Ford vs. Honda

Back in July, Jim and Jacob were driving to Bev's rehab facility one evening for a visit. An ambulance with wailing sirens came up behind them, and Jim obediently reduced his speed and pulled over to the side of the road. Unfortunately, a Ford Focus following them did not slow down quickly enough, and rammed into the back of Jim’s Honda Civic. The teenaged driver of the offending vehicle was very apologetic, and Jim graciously chose to ignore the ding in his bumper since it was only about the size of a nickel. Jim did, however, sometimes gripe and whine about the cosmetic damage to his still-fairly-new car. My advice was to just leave it alone, because the dent was, in fact, scarcely even noticeable. (Official repair estimate: $400)

Last week on his way to work, Jim’s Civic was hit once again. This time it was sideswiped by a Ford Explorer that was changing lanes on the freeway. The driver evidently did not see that Jim was already occupying the lane he desired to be in, and his SUV collided with the Civic while attempting to merge. Jim filed a police report because that was the only way our insurance company would reimburse us for fixing these more obvious bangs and scrapes. (Official repair estimate: $1,200)

Yesterday evening, Jim and Jacob were on their way to Lowe’s when the Civic was struck for a third time. They were simply waiting at a red light, when a Ford F-150 pick-up plowed into them from behind. And using the term “plowed” is appropriate since it was a snowplow hitch-thingy on the front of the truck that actually caused the new damage to the Civic’s rear bumper. The driver never even apologized, and actually made light of the situation, saying, “Things like this happen all the time.” Well, yes, they do seem to happen to the Civic rather frequently. But hitting someone’s automobile, causing damage, then not even expressing a hint of regret seems somewhat discourteous to me. (Educated guess on repair estimate: $800)

So, although Jim is a very careful driver, he has become a bit paranoid about people continuously running into his car. Either the Civic has some sort of magnetic field that attracts other vehicles (Fords in particular), or it is just plain cursed. The insurance company will cover most of the $2,400 collision shop fee. And, they say that since none of the incidents were Jim’s fault, our insurance rates will not go up. (Har har, riiight!) Maybe we should not bother to have any of the dents repaired, and we can just enter the Civic in a Demolition Derby or something instead. We would barely even notice any additional scratches or bumps on the poor little sedan.

Riki's Wedding

Jim and I went to his cousin Riki’s wedding reception Saturday night. We were not invited to the actual wedding ceremony, as it was apparently a small, private affair held earlier that afternoon. Riki is the daughter of Aunt Mavis, Bev’s younger sister. When Riki was born, her father, Rick, was disappointed that she was a girl because he intended to name his first child after himself. I didn’t know Uncle Rick very well, as he passed away shortly after Jim and I were married, but most relatives do not speak of him in a very positive light. Anyway, Uncle Rick insisted that his newborn be known as some variation of “Richard,” so his daughter was christened Richelle. The year after Riki was born, Aunt Mavis and Uncle Rick had another baby, and this time it was a boy. If they would have just had the patience to wait, Rick could have had his little Rick, Jr. a short time later. They went on to have two more sons in two more years, and Rick apparently never got over the fact that he wasted his good name on a daughter. Nice guy.

Riki ended up marrying an old family friend, who is a divorced father of four young kids. His children looked adorable and seemed quite attached to Riki. Bev’s cousin, Nancy, had originally planned to pick her up for the wedding, and then the two of them were going to sleep over at another relative’s house. At the last minute, however, Nancy had to cancel, so Debbie agreed to drive Bev to the shindig. Bev was well behaved, but did keep referring to her senior apartment as her place of employment. She spoke of leaving her job at five o'clock, punching out, and forgetting her bag of Hershey bars on her desk at work. Sigh. Overall, the reception ended up being very enjoyable. And now Riki, who always vowed to have a “household goods shower” for herself if she had not tied the knot before she turned 40, has all the domestic items she needs. Including a ready-made family. And, since she recently celebrated her 40th birthday, her engagement and wedding shower both occurred within her self-imposed time frame. Whew.

Tae Kwon Do

Tonight was Jacob’s first tae kwon do lesson at our local community center. He went eagerly, and looked forward to purchasing his uniform when he arrived for the class. There were almost 20 students, and the majority of them were beginners like Jake. Jim and I sat with the other parents, and watched our kids learn basic punches, kicks, and blocks. The instructors emphasized respect and the fact that tae kwon do is only to be used in self-defense. If Jacob actually sticks with this martial arts stuff and becomes skilled at performing the moves properly, Adam eventually won’t stand a chance of landing a blow on Jake while they are “playfully tussling.” (Playfully tussling, clashing, brawling, whatever you want to call it!) And, lest anyone thinks that tae kwon do is an inexpensive activity in which to partake, let me be the first to reveal that the darling little uniform actually cost more than what we paid for the entire 6-week class. At least it will make a charming Halloween costume if this tae kwon do gig doesn’t fly.

Mr. Tae Kwon Do practicing his bow.

Genealogy 101

Next month, we are traveling to San Francisco to attend the wedding of my cousin’s daughter. Jenny, the bride, is my first cousin, once removed. She is a second cousin to Adam and Jacob. Jenny’s father, Dave, is my first cousin, but for simplicity sake – and Lord knows I like things simple – I just think of us all as cousins. The wedding sounds as if it is going to be fabulous and Jenny will make an absolutely stunning bride! We are all looking forward to being there for the big day.

Dave, the father of the bride, is a great guy who we do not see nearly as often as we would like. We rendezvoused with him when we were in the U.P. in July, as he travels there annually. The boys and I visited California two years ago and spent some time with Dave then. He gave us quite a grand tour of his hometown and the surrounding environs, and, believe me, it is a gorgeous area. Check out his city’s website – http://www.newark.org. Oh, did I mention that Dave is also the mayor of his city, and has been for 30 years or so? He is the longest-standing mayor in California and one of the longest-serving in the country! (Kwame, can you hear me?) I will be sure to take lots of pictures when we are in the Bay area so you can see for yourselves how pretty it is out there.

A Visit from Ike

July and August were extremely dry around our house. It seldom rained, and I neglected my outdoor plants terribly. My flowers would wither and shrivel until I was ambitious enough to lug out a watering can, after which they would perk back up for a day or two. Our lawn became a dismal shade of brown, due partly to the fact that our underground sprinkler system was out of order for the entire summer and we never took the time to repair it. Our township imposed voluntary odd-even watering restrictions, and we had no problem obeying those rules since the sprinklers were sitting idle anyway. There have been benefits to this drought of 2008, too. Most importantly, there have been very few mosquitoes this year. I never even brought out the bug spray during our camping trip last month, or at any other time for that matter.

It was with great confidence, therefore, that we planned numerous outdoor activities for last weekend. First, Jacob and I looked forward to meeting a group of friends at a park late Friday afternoon. Well, guess what? It started to rain. Hard enough to call off our get-together. Then, Jim’s company had its annual golf outing scheduled for Saturday morning. Employees came not only from his office, but from out of town as well. The torrential downpour continued and the company shindig was cancelled. Pattye organized a housewarming party for Janet on Saturday afternoon, and the rain persisted. When all was said and done on Sunday night, we had received almost 4 inches. Many areas were flooded, some folks lost electricity, and a tornado even touched down about 5 miles north of our house. And, during the height of this three-day monsoon, our sump pump conked out, resulting in an overflow of ground water into our basement. Talk about crappy timing! (At least it was not crappy water!)

Well, the weekend is over, the sun has returned, and, of course, we do not have anything planned outside for the next few days. We did not have to endure the full wrath of Hurricane Ike, though, just the measly remnants of the storm. So I guess I will quit griping about our bad luck and appreciate the fact that we have water, power, and a roof still over our heads. Which is more than some of Jim’s colleagues in Houston currently have. On a positive note, our grass has turned green and my flowers have started to bloom again. I just hope we don’t get an early frost now, so I can enjoy the impatiens for a few weeks.

How to Kill Seven Trees in Sixteen Years

The year after we moved into our house, the township planted two ash trees in the grassy strip between our front sidewalk and the street. Jim and I hired a landscape company to put more trees, two good-sized maples, in our backyard. We then bought a decorative Japanese maple tree for the front of the house and a weeping cherry for the side. We were pleased with the appearance of our collection of flora and foliage, and were excited to think about what our six trees would look like as they flourished and grew. It was the summer of 1992.

In the fall of 1993, we were dismayed to discover that our pretty Japanese maple was dying. We consulted a nursery near our house and were informed that these trees "are just difficult to grow." We left it alone, hoping that it would somehow come back to life and sprout buds the following spring. No such luck. One tree down. We eventually swapped it for another Japanese maple that also died. Today, a plum tree stands in its place.

In 1995, our weeping cherry wept for the last time. Two trees down. After we removed the unfruitful skeleton, we decided to just replace that tree with a bush. A few years later, one of our lovely maples in the backyard began to show signs of distress. Again, we checked with a local nursery only to discover that there was no cure for the ailing tree. We ended up chopping it down and using it for firewood during a camping trip. Three trees down. We replaced the maple with another one that is currently doing well. In 2001, the infamous ash borer disease struck our two awesome, 20-foot tall ash trees in our front easement. They were bare sticks by the summer of 2002, and the township ground them up into tiny chips and hauled them away. Trees four and five down.

Last year, we were disappointed when our sixth, and last, original tree started to die. We were sure that with some TLC we could nurse it back to health. To make a long story short, Jim just finished chopping up that last, sad maple tree yesterday. Six trees down. Now, I understand that the ash borer disease was beyond our control. But, our uncanny ability to choose four other trees – five, if you count our second doomed Japanese maple – that were destined to croak seems odd to me. Obviously, we do not have green thumbs, but trees are not cheap things to replace again and again. We still do not know exactly what went wrong, though we are hopeful and optimistic that all of our new replacement trees and bushes will continue to thrive.

Knock on wood.

Airport Open House

A few years back, Detroit’s airport constructed a snazzy new building to replace one of its old and obsolete terminals. Before the “McNamara Terminal” officially opened in 2002, the public was invited to an “open house” to walk around and ooh & aah at the glitzy new layout. The boys and I visited, along with Nancy and Richie. Soon afterwards, construction began on a replacement for another of our airport’s outdated terminals. On Saturday, the brand new “North Terminal” was ready for its public debut. Again, Jim, Jacob, Nancy, Richie, and I decided to attend. We arrived at the designated parking area around 1:30 p.m. There were already a lot of people there, and a looong line was forming to wait for shuttle buses that would whisk us to the new part of the airport. I barely noticed that the sun was beating down and that the line was moving excruciatingly slowly, because we were situated just east of one of DTW’s main runways, and planes were taking off almost continuously. We did, in fact, wait in that bus line for almost an hour, but I heard very few complaints because the crowd was mostly made up of aviation enthusiasts who appreciated the awesome entertainment occurring on the runway just over our shoulders. Anyway, the “open house” was fun and we gathered lots of free brochures, books, snacks, and trinkets. The new “North Terminal” is very nice, and is styled in a similar fashion to the “McNamara Terminal,” although it is a bit smaller. The high-tech features, and a myriad of stores and restaurants will, I’m sure, make it very popular with travelers. Coincidentally, the bus that we took from the parking lot over to the airport ended up being the same bus that we took back to the car after we left the “open house.” Our bus driver informed us that he is the official driver for the Plymouth Whalers hockey team, and I told him that my 19-year-old son was not with us at the airport that afternoon because he went to the 2:00 p.m. Whalers game instead. Small world.

Jacob working at gate D 17.

Now he is at Southwest Airlines.

Uh-oh! The scale said "overweight bag."

Life in the Slow Lane

Bev is kind-of-sort-of becoming accustomed to life at the senior home. I say this with an air of hesitation, though, since I actually have not been to visit her yet this week. Ok, maybe it just seems like she is finally adjusting well, only because I have not sat with her for any extended period of time lately and listened to her moan about how she “has it all together” and she “will be just fine at home.” Bev still phones me frequently asking the same things over and over and over again. I have begun to save her bizarre messages on our home answering machine and on my cell phone lest anyone doubts that she truly has Alzheimer’s disease. That way I can just hit the replay button for any skeptics and it will amaze them that I have taken care of the woman for this long and have still managed to keep my sanity intact. Bev is smoking like a chimney, not using her oxygen properly, and making rude & embarrassing comments in front of the other elderly residents. I accompanied her to the dining room for lunch last week, and when she was given her plate of food, she screeched, “Look at the sh*t they expect me to eat.” (Incidentally, she ate every last bit of the sh*t.) One of her tablemates, an adorable woman named Betty, refers to Bev as "a real hoot." Well, I imagine Bev does spice up the previously mundane mealtime conversations with some outlandish, fabricated anecdotes, punctuated by her colorful language. So goes life with a disgruntled dementia patient.

The Bear

We went camping at our farm over the weekend with 23 of our closest friends and relatives. Most of us slept in tents outdoors because, unfortunately, the farmhouse is in a pitiful state of disrepair. It does boast a toilet and running water, though, so that alone makes up for many of its inadequacies. The trip was an annual gig that our gang normally takes in July. Some members of our group have attended every trip for over 35 years. We all refer to the weekend as “The Bear,” since we often camp at the Sleeping Bear Dunes National Park. But, we have discovered over the past few years, if you do not make campsite reservations early enough in the season, you run the risk of ending up at the family farm, which, mercifully, is always available for our group. All 23 of us went canoeing on the Platte River Saturday and had a blast. A few people spent some of their time bike riding and others went to the beach at Lake Michigan. Five of the more adventurous folks took a grueling 4-hour hike on Sunday over the sand dunes. We had campfires each night and shared many amusing stories, often laughing hysterically. All in all, it was a great weekend, and it was nice to get away from at-home responsibilities, even if only for a few days.

Adam and Muffin hang out while the farm grass is being mowed.

The grass is finally shorter and some tents are going up.

Five fearless hikers, ready to embark on their journey.

Adam, in the black shirt, doing what he does best at the beach. Notice the dune hill off in the distance.