dash the Wonder Dog was tested for his Canine Good Citizen designation.  I swear I haven’t been as nervous about a test since I took the SAT.  Actually, I wasn’t that nervous about the SAT since I had pulled an all-nighter the night before and could barely fill in the circles on the test paper (which probably goes a long way toward explaining why I didn’t get into a better college).  But this day was Dash’s big day and nervous energy prevailed. We made sure he had a good night’s sleep and a hearty breakfast.  “They” say it is the most important meal of the day and I wasn’t about to question whether that also pertains to our canine friends.  We made sure he had “done his business” beforehand as I was quite certain that pooping unexpectedly in public was not part of the test.  At the appointed hour, we walked into the classroom at Pet Smart where Dash immediately lost control and jumped up on the instructor.  It was going to be a long day.

The first part of the test was done in the classroom where the conditions were somewhat controllable.  Dash sensed my uncertainty and shot me a look conveying “Chill, Mom, I got this”. I wasn’t so sure. None of our practice sessions indicated anything close to success. But there was no delaying the test. The first few requirements were child’s play – “sit”, “down”, “stay”.  Basically the canine equivalent of kindergarten.  But then it got more serious – he had to sit and stay while I walked 15 feet away and then come to me on command. My palms were moist, my mouth was dry and Dash was distracted by a rather comely Poodle walking past the window. I took a deep breath and called him to me.  Just as Dash passed the mid-point the devious instructor placed an open bag of peanut butter treats between him and me.  Jeez – that’s like asking me to pass by a piece of Costco’s chocolate cake without at least sticking my finger in the frosting.  Luckily, as it turns out, Dash the Wonder Dog has a lot more self-discipline than I do.  He ran right over to me, hardly giving a faretheewell to the treats.  I’ve never been prouder in my life.  After two more “inside” tasks, we ventured out into the aisles of the Pet Smart store.  On a Saturday Adoption Day.  I’ve seen less chaos at an Under Six soccer game.

20140314-161319.jpg

His Senior Portrait

We began by testing whether Dash could pass another dog and owner as they walked by on our left side.  Fortunately, just as we were passing the other dog and his master, Dash became mesmerized by some goop of unknown origin on the right side of the floor.  I was momentarily concerned about the make-up of this “goop” since Dash was proceeding to ingest it, but decided to just “take the win” when the instructor said he had passed the test.  Apparently, he can wreak havoc as long as it isn’t toward the other dog or owner.  Good to know.  The next task was to walk 20 feet through a crowd in a “heel” position and then return to the starting point without breaking stride.  The instructor gathered five strangers to act as the crowd.  Frankly, I think some of them looked a little too strange.  I peered at them assiduously, certain that some of them were planted by the instructor with beef liver treats in their pockets.  But again – much to my amazement – Dash walked through the group as if he had better places to go and other people to see.  I was beginning to think someone had drugged him.  This was not the dog that I had been training at home.  Our last task entailed Dash going up to a stranger with me and sitting quietly while I conversed.  He behaved like a champ.  I think all the time I spend talking with my friends on the phone has provided him with a tin ear where I’m concerned.  I can almost see him thinking “blah, blah, blah – does she ever shut up?”  No matter…after ten tests were completed Dash had officially become a good citizen.  We all cheered, donned funny hats, and ate peanut butter treats.

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Dash doing what he does best.

But now here we are, back in the real world.  Every day I work with him a bit, trying to ensure that he doesn’t forget any of the valuable lessons he has learned.  Unfortunately, I’m not sure retention is his strong suit.  As soon as I take him outside and ask him to heel he assumes the attitude of a teenager and pulls me in the opposite direction.  I ask him to sit when we reach the corner and he is suddenly rendered deaf.  I am thinking that I would like to have him certified as a therapy dog since he is so gentle and loving by nature.  But at this point, I think his forte is the “sleep” command.  He has that down pat, especially when he’s on our bed.  Now all I need to do is find someone who needs a sleeping therapy dog.  Who snores.  Oh well, we’re proud of him anyway and the framed certificate looks great on the wall next to the college diplomas.

 

 

The Road Past Hana

by Bob Sparrow

Welcome to Hana

Hana, Maui

As I pulled onto main street in ‘downtown’ Hana; OK, there is only one street in downtown Hana, actually there is barely even a downtown Hana, I dropped off Kristen and headed down to Hana Bay to eat the picnic lunch that I had packed.  As I gnawed on some dead chicken and gazed at the picturesque crescent beach, I started turning over in my mind the story that Kristen had told me about Carly Scott’s disappearance and put together another scenario of why Kristen was out on the road hitchhiking.  Perhaps Kristen had been seeing Carly’s old boyfriend, Steve Cabobianco, and when she learned that Carly was carrying his baby and feared they might be getting back together again, she . . . made her disappear.  So now I wondered if I had aided and abetted a criminal and was now a ‘person of interest’ in the on-going investigation.  Either that or someone had put a hallucinogenic in my chicken.  On further contemplation, the hallucinogenic chicken theory makes more sense.

Hamoa Beach

Hamoa Beach

My first couple of stops heading out on the ‘road passed Hana’ were at two spectacular beaches – Koki and Hamoa – they were un-crowded and pristine, right out of South Pacific; in fact James Michener, called them the most beautiful beaches in the south Pacific even though they are in the north Pacific.

7 Pools

Seven Pools with Hippos

 Haleakala is the 10,000-foot dormant volcano, which from the top several years ago my daughter, Dana and I saw a beautiful sunrise and then bicycled down the mountain.  Haleakala State Park goes from the peak down to the beautiful shoreline in front of me, where numerous waterfalls and the Seven Pools are located.  Actually they used to be called the Seven Sacred Pools until no one could answer the question as to why they were sacred.  To me they looked like a hippo watering hole at feeding time as the pools were filled with large, over-weight tourists detracting from the otherwise beautiful waterfalls and pools.  I quickly moved on.

 Next stop was famous American aviator, Charles Lindbergh’s gravesite, located just up the road on the beautifully jagged Kipahulu coast.  When faced with cancer in 1968, rather than take treatment on the mainland, Lindbergh chose to live out his remaining years here – he died in 1974.

Just passed Lindbergh’s gravesite the road changes from a narrow, single lane, partly paved, bumpy, unmaintained road to unpaved road to Hanaa narrow, single lane, unpaved, unmaintained, crushed lava carriageway.  It was here I was expecting to see the ‘Dead End, Turn Around’ and No Rental Cars Permitted Beyond This Point’ signs but, “Honestly officer, I never saw them.”  If you came across another car coming from the other direction, which I did only once, I had to back up to the nearest wide spot in the road so they could pass.  As reward for the demanding drive, the scene in front of me of black lava, contrasting with the green vegetation and the blue water crashing against the coastline was so amazing.

Kaupo Gen Store

Kaupo General Store

After several miles, where the only building I saw was a solitary church, I got back to what is termed as ‘rough paved road’ and ‘civilization’ which consisted only of Kaupo General Store, sitting all by itself along this desolate road.  I purchased a pineapple-coconut shave ice and stood alone on a small rise next to the road and looked at the miles of grassland, actually grazing farmland for horses and cattle, all the way down to the black lava coastline where there were several energy-producing windmills.  If you’re ever looking for peace, quiet and solitude, this is the place.

As the crushed lava trail I was traveling on turned into a paved two-lane road, I saw two cars ahead of me and several tourists standing by the roadside posing for pictures and I knew the adventure on and passed the road to Hana was over.

Update: As of this writing there is still no new news on the whereabouts of Carly Scott, missing now for 30 days.

Murder on the Road to Hana?

by Bob Sparrow

'Road to Hana'

I know that title sounds like a 48 Hour Mystery headline, and it just might be one day, but it’s the lead in to this week’s blog subject.  Two weeks ago Linda and I were on the island of Maui with three other couples, mostly to play golf, drink pina coladas and watch sunsets – I figured I needed a break from my hectic retirement schedule!  To add a little adventure to my relaxation, I decided to rent a Jeep and ‘do’ the road to Hana.  I had attempted this once before about 20 years ago with Linda and three small children in tow, but after a dizzying ride through 25 miles of multiple twists and turns with Linda and the kids tuning green, we reached a shave ice stand with a sign that read, ‘Halfway to Hana’, “Halfway!!”, came the cries from the back seat.  I got out to get some shave ice in hopes of buoying the troop’s spirits, but by the time I got back, the Jeep had been commandeered and was facing the other way – the message was clear.

halfway to hana

Halfway?!!!

When I told our group this year that I was going to finish that journey and asked for any passengers, I heard crickets.  I was not going to just do the road to Hana, I had planned to do a complete circumnavigation of the southern part of the island and ignore any signs past Hana that said, ‘Dead End’ or ‘No Rental Cars Beyond This Point’, so it was just as well that I had no volunteers to accompany me on my illicit and operose odyssey.

road to hana2I set out at 7:00 a.m. and I have to admit, the road does have a few turns in it – 617 so I am told, and although driving doesn’t allow you to observe much scenery, there are plenty of places to pull over and enjoy the water falls, hiking trails, lava caves and spectacular shoreline – which I did.

   Because of the early hour, there was very little traffic on the road, although surprisingly, I did pull over twice to allow police cars to go around me.  When I stopped to observe the beautiful Keanae Peninsula I saw what I thought was a sightseeing helicopter, but tuned out to be a police helicopter.  I wondered what was going on.  I briefly wondered if Linda had called and asked them to keep an eye on me.  I didn’t think much more about it until I was about 6 miles from Hana when I came upon a young lady standing on the narrow roadside, flagging me down.  I would normally not pick up a hitchhiker, especially in a strange place, but she seemed to be a damsel in distress, I had room and I was on an adventure, so I stopped.  She jumped in and said “Thanks”.  I asked her where she was headed.  She looked at me as if I was from a village that was missing its idiot and said, “Hana?”  It hit me that there really was no other place to be going.  Feelingcarly scott stupid, I wanted to show her that she was dealing with someone who could ask astute, insightful questions, so I continued with, “What’s your name?”  I knew I didn’t know the answer to that one.  “Kristen”, she replied and I think she felt bad about her first response so she felt obliged to tell me ‘her story’.  She had just been out with her boyfriend and a couple of other guys, who were wild pig hunters, to search for a friend, Carly Scott, who had been missing for three days (At this writing she is still missing after nearly a month).  I asked her why she left the search party.  She said these pig hunters really knew the terrain well and she was afraid they were going to find Carly and it wouldn’t be a pretty sight.  So she decided to leave the group and head back to town.  I asked about the circumstances around Carly’s disappearance and she told me that Carly was 5-months pregnant and was last seen with her ex-boyfriend, Steven Capobianco, the night before she disappeared.  She went on to tell me that Carly’s car had been found torched and left in a ravine, parts of her clothing were also found along with her dog, Narla – Kristen said that Carly never went anywhere without her dog.

Here is a link to an early news release on the story:

http://www.kitv.com/news/hawaii/Search-continues-on-Maui-for-missing-pregnant-woman/24498394

I asked Kristen if the boyfriend was a ‘person of interest’ and she indicated that she and her friends concluded that morning prior to setting out on the search that they thought he was the primary suspect.  It was believed that she was carrying his child, he was the last one to see her under strange circumstances the night before her disappearance, and he failed a lie detector test given by the police.  That’s why I’ve used the word ‘Murder’ in the headline; I don’t pretend to be judge, jury and executioner, but it’s hard to go missing for a month on an island as small as Maui.  I check the Internet everyday for up-dates, but nothing new for the last two weeks.

koki beach

Koki Beach

You can Google ‘Missing Woman on the Road to Hana’ to see new info as it becomes available.

Next time: I’ll conclude my journey ‘On the Road Passed Hana’ which includes the beautiful Koki and Hamoa Beaches.

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I COULD DO THAT!!!

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.

Samoans Vanish from the Face of the Earth

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.

PERFECTING “THE POPPINS”

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.

My Evening with the Eagles

by Bob Sparrow

Eagles      I have a friend, who happens to know a guy, who is an acquaintance of the road manager for the Eagles, so I felt distantly-connected for getting good tickets for the kicking off of their History of the Eagles concert tour at the ‘Even More Fabulous Forum’ last week.  My friend said, that his buddy told him, that the road manager indicated that we’ve got great floor seats with back-stage passes AND we’ll have an opportunity to grab a bite to eat with the Eagles prior to the concert – are you in?  “Am I in?  You’ve got to be kidding me – the Eagles are my all time favorite group.  Book it!’

limo

The limo was real

Our limo was waved up right next to the entrance to the Forum Club, a well-dressed gentleman escorted the four of us into ‘the club’ and then into a separate room where there were only about twenty people.  Among those twenty were Don Henley, Glenn Frey, Timothy B. Schmit and Joe Walsh – the Eagles, who were casually moving amongst the guests, meeting and chatting with them.  I personally got to meet them all and in fact carried out a plan to give Don Henley a $2 bill saying, “I sang one of your songs, For My Wedding, at my daughter’s wedding, but changed the words to fit the occasion, so I figured I owed you a royalty of some kind.” I held out a $2 bill.  He looked at me sternly, grabbed the $2 bill, then smiled and said, “It’s about time you paid up!” and we both had a good laugh.  He kept the $2.

I thought I was too excited to be really hungry, but the food looked and smelled so good I had to try it – I ended up trying it a lot.  I didn’t think I was that thirsty either, but how do you pass up ‘having a cold one’ with the Eagles?  OK, maybe a couple of cold ones.  OK, OK, it was more than a couple, but it was free . . . and it was the Eagles for crying out loud!   After about 30 minutes the Eagles said their good-byes and went off to prepare for the concert.  We stayed a while longer, eating, drinking and thanking the people that made this all possible; we were then escorted to our seats – floor level, middle, 6 rows back – perfect!

The concert started with just Don & Glenn (yes, we’re now on a first name basis) coming on stage with guitars and singing Whatever Happened to Saturday Night?’   Other band members, including former member and guitar virtuoso, Bernie Leadon, gradually joined them on stage.

     “BOB? BOB?  BOB, WHERE ARE YOU?” LINDA SAID AS OUR LIMO PULLED INTO THE PARKING LOT OF THE FORUM.  “OH, SORRY, I WAS JUST IMAGINING HOW THE EVENING WAS GOING TO UNFOLD.”

hotdog

Pink’s hotdog

Reality first struck when we picked up our tickets at Will Call, which I now refer to as ‘Won’t Call’ – no backstage passes!  So instead of a gourmet meal with the Eagles that I had envisioned, we bought a Pink’s hot dog from a vendor wandering through the masses in the Forum lobby.  Don’t get me wrong, I like Pink’s – it’s an LA landmark that started with a funky little hot dog stand back in 1939, but it wasn’t the beef filet tornados sliders on Hawaiian rolls that I had imagined.  Of course, there was no personally meeting the Eagles and the seats . . . well, not exactly floor level, but we could see the floor from where we were, more importantly, we could see the ‘Jumbotron’, which is where we watched most of the concert.  Right before the concert began, I was almost expecting to hear the announcement, “Sitting in for Glenn Frey this evening will be Stir Frey, Glenn’s older, tone-deaf brother.”

top of stadium

Not our actual seats – I was visiting a friend . . . really!

Further reality sunk in when the concert actually began – the Eagles are still amazing – great harmonies, great musicians and great guitar riffs.  They talked to us between songs and provided stories around the history of the group and the songs.  Glenn Frey said he wrote Lyin’ Eyes’ after the divorce from his first wife, whose name was ‘Plaintiff’.  The sound system, which was an integral part of the recent $100 million makeover of the Forum, was second to none in the world (so I’m told, I haven’t actually heard them ALL).  In my opinion, the only thing they neglected in that makeover was to move the Forum out of Inglewood.

All in all it was a wonderfully entertaining evening, both real and imagined.

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REVISITING THE MIDDLE AGES

By Suzanne Sparrow Watson

Aunt BeeI was watching television the other day and up popped an advertisement for a DVD collection of the old “Andy Griffith Show“.  And, yes, you would be correct in assuming that I was not watching MTV.  Clearly the distributors are trying to tap into the sentiment some of us Baby Boomers hold for a show that reflects a much more innocent time and place.  But it was not the bucolic setting or regional twang that made me sit up and take notice.  It was the picture of Frances Bavier, who played the wonderful character of “Aunt Bee”.  She always seemed so comforting and endearing.  She was the “go to” person for problem solving and home-baked apple pie.  I wanted to know a little more about her; more  specifically, I was curious as to how old she was when she played that part.  The wonderful thing about both Google and an iPad is that all those questions we used to ask ourselves somewhat rhetorically can now be answered immediately.  So I looked up Ms. Bavier on Wikipedia and was shocked to learn that she was only 58 when she started on the show.  Jeez – I thought she was about 100.

I shouldn’t have been surprised.  It seems that whenever I’m watching a classic movie or TV show I think about how much older people used to look.  It happens with kim-cattrall-2013both sexes but is perhaps more prominent with women.  Actresses that played middle-aged moms looked plump and matronly.  They wore housedresses, sensible shoes and hats.  They ate saturated fats, tons of sugar and drank bourbon.  And in real life they were only 50 years old.   Gloria Swanson, for example, was 50 when she played the washed up movie star Norma Desmond in “Sunset Boulevard”.  Contrast that with today’smovie icons.  Kim Cattrall, pictured right, was 58 when this photo was taken.  A far cry from Aunt Bee at the same age.  Of course, today’s stars have the benefit of hair color, skilled plastic surgeons and fitness trainers.  They wear designer clothes and shoes that could double as railroad spikes.  Instead of girdles they have whole-body Spanx.  This trend toward looking younger has spawned the phrase “60 is the new 40”.  I’m actually beginning to hear that “70 is the new 50”, which I think is a direct reflection of our refusal to grow old.  I’m sure by next year 80 will be the new 60.

hearing lossBut despite our outward appearances for the better, there are some things that can’t be buffed or blown or suctioned away as we age.  Teeth, for one thing.  I don’t know anyone over 60 who hasn’t had crowns, bridges, implants or root canals.  Oh sure, their teeth have been “brightened” by the latest technology but just like horses, teeth always give our age away.  Another seemingly inescapable fact of aging is bad backs.  Despite hours of sit-ups and “focusing on our core”, the back just eventually wears out.  We spent an hour at a cocktail party the other night listening to everyone’s tales about lower back pain and how it has ruined – RUINED! – their golf game.  As if they were par shooters to begin with.  Finally, the aging factor that starts more arguments than any other: hearing loss.  The most frequently uttered sentence in our house is: “What?  I can’t hear you!”  That is only rivaled by “Could you please turn that TV down/up!” (depending on who is speaking).  Sure, they make rather small and unobtrusive hearing aids these days but, like alcoholics, the first step is the hardest – admitting that you have a problem.  Which explains why so many of our friends are now watching TV in separate rooms.  It’s easier than arguing about volume and having to face the fact that we are turning into our grandparents.

But no matter how much we’re decaying on the inside, it’s good to know that if we so choose, we women can sustain a more youthful outward appearance with a little effort and a lot of money.  Or we can put on a jaunty little flowered hat and try to exude the same kindly, well-worn and lovable countenance as Aunt Bee.   The point is – we have options.  Welcome to the new middle ages.

 

Chap. 2 The Tape – Searching for Xoon

(Writer’s note: if you missed Chapter 1 you can find it in our archives at the right.  Our free subscription will send our blog to your email every Monday morning.)

by Bob Sparrow

shell     With my thumb and forefinger I fished the shell casing out from the bottom of my shirt pocket and held it in the sunlight coming through my windshield as I sped down Interstate 5 on my way home.  It was the last tangible reminder of my now deceased best friend, given to me after the service by his sister.  The crack of the military rifles still echoed in my ear – a resounding period at the end of his life sentence.

“God dammit Don, why didn’t you take better care of yourself?”

He answered, “Didn’t we always say that ‘life was too long’?”

“It was just a joke!”

“Was it?”

I drove in silence for the next three hours, although it wasn’t exactly silent, in fact my mind was filled with a thousand memories – it was actually quite noisy in there.  I shouldn’t call classical music ‘noise’, but he loved the song Nessun Dorma, we listened to it together as the hair on our arms would stand on end.  Now, as I drive in the vast openness of central California, that melody was haunting me as an ear worm.

Being a rather unsophisticated fan of opera, I would later learn that the song is from the opera, Turandot, by Puccini, Pavarottiwhich ironically, or not, is about solving riddles.  It features an unknown prince, a bitchy princess as well as some torture and beheadings.  Pretty much like operas today, only now they’re prefaced with ‘soap’.  While Nesun Dorma sounds like a beautifully majestic love song, the lyrics and the storyline in the opera are actually quite menacing.  For those not familiar with the song, and even those who are and enjoy a good aria, I’ve attached a link to the 3-minute video of Pavarotti’s offering in 1994 – you may have to copy and paste it into your browser – it’s worth it!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rTFUM4Uh_6Y

     I wondered what all this had to do with anything (as you may be wondering yourself!).  The Tape was already in the car’s cassette player so I just punched ‘Play’.  No longer trying to figure out what was being said, I listened more broadly to the rhythm, the pulse of it.  What I heard for the first time was what clearly sounded like changes in the language being used.  It was still all  unintelligible, but it now seemed clear that the language being used was changing several time throughout the 90-minute tape.

I heard a number of words and phrases repeated throughout the first several minutes.  One such phrase was Eviatem non Cawhoea. I’m sure the spelling here isn’t correct as I just wrote it down phonetically . . . while I was driving.  Of course it meant nothing to me, but I thought about a colleague, Matt, with whom I used to teach and who now was a professor of language at nearby Chapman University, who just might be able to help.

Matt tilted his head towards the cassette player in his office, narrowed his eyes and was motionless as he listened to The Tape.  As the cassette wheels spun I watched his eyes furtively shift, widen then frown.  I silently pointed to the tape, as if to make him listen harder when the Eviatem non Cawhoea part was coming up for the second time.  After it was spoken I clicked off the tape.

“Those words are repeated several times in the first few minutes” I told him, “Any idea what it is?”

“Maybe”, he responded as he turned to the bookshelf behind him and ran his index finger along a row of old books until he found what he was looking for.  He pulled it from the shelf and gingerly laid it on his desk and turned to the page as noted in the Table of Contents.

Pointing at the page he said, “Yes, here it is right here, it is in fact . . . gibberish.”

“Oh thank you esteemed professor of language, I knew you could solve this mystery.  Seriously, does any of it make any sense to you?”

“Actually some of it does.  The phrase, Iviatim non Cahuilla, which is repeated several time probably refers to the Iviatim or Ivia language of an ancient Indian tribe, related to the Aztecs; they’re actually indigenous to the deserts here in Southern California.  Cahuilla, (pronounced kah-wee-ah) was the name for Iviatim that was used by the missionaries and ranchero owners.  It was the Spanish first, then the Mexicans that took over their land.”

“Why did they change the name?  Can you translate any more of it; do you think it tells us why they changed the name?

“Hold on with the questions for a minute.  I’m afraid I can’t translate anything more, that language is nearly extinct; there are probably less than 50 people in the world that can still speak it.  Fortunately for you most of them are out in the Palm Springs area.  Someone out there may be able to answer your questions.”

“Thanks Matt, any ideas on how I would go about finding any of the 50 people that still speak this language?”

“Well, you’re probably not going to find them sitting around the pool at the Marriott sipping a Pina Colada, but I think I can point you in the right direction.”

I would learn later that Matt actually knew exactly where to send me, and he knew why the name was changed, but he had his reasons for not being the one to give me the answers.

OBEDIENCE SCHOOL FOR PEOPLE

By Suzanne Sparrow Watson

Good citizen

Recently we have been putting Dash the Wonder Dog through his paces at obedience school.  This past weekend he graduated from the Intermediate level and next week begins a six-week journey to become a Canine Good Citizen. Actually, the training is more for me.  I am learning that consistency and discipline are not exactly my strong suits.  More on that later.

Today I want to write about the brilliant idea I had during Dash’s training – Obedience School for People!  Don’t laugh – think about how much less annoying life would be if everybody had to attain their Good Citizen certificate.  One of the major complaints we hear, either in person or on TV,  is  how rude and inconsiderate people are these days.  “Honkers” in traffic, people with full carts in the Express Check-out line, someone in front of you at Starbucks ordering Cappacinos for their entire office.  But imagine a world where people were actually trained as well as our dogs!  To prove my point, here are some examples:

1.  Fetch – with canines the dogs are taught to go get something that you’ve thrown and bring it right back to you.  Oh, if only this had applied to some of my friends over Ice Skating Bookthe years.  I have loaned – and not gotten back – clothing, utensils, garden equipment and various other household items.  As an example, a friend “borrowed” my book on figure skating written by the great sportswriter Christine Brennan.  That was in 1997.  For the first year I hinted to her that I wanted to refresh my memory about some skaters and would sure like to re-read the book.  Nothing. Several other hints were also met with inaction. Finally, when we were moving out of state and I was pretty sure that I would never see her again I came right out and reminded her that the book was about two years overdue at my personal lending library.  Still…to this day the book resides on her bookshelf, permanently “borrowed” from me.   But – and here’s where the brilliance of my plan comes in – if my friend had been through training I could have said “fetch” and my book would have been promptly returned.  

 

Angry Mob2.  Wait – dogs are not generally long on patience or attention spans.  Sort of like husbands.  So the “wait” command teaches them to pause before entering or exiting a room or to stop doing whatever they’re doing (like bugging you to throw the ball for the 1,000th time).  I was thinking about the “wait” training trick when I was standing outside Costco the other morning.  I was there about five minutes before they opened and joined a crowd of about 20 people.  It was not particularly cold – it’s Scottsdale for Heaven’s sake – nor was it the morning before a holiday.  In other words, there should have been no overriding sense of urgency.  But at 9:03 when the big steel door still had not opened, not one but two (!) people called the store demanding that they open up.  And in rather harsh terms, I might add.  Now I have to admit, I love Costco.  I own stock in the company, I think they treat their employees well, and best of all, if you time it just right you can get a free meal by swerving through the aisles picking up all the free samples.  So when people are so impatient and rude that they are yelling at the nice Costco people for being THREE MINUTES late, I think that is a call to action.  If ever there was a need for people to  heed the “wait” command, it is apparently at the Scottsdale Costco.

3.  Heel – this is actually a technical term for when the dog is facing forward with its shoulder at your calf.  It is called their “positional space”.  Boy oh boy, based solely on Personal Spacemy observations, “heel” is a concept where we humans fall woefully short. We’ve all experienced the personal space invasion – the drunk at the cocktail party who stands so close that you could critique their dental work, the oaf at the movies who hogs the armrest, or the dunderhead at the Little League game who has to sit thisclose to you on the bleachers when three rows stand empty in front of you.  The worst violators seem to be on airplanes.  There are the Droolers, the Seat Tilters who leave you no leg room, and of course, the Sleepers.  I once had the misfortune to be in the window seat next to a rather large man who not only spread out all over the empty middle seat, but apparently suffered from narcolepsy.  Despite several attempts to wake him, he slumbered on.  My gyrations to crawl over him to get to the restroom would make a call girl blush.  If everyone was required by the rules set down in my Good Citizen requirements we could confidently enter the public square and – this is critical – airplanes, knowing that everyone would stay in their own darn “positional space”.

 

I’m sure there are other examples of how we might “train” people  I’d love to hear your ideas.  In the mean time, I’m sticking with the dogs.  I think my success rate will be better.