WHERE’S GROVER?

This is a quiz.

Am I in England?

Am I on the Avenue of the Animals in Hollywood?

Am I in Picchi Pacchi Peru Perhaps?

Or, Picchi Pacchi Paraguay Possibly?

Or, Potentially Picchi Pacchi Poland?
Here is a hint


That’s right. It must be the good old US where every loan servicing company in the country is closing due to the sub-prime debacle!

But where?

At a Topiary Garden?

No, Another hint-

A Harness Store? That’s right-Cowboy Territory

I’m in Ft. Worth with a camera in my hand while I was out exercising. And some would suggest I'm in Ft. Worth with too much time on my hands.

Now I have to go look up Pacchi Picchi and see what it means other than a failed business with nothing left but that weird sign.

THE MOUSE

Our friends Bill and Cheri came over and I cooked dinner on Friday. We drank two great bottles of wine and finished the meal with an incredible peach tart.

Bill and I went downstairs and played pool for a couple of hours while Cathy and Cheri drank half a bottle of Port.

About midnight, Bill and Cheri went home and I finished doing the dishes. We were about to go upstairs and Cathy heard some kind of an odd noise, like a machine running, from our lower level. I knew Bill and I had not left anything on down there so we went down to see what it was. We couldn’t find it but Cathy wandered into our storage area with me keeping my distance behind her.

That is when she said those words that always completely freak me out. She said “What’s That?”

Being as jumpy as I am my mind brilliantly skimmed the thousands of possibilities and my brain immediately shot the hair on my arms up and put my entire being on alert as I leaped backwards out of the storage room, stammering “What is what?”

“Here, on the floor she said. Come look at it.”

I took a deep breath and walked in and looked at the thing on the floor. I freaked. It was obviously a very dead, all white mouse. I could see it lying on its back, one of its black beady eyes staring up at me, its paws curled back in repose, with the tiniest of little claws jutting out. Its ears were still perked up and sticking straight out.

With this assessment I promptly screamed “A mouse” and ran out of the room.

I managed to get a photo of it the next day. Here it is.



Over the next ten minutes or so, using a combination of techniques such as coaxing, shaming, asking, ordering and encouraging me to please come back into the room, Cathy convinced me to come look at it again. She told me there was no such thing as a white mouse but I know she has never studied every possible species of mice in the world so that had no credibility with me.

She kept staring down at it and I wondered who would yell louder if it suddenly jumped up at her, but it was clearly dead. She kept trying to tell me it wasn’t a mouse, but she wasn’t sure enough to reach down and touch it.

I kept suggesting we just go to bed as I was worried I was never going to be able to sleep with the nightmares that I knew would haunt me over this mouse all night. I began to wonder if the Port had clouded her vision since this was clearly a dead mouse. I pointed out the ears, the one eye, the paws (maybe they are called feet on mice) and even how matted the fur was, proof positive that this mouse had been killed in some kind of battle by something bigger. Of course that really set my imagination racing then after I pondered for a split second the possibilities of that.

Cathy, the eternal skeptic, grabbed a stick so I went into the other room as I did not know what I would do if she poked the mouse and it exploded from being dead and bloated. Ten seconds later she announces “I told you it was not a mouse. It is a piece of insulation that fell off of the wall. What in the world is the matter with you?”

I went to bed and still had nightmares. But at least the next day I was brave enough to go down and take a photo of the insulation.

NEWS OF THE WEEK

GRANDPARENTS AGAIN!

Although we have known since last month about it, Andrea just this week put on her Blog that she is pregnant. I would encourage you to go there and see how she explained it. I read it and was convinced that Cathy was pregnant also. She hadn't told me.

New York

My last post was on my way to New York. I had a good time there but the return was hell. There was a ton of rain on Wednesday morning which shut down the airports. I had a 6pm flight out of LaGuardia and the standby list had 159 people on it because so many people's flights had been canceled earlier in the day. I got home at midnight.

But, the day I arrived was a gorgeous day so I took my camera and went for a walk along 5th Avenue. I saw this view that I thought was so typical of New York-the Empire State Building on a gorgeous summer evening through the prism of the poles, signs and wires you see everywhere in New York.

The last time I was at the top of the Empire State Building I was seven years old and I went up there with my Mom. We had taken the train from Kansas City to New York, just the two of us, with many stops in between.

So, I snapped this photo, walked down to a park and watched them set up for an Iron Chef competition but I could not stay as I had a business dinner.

Eleven hours later it was Wednesday morning and I was up early to exercise and after that I went to get a Starbucks and saw the same view, minus the blue sky and minus the street signs as the storm I mentioned above was moving in so I took another photo of it. Little did I know that this photo was telling me that I was going to have a very hard time flying back to Atlanta later that day.

MY MOM

Mentioning my Mom above reminds me to tell you that she is doing great. We were with her a week ago helping her move into her new apartment. She is feeling great and likes the Assisted Living facility. She is laughing and joking around as always and is looking great. Here is a photo of her outside of her apartment. You would never know how sick she was just a few weeks ago.

Congratulations Mom!


KIDS MAKING THEIR PARENTS PROUD

Last January, I wrote a Blog posting on Grover's successful achievement in getting his CFA designation. It was something that made us very happy and proud of him.

This week, Andrea achieved a milestone also career wise. She has had five articles that she has written published in Newsweek.

Reading the opening line that says:

"NEWSWEEK's Andrea Botham takes us on the Baltic circuit, through Estonia, Latvia and Lithuania—and chooses her favorite spots".

Go HERE and you can see her name in lights in one of the articles. Another proud moment for us as parents. The box on the right that says "The Good Life" also has some of her other articles in it.

AND FINALLY-SPONTANEITY

For as long as I can remember, my family, all of them (but some more than others) have complained about the fact that I am not spontaneous when it comes to doing things. One of them will say "We should go to see this movie, or this museum" and I will reply "Great idea-let me get it on my calendar and we will do it."

For some reason, putting a dinner out, a picnic in the park, a museum visit or a trip to buy shoes on my calendar seems weird to them. It is obviously some kind of genetic defect they inherited on the maternal side of the family as it seems very normal to me.

So, because I am always willing to learn from my past mistakes, I have been doing much better on being spontaneous. I would say that over the last five years there have been 3 or 4 times when I have suddenly announced "Let's go get Barbecue" (which probably doesn't count) or "Let's go to Taqueria del Sol"(which does count) or "Let's go to the Fernbank, or the High Museum".

In the interest of not naming names, let me say that this feedback about not being spontaneous enough emanates mainly from those in the family still living with me on a daily basis. We will refer to that group as the "WOTH" to preserve her/his anonymity.

With that as background, on Monday, July 2nd, after a feedback session, I was driving along Peachtree (almost every road in Atlanta is named Peachtree) and I saw a sign at Oglethorpe University a sign that said an exposition of the photographs of the tumultuous love story of Frida and Diego (Frida Kahlo and Diego Rivera) had just opened in their museum.

Since last year we saw an exhibition in Toronto of their paintings, I spontaneously thought it would be fun to go. So I pulled into the gate and asked the guard if the museum was open today. He said "Of course. It is open every day." I said that was good I was going to go back and get the WOTH
and bring her/him back. He said that would be great.

Advance up 45 minutes. We arrive at the same gate. There is a different guard. I tell him I am going to the museum and he shows me how to get there. He gives me directions. We park the car. We walk to the Museum. We read the sign that tells us that not only are they not open today (despite both guards comments), but they are NEVER open on a Monday and at this particular time, they are closed for two weeks.

Doesn't it seem like the guards should have told us that?

So, combining my newly developed Spontaneity skills with my planning skills, I went back and put it on my calendar for us to go there when they reopened.

On Thursday of this week, when I had returned from New York, my calendar said that we were going to see Frida and Diego. So WOTH and I get in the car and drive to Oglethorpe. We go to the guard gate. We tell a different guard (they have a lot of guards it seems) that we are going to the museum. He says "Great. Do you know where it is?" and I say yes. Off we go. Park the car. Walk to the museum. The sign says it is closed. It does not open until noon. This is before noon. Another guard that didn't have a clue.

THE BOTTOM LINE AND LESSONS LEARNED

1. Never believe a person who is a guard at Oglethorpe University.
2. Spontaneity is, perhaps, a great concept. But it is definitely hard to practice.

I HAVE TO SHARE THIS-RIGHT NOW

There was a program on TV tonight called 1 versus 100 or something like that. Not being a TV watcher, I had never seen it. They had an obnoxious contestant who screamed, jumped up and down, flipped her too long and too curly hair for her age round and round and just generally irritated the crap out of me. She was the one in the 1 versus 100. Six of the 100 in the 1 versus 100 were Maxim Models, with a collective IQ (including the contestants) of around 138. Here is the question that so frightened me I picked up the laptop and started typing this: Question: You have heard of the song "99 bottles of beer on the wall. How many six packs will it take to make up 99 bottles?"

The Multiple Choices were: A. More than 15 B. Exactly 15 C. Less than 15

Now I am not making fun of people who cannot do 5th grade arithmetic, but I am making fun of these people.

The bubbly contestant pirouetted around, pumped her arms in the air, pondered the question (pondering is not something I think she does often), did a few jumping jacks, screamed like I do when I see a snake, and finally said:

Wait-you have to make sure you are ready for this-I am not kidding-this is what she said:

"I have to turn to the Mob (the 100) to get their help because I am not a beer drinker so I can't decide what the answer is."

Let's see-I wonder if dividing 6 into 99 and getting the answer of 16 and a half, or more importantly, more than 15 would have been a way to approach this complex problem instead of turning to others? Or, she could have counted on each finger by 6 saying "6, 12, 18, 24, 30," etc. and once she hit 15 fingers (that would be 2 right hands and one left hand Ms. Rocket Scientist) she would know the answer. Sort of like having her own digital (get it?) abacus. But no, guess what she did?

So, struggling with the enormity of the complex mathematics, she concluded it was beyond her education and expertise so she exercised her "Ask the Mob” option and one of the people she asked was one of the Maxim Models who replied "I'm not sure as I am a red wine drinker. I don't drink beer". I would imagine not many 85 pound models do drink beer.

No surprise, 3 of the six models missed the question also. Worse yet, something like 11 or 12 people in The Mob missed it, knocking them out of their chance to split the winnings (this is a really annoying show).

Now I know why I don't watch TV. It makes my blood pressure skyrocket.

WHY WE SHOULD BE NICE TO EACH OTHER

Today, for a trip to New York, instead of taking MARTA to the airport, I drove.

In July in a car with no air conditioning.

In July, the busiest travel month of year.

The hourly parking lot was closed as it was full. Ditto the Long Term Lot.

I went for the only lot left at the airport-the Daily lot. As I got my ticket they put up a pylon behind me so I was the last one in.

If you are the last one in, guess what? Finding a space will be very difficult as there are thousands of spaces, all filled.

25 minutes later I was still driving around the parking lot. I had my window down since the air conditioner wasn’t working.

A guy who works there rode past me on a bicycle. I said to him “Wow, I’d like to have your job since you get to ride a bike all day long.”

He stopped his bike and asked me what I said. I repeated it.

He looked at me for a minute and said “Follow me.”

He led me down some completely filled aisles, going in the wrong direction, against the arrows. He stopped at an entrance that was blocked by a big iron gate and some orange pylons. He got out, looked at me, smiled and moved the pylons and unlocked the Iron Gate with some keys dangling from his belt. He waved me through and told me to wait as he locked it back up.

He got on the bike and motioned for me to follow. I did.

We were now in the hourly part. It was filled also. But we got to some area in the corner near the Delta terminal entrance and he removed some pylons in front of a space and motioned me into it.

I said “Wow-you are a really nice guy. Thank you.”

To which he smiled and said “You know, all day long people have been stopping me and complaining about how full the parking lot is without realizing that it is not my fault so many people are traveling. Some of them really gave me a hard time. You came along and were friendly and told me how lucky I was to have a fun job where I can ride my bike. I decided that since you were being nice, instead of complaining, I would be nice. Have a nice flight.”

I walked into the terminal, went through security, got to the gate and saw I was first on the upgrade list and there was one seat left. I told the woman working there how nice it was that Delta had come out of bankruptcy, smiled at her and asked her I if she knew if the only available seat left in First Class was an aisle since I was on the upgrade list. I told her if it wasn’t an aisle, I wanted her to take me off as I had an exit row aisle in Coach which is a nice seat.

She looked at me, smiled and said “Don’t worry-I will upgrade you now so you will get a choice of seats even though we are not supposed to do that .”

So I am typing this from Seat 4B, an aisle seat.

Sometimes, people just want others to be nice to them.

A PHOTO SHOW OF THE PARTY


Our friends Jerry and Mary put together a great Photo Show of Cathy's surprise party in Spain. complete with background music. I just realized I could link to it.

So, if you are interested, click HERE

CAPITALISM AT ITS FINEST

The Cowboy Actor Andy Devine was the second most famous person (after me) to grow up in Kingman although they forgot to name a street after me.

Walking along Andy Devine Avenue last night, the former main street of Kingman which was also part of the famous Chicago to LA Route 66 (before I-40 bypassed most of the town), I stumbled on to this very funny sign below. It appears that business was a little slow, although they still sold gas (credit card only as there are no longer any employees) at $3.22 a gallon.



And on yesterdays Blog I put a photo of the Hualapai Mountains taken in the morning. I decided it did not do them justice. They are such gorgeous mountains and they were such an important part of my childhood. So yesterday I climbed up on the bank of I-40 in the afternoon and took the photo below-the colors are much better-the true "Arizona Blue" sky.

MY HOME TOWN-THE HUALAPAI MOUNTAINS IN THE MORNING

I am so far behind in my Blog it is pathetic. And we are spending a few days in Kingman with my Mom helping her clean out the apartment she has lived in for ten years and move to her new digs at the Assisted Living facility. The good news is that she looks good and is doing fantastic.

So, I will have to catch up my Blog later, including a story on The Cashew Caper, but for now, I wanted to share two photos I took here in Kingman early this morning. When I see places like this, and think about growing up here, I am amazed I have been so blessed to live the life I have lived.

I had a great childhood and would not trade it. I have a fond place in my heart for Kingman. But signs like this just remind me that it is a different culture than the one I live in. When there is a cricket in the kitchen I will jump on the kitchen table and cower until Cathy kills it and then I see a sign like the one at the animal hospital and I ask myself "How did I ever survive growing up here?"

The same holds true with the other photo. My last experience with a gun was when a friend Denys Poyner, here in Kingman, jumped from one big boulder to another out in the Kingman hills. He had a pistol in a holster and as he landed on the boulder, he heard a shot, felt a shooting pain and looked down to see blood oozing from his knee. He looked around and the only two other people around were my then little brother Steve and me. I was standing there holding my pistol in case I would see a snake (which I always worried about).

Denys saw that he had been shot, Steve was too young to have a gun, and I was holding a pistol. It is easy to see the conclusion he jumped to. So he tried to get his pistol out of the holster to shoot me as I was running away from him as fast as I could screaming "I didn't shoot you Denys".

Thank goodness (or I wouldn't be writing this) he couldn't get his gun out of the holster because he had accidentally tied the little leather safety cord around the TRIGGER, rather than the trigger guard so when he landed on the rock, his cord pulled the trigger and he shot himself.

Getting him calmed down, off the boulder (he was twice my size) and to the hospital is another story for another time but it was the end of my gun toting days. And so when I saw what was in the photo below, I realized I had moved on.