Election Day... Oh happy day!!!

Dear Bro,


Since you informed me that you have already cast an absentee ballot for the election next week, you are obviously aware of the titanic political struggle currently being waged between our two party system for control of Congress. Since the races are close for control of the House and Senate both parties have overturned their piggy banks to supply greenbacks to their candidates, hoping that every additional dollar will be the one that buys...errrr... influences... errr... lets just say puts their contestant in a position to stick their head firmly in the public trough. (And as a govenment employee like yourself that is a position I am well acquainted with!!!)

My issue is not the unabashed dash for control of public dollars and policy, but the way it now plays out in our living rooms. Since Labor Day we have been subjected to a constant barrage of political ads that are all focused on a solitary theme:

My honorable adversary is the anti-Christ and has "666" tattooed on his/her person. Voting for them will lead to the apocalypse sooner rather than later.

This election season has been especially heinous, as I can honestly say that I do not recall seeing a single political advertisement flash across the screen on my idiot box that is not a torrid barrage of slanderous accusations against the opposition. As I type the congressman for Ohio District 1, Steve Chabot(R), is being accused of going to Washington to change culture there, and instead being changed by Washington. In return, I have seen ads for his democratic opponent John Cranley be raked over the coals because he saw the chairman of the safety committee of the Cincinnati City Council in April 2001 when it was invaded by disgruntled citizens after a local police officer had killed an unarmed teenager in a confrontation in an alley at 3:00 am. Right after this the infamous Cincinnati riots ensued so the Chabot campaign was trying to say "this guy caused the riots!!!".

The most fun is coming from the Ohio Senatorial race between incumbent republican Mike DeWine and democratic challenger Sherrod Brown. A few months ago DeWine had a good lead over Brown and was happy just running his "Sherrod Brown let us down" attack dog ads about how Mr. Brown was ineffective in the House of Representatives. But when the race tightened up it was dirt digging time...

"Times are tough in Ohio, real tough. But unemployment taxes provide a safety net. It's all some people have got. If someone didn't pay their unemployment taxes, it would be a scandal - especially an elected official running for public office. Especially if he didn't pay them for 13 years. Meet Congressman Sherrod Brown, who didn't pay his unemployment taxes for 13 years. The Republican National Committee is responsible for the content of this ad."

Kudos to Mike DeWine for backing up the dump truck and dropping a ton of mud rather than slinging it by the handful!!! However, it appears that Brown paid the taxes 4 months after receiving a notice from the state, but forgot to get the lien removed for 13 years. I think the ad should have run like this:

"Times are tough in Ohio, real tough. But unemployment taxes provide a safety net. It's all some people have got. If someone didn't pay their unemployment taxes, it would be a scandal- but not as big of a scandal as the reason why some people only have unemployment insurance to survive on in Ohio. If ineffective leadership in the Senate caused Ohio to lose tens of thousands of jobs, that would be a scandal. Meet Senator Mike DeWine, our ineffective Senator for 12 years. The Committee to prevent really stupid campaign ads is responsible for the content of this spoof."

The other part of these ads that are probably the most irritating is the "voice-overs" they use to make the ads. It can be male or female, but the tone is usually one that is a sickening combination of condescension and condemnation. It is not unlike being lectured to by a judge even though you have committed no crime, with a rising tone at the end to make their point that if "you vote for this idiot then the idiot is you!".

In addition, if never ceases to amaze me how they come up with the most un-complimentary video or photos of their opponents. A favorite trick is to use a shot of the other guy/gal in slow motion while slagging them, thus not only do you associate them with bad deeds but you make them look like they drool out both sides of their mouth as well. Either that or the election committes hire the photography staff of the National Enquirer to snap some pics, as they are experts at catching celebs with their finger almost in their nose and then airbrushing it the rest of the way in....

I have a solution to this problem. In future elections you can run as many attack ads as you like against the other candidate. The only difference is you have to do it in your own voice and you have to be the on screen at all times reading it from a script behind an news anchor desk that clearly sayes "Attack Ad" across the front. And when you are done, you have to say:

"Take that you slimy worm!"

Hope the mud is less deep there then it is here....

Your bro

Soccer Game October 28, 2006

Dear Bro,

Another seven days has passed and time again for the weekly soccer update. This week we traveled to the Evendale recreation center to play. I had visited Pops to watch the Tottenham - Watford game right before hand so I had to change there before tootling off to battle against the evil forces of Evendale. Since I had never played at that location, I took the liberty of looking up the address before leaving home. It was located on Reading Rd just north of Glendale Milford Rd, so armed with that knowledge I went to the location I believed was where our game was to be played.

I was wrong...

I parked at the location I thought was where this contest was to take place, an indoor facility on Reading Rd. a little north of Glendale Milford Rd. As it was an indoor facility and we were suppose to be playing at a rec center, imagine my surprise when I confidently strutted into the large building donning my soccer gear complete with water bottle and kit bag only to be staring at a sea of hockey player and their parents, who are returning my stare like I am a Marxist at a John Birch Society convention. Sheepishly, I retreat.

Now we are back in the car. I remember from the directions on the internet that the Rec Center was north of Glendale Milford, so I slowly creep in my trusty Hyundai in that direction seeking anything that remotely looks like either a building large enough to hold a soccer pitch or an actual field in the open complete with crossbars and lines. As I approach the crossroads, I see what looks like a park on the lefthand side of the road, but alas no soccer fields. I pull into a shopping center to call try to call Melody for either 1)our team manager's cell phone # or 2) directions to the field. Of course, as I pull in the shopping center there is someone stopped right in front of where I want to turn into the main parking area oblivious to the fact that a line of cars are coming toward them. After a minute or two of waiting in line the lady who left her brain at home realizes she is blocking traffic and finally moves her car, at which point a manage to find a nice isolated spot to make the call.

Melody happens to be home and does get me our team manager's (Greg) number. I call him.... answering service... I leave a frantic message and call Melody back to see if she can guide me there. While talking to Melody, Greg calls me back. I explain where I am and my lack of knowledge as to the whereabouts of one "Evendale Rec Center". Greg tells me to go across the street into the park and the field is just off the road below eye level. Slightly embarrassed, I drive the 100 yards across the road and clearly see the field in front of me.

The good news with Saturday's game was that the rain that had invaded Cincinnati for the last several days had passed. The bad news was the reason it had moved out was that it was pushed along by a 25-30 mph wind that was blowing from one goal to the other across the soccer field. Add to that the 40ish degree temperature and it definitely was not the most ideal conditions to play a game.

As I walked to our side of the field I looked at our opponents. They used to play on a field in Greenhills, about 4 miles west of where we were currently standing, and I knew from playing them many times before that it would be a difficult game, as they had an English guy who always wears a Nottingham Forest jersey and has abilities that broadcast that he has played for money in a previous life, a goalie named O.J. who when he wasn't puffing on a cigarette was actively scooping up or saving any balls that came near the goal, and a lightning fast goal scorer in a knee brace who has burned me so many times over the years that I should have him arrested for arson.

That was the bad news. The good news was that they only had nine players show up and none of them were the scoring machine with the knee brace. We only had one sub and he was under the weather and barely played, but eleven against nine will usually give you an advantage.

It did...

We dominated from the first moment of the game, however we were unable to score in the first half, part of which was due to the fact our best opportunities to score were left at the feet of yours truly, who with all the skill I could muster managed to terrorize the tree line behind the end line but never came near the goal itself. End the first half 0-0. They pressed forward on occasion but never really threatened due to their lack of numbers in attack. This did not bode well for the second half as we had that 30mph wind at our backs the whole first half.

Fortunately, in the second half, they just plum started running out of gas. Even though we were facing a strong headwind our 2 person advantage proved to be too much for them to overcome, and with me playing safely at fullback in the second half rather than halfback we put seven in the net over the course of forty minutes. Final score 7-0.

Setting up for Halloween at the house

Dear Bro,

It is that time of year again where kids all over America throw on costumes, the candy manufactures go into production overdrive, and the dentists divide into two schools: the ones with kids in college who rub their hands in glee over the additional revenue from filling cavities or the "true enamel saviors" who shake their heads in disbelief at the whole ritual.

But at our house it can only mean one thing... no... not more cavities... it means it is the start of house decorating season. After eight years in our current domicile we have this down to a science. Or I should say, Melody has this down to a science.

The season starts on a Saturday in early October, as we are both off of work and I usually have run out of excuses not to venture up into the attic and dig up the "autumn stuff". I am referring to the Rubbermaid storage containers that are conveniently colored black and orange to properly stand out from the Rubbermaid storage containers that are colored red, green, and white to denote a holiday that occurs later. After the last year's season of Yuletide cheer, I had arranged the containers in the garage attic so the Halloween/Thanksgiving containers (3ea) were closest to the hatch and ladder.

Now we do not go in for the ghoulish or macabre blood on the walls or Jason hanging from the ceiling with a chainsaw type of decoratons, but the more middle class "spooky fun" items that will not scare the daylights out of our grandson Hunter. And the focus of Halloween at our place is the fireplace. One fireplace decoration in particular that separates us from the pack is our Halloween tree. It is a scrawny 2ft black tree with orange lights and pumpkin ornaments, but it just screams Halloween. There is a fall leaf garnish over the mantle, accented with several shiny ornamental pumpkins. Sitting below on the brick next to the firescreen is our mechnical Snoopy that is wearing an orange mask and skeleton outfit and dances to the classic Peanuts theme when you push the button in the front.

We have the obligatory "witch on broom smacking into flat object" on the tree out front, and a skeleton hanging from a plant stand that glows in the dark. On Halloween night, Melody has this really strange skull like contraption with bones hanging from it that shakes like a wind chime every few minutes.

Halloween night will see us sitting in the driveway (if it isn't raining) and handing out candy to the numerous cavity seekers who come calling. Our most fun toy goes into use for that occasion. Two years ago while shopping at Target Melody found and bought a large remote controlled rat. It moves backwards and forward, will rotate on command, and has really eeire red eyes that glow as it moves. Scares the crap out of the little kids, while the adults all get a laugh.

Doubt you will see much of this in Iraq, but I will update this with anything interesting that happens on Halloween night.

Queen Victoria Lives (Complete with Translation)

My dearest elder sibling,

I am penning this correspondence with a genuine concern and endearing contemplation with full knowledge of the perilous nature of your current situation and the erstwhile aspiration that it reaches your person in a timetable that is acceptable to one of your esteemed character. I would be amiss in any assemblage of good and redeemable graciousness befitting a humble government servant such as myself if I did not inquire as to the ongoing status of your adjustment to such a barbaric and savage environment as our Government has seen fit to employ the services to which you congenially aquiesced.

At this juncture of my dispatch it is warranted that I with clear heart and solidarity of mind pray for your indulgence and ultimately your much stretched tolerance in granting attendance to my unprivileged confession of deficiencies related to the lack of factual insight enclosed within this epsitle. This predicament led to the difficult pronouncement forced onto this retiring scribe to submit for your venerated and honored judgement a prose void of significant value or consequence, a matter that imparts to me much pain and discomfort in knowlingly taking part in the execution of trivialites of this nature.

In recognition of your intellectual prowness you must know that what I have written has neither been lightly conceived or executed, but bearing the message to which I have cause for you to entertain is both daunting and inflexible in passage, and for this I again am forced by proper deciency to extend my sincerest apologies in advance of your expected annoyance and general incongruity in causing you to have to peruse this text on multiple instances. This mission of perplexing passages is rooted in a foundation of missing verb or hearsay, either nearby the closest ear or distance as the furthest point onto which gossip does dwell and is liberated clearly, creating a circumstance of weariness carried upon our shoulders like burdens of worry carried in a climate of chill and grey moisture over our souls.

Truly wishing this correspondence finds you quickly and in good health, I remain,

Your humble servant


TRANSLATED VERSION
Dear Bro,How are you doing? Are you adjusting okay to the climate?
I did not really have a topic to write about today. So I decided to write you a blog about nothing, which is kinda sucky.
However, since I am writing this blog entry in a Victorian English style it will probably take you about two or three readings of this to figure that out. This is what happens on a boring day where nothing is going on locally or at a national level and when it is cold and dreary outside.
Later,
Your Bro

A Day in the Life

Dear Bro,

Unlike the semi-permanent bake sale that you are subjected to on a daily basis. it is fall here and quite chilly at times. So to demonstate normal life for you I took my camera with me today as I ran errands. First we have to make sure that the camera is working.





Yup... appears to be working fine. Guido is as fat as ever.










So let's drive down my street and head out into that wild and wacky place that is the northern suburbs of Cincinnati, Ohio.










Our first stop is Walgreens, where I have to stop and get Melody a birthday card. To date I have always managed to remember her birthday, but I came close to blowing it this year as she reminded me about it on Thursday wondering why I had not brought up if we were going to dinner or not.... could have made for a long week.
I actually had a customer take a picture of me buying the card but for some reason it did not come out properly, so all you get is a view of the front of the store. Next stop... haircut!!!!




And here I am at Great Clips in Fairfield as Tara cuts my continually greying hair while we chat about the adventures of her three year old son and her and her husband's inability to say no to the little man.....








Next stop was at Flowerama, a local flower shop on the corner of Pleasant Ave. and Nilles. Lindsey and Hannah politely posed for a picture after I had scoured their establishment for the appropriate flora for Melody's birthday tomorrow.



And to give you the proof to meet your request that I buy some flowers for Melody this weelend, Hannah obliged by taking a pic of me handing my plastic over to Lindsey with evidence on the counter....











And then it was off to Oil Express to get an old change for the old Hyundai... as we observe Justin is reaching for the windshield washer fluid while DeWayne is in the dungeon draining my oil.








And now DeWayne becomes the photographer as Justin and I recreate the flag raising at Iwo Jima... entitled the "Oil pouring at Springdale", the only difference being no one was shooting at us, however there were tunnel-like enclosures all through the floor of the establishment. Actually, the only hardship the three of us were enduring was that we were missing the Bengals game, so I guess that comparison is completely moot....




Didn't buy anything while I was here but a trip around the northern Cincinnati suburbs is not complete without a stop at Half Priced Books. I really should have taken the picture from the other side of the building because the sign is missing the "K" and it states a Halloween appropriate "Half Priced Boo s"







Next stop... Sam's Club. Yeah, I know... like the Walton family really needs a bigger piece of the GNP of America, but Guido is out of cat food and if I don't go back with some then I run the risk of having my leg chewed off....








And this is the checkout line number I was in. Boring photo you say!!! Yup, because I was bored out of my skull. The light bulb next to the #3 was flashing because the checkout girl could not get a container of pinnapples to scan properly so I had to wait an extra ten minutes to check out while someone ran (or I think in this case crawled) to do a price check. They opened a line next to us but I was not paying attention and the people in line behind me jumped on it like pit bulls after a pork chop.




My last stop was Kohls at Cincinnati Mills (ex- Forest Fair Mall). This is actually a picture from the parking lot overlooking the construction at CFC (Cincinnati Financial Corp.) who appear to be doubling their facilities. Looks like the financing business is doing well....








And finally we are on the way home as we drive along John Gray Road to take us back to ye old home stead and to watch the second half of the Bengals games. (which they won 17-14 over the Carolina Panthers... Yeah)








Hope you are having a good day...

Your bro, Rich

Soccer Game October 21, 2006

Dear Bro,

This week's adventure in geriatrics takes us to Francis field in Sycamore Township, a small soccer complex in the reachable parts of the northern Cincinnati suburbs. Actually, it is on Conrey, just off of Fields Ertel, about 4 or 5 miles from where we used to live on Bolingbroke back during the H.W. Bush administration. The weather was cooperative with a nice 55 degrees blanket settling over the area, and the rain that had visited town for the last few days moved off like an unwanted house guest, only to probably pay a call your wife and in-laws for the weekend.

I, of course, was running late. The game usually begins at 5:00pm, and this time of year it is getting dark around 7:00pm so we have to start on time to make sure we do not find ourselves flopping around in the twilight. But alas, I had promised our Pop that I would drop off some paperwork that Mum had signed for him earlier in the day, thus I swung by the paternal placial estate to say hello and drop off the requested paperwork. Thus I managed to show up for the game about 10 minutes after 5.

And of course we had not yet started playing. It appeared our opponents did not have enough players yet and could only field a team of about nine. We were waiting for additional support for them, but due to the light limit imposed on us by mother nature the game started just as I walked over to the pitch. The complex had three different fields, and we were on the one at the lowest level by the wooded area as that same durn team from two weeks ago that booted us off the field at Day Heights was using the "good" pitch of the facility. Also, this was a quieter area so there was no reinactment of New York City rush hour as we had encountered in Milford.

The field being at a lower level plays into this story, as remember I mentioned earlier that it had rained over the last few days. To be honest, calling this a field is generous on my part... I think if Jacque Cousteau was still alive he would have rubbed his hands in delight before donning his scuba gear and diving in... the whole thing was a water logged mud bog. I was actually very surprised that the game was not called off, as the surface was at a minimum muddy and in spots was sporting mini-ponds, including one that was right in front of the south goalface.

We started defending the water goal on the south end, but the game quickly showed that with them being short handed and our team understanding the concept of how to pass that it would be a one-sided affair.

And it was...

We scored only one goal in the first quarter, but we kept the pressure on them the entire time, and did not have to worry about defending the mudbog end too much as they only managed to venture close to it once. Yours truly got into his usual fullback position for the last 8 minutes of the quarter and only touched the ball once.

Two more goals went flying past the keeper in the second quarter, with the assault continuing from my team. One thing to note about my team that our opponents don't seem to embrace is that we actually pass the ball to the girls on our side, allowing us to use all 11 players on the pitch. Most teams play that favorite attacking mode of "5 guys and a touch". This always seems to take our opposition by surprise as even after we already have "touch" (ie- a female touched the ball in the offensive half) we still involve them in the game rather than a testostrone driven full frontal assault for glory.

One moment of note was the goal scored by our substitute player Rick. Unlike other teams I have played on, or manager Greg takes roll call earlier in the week to make sure we have enough players, and since we were potential short a few guy players he got a sub to come in this week. Actually, a better term would probably be "ringer". Rick was about 6'3", built like a brick %#&@ house and had a shot not unlike that originating from the USS Constitution during the War of 1812. One of the goals Rick made in the second quarter was a screamer from outside the penalty area that had their keeper feeling like a tourist, just standing and watching as it went by. Needless to say the rest of us also stood there with jaws open, then pretty much spent the rest of the half trying to pass the ball to Rick.

On a happy note, my teammate Linda scored a goal, her first since knee surgery. Before she tore up her knee she was lightning fast and scored all the time, but now is encumbered with an oversized knee brace and has not found that speed she had prior. As I used to bowl against her parents when Melody and I bowled with Dad & Jenny I was very happy for her.

The second half saw them defending the water filled southern goal and this did not bode well as even though they were now playing with 10 players we still had them on the ropes for the entire half. Rick scored another long range goal, this one was not a screamer but was on the other side of the pond in front of goal from the keeper, thus preventing any chance of him splashing over to save it. I played left half in the fourth quarter, and had two shots on goal; one right at the keeper and the other one high enough to potentially qualify as anti-aircraft fire....

We won 8-1. Yes.. the shame... in the third quarter one of their guys got a girl to pass it to him just past the halfway line, raced down the sideline, and dribbled through two defenders to tap in a goal past our keeper, a great solo effort on his part. That macho version is referred to as "one guy and a touch".

More fun next week.......

Cycling at Joyce Park

Dear Bro,

As the summer comes to an end here and the cold fingers of fall start extending, so will come to an end my weekend cycling trips to the Joyce Park walking/bike trail. From my house in Fairfield to the beginning of the path at the Fairfield Youth baseball fields/Water works is only about a seven minute drive by automobile, but after my next-door neighbor Terry was killed cycling on the road this summer I have no ambition to ride to the trail, instead hitching my bike up to the trusty old Hyundai and cruising over to it.

Here's how the local government describes the bike trail on the Hamilton Ohio website:

Enjoy Hamilton and Fairfield by bike, on foot, or on roller blades from the Hamilton-Fairfield Bikeway, which connects Downtown Hamilton, travels to Joyce Park, and then to the Water Works Park in Fairfield. The 6-mile bikeway parallels the Great Miami River and winds through a nature preserve. Plans are underway for a northern extension, which will connect Hamilton’s Bikeway with trails traveling through Dayton.

Let's break this down to give you a better understanding of this fine example of the city of Hamilton in all its pride.

"Enjoy Hamilton and Fairfield " - This is a fairly simple and straightforward marketing sentence. However, keep in mind that the trail actually does run through Hamilton, which has also been referred to fondly as "Hamiltucky". Kudos to go to both Hamilton and Fairfield governmental officials for actually being able to sit down amicably in the same room long enough to hammer out an agreement that would allow this paved piece of paradise to run through bothmunicipalitiess without a toll booth along the way or a blatant increase in my property taxes to finance it. Not to be unfair to Hamilton as a city, so I must point out that the loss of one of it's major employers, Champion Paper, in the early 1990's did not go a long way to creating a hotbed of wealth in the area. I am of course more bias toward the Fairfield end of the trial, mainlybecausee I live there.

"by bike, on foot, or on roller blades from the Hamilton-Fairfield Bikeway" All acceptable modes of transportation on the trail, however on the occasions that I walk the trail rather than cycle I find that unlike when I am cycling, most of the riders have a bad habit of not calling out that they are passing you when they approach from behind. This is not an issue so much in the fall when the leaves over the path give away their approach or if they are riding an older bike that squeals louder than a lawyer within 50 paces of an ambulance. Nor are roller bladers an issue as you can hear them coming from at least 100 yards behind. The issue is the Lance Armstrong wannabes wearing thosedisgustinglyy tight black cycling shorts, aerodynamically designed helmets straight from the movie "Alien", a skin tight" Jacob's Technicolor" jersey betraying a layer of belly fat beneath, and an inability toexercisee their vocal chords to let you know they are approaching. The only time I normally hear them call out "ON YOUR LEFT" is invariably if someone is walking on the other side of the path approaching you and thus both sides are blocked, so what they really meant was "GET OUT OF MY WAY" as I pass between you lowly walkers. Very rude people in my opinion, as the lastest bicycle designs over the last thirty orfortyy years come with these very nifty inventions called "brakes", allowing you to anticipate when you have to slow down due to other people on the trail. Actually, Melody has helped me in this area as for Christmas last year she bought me a "Kentucky Walking Stick". When I walk with this stick I make sure I am partially swinging it near the center line of the trail, and nine times out of ten our "Tour de France" friends will suddenly discover enough oxygen to announce their presence, lest I lance them with a particularly extended swing of my arm.

"which connects Downtown Hamilton, travels to Joyce Park, and then to the Water Works Park in Fairfield" This is all true, but what they forget to mention is that before reaching the wonders of Joyce Pack and the nature trail that proceeds it, you must first venture past Hamilton's main sewage treatment plant, which is ideally located directly next to the Greater Miami river for that "oh so convenient" toxic waste dumping that occurs from time to time, which a constant stream of unusually colored water streaming from a large outlet pipe directly below the trail. An additional bonus delight added to this particular part of your naturalistic trail walking/biking experience is the aroma of untreated sewer water that hovers like a putrid mist for about a 1/4 - 1/2 mile from the plant, depending on which direct the prevailing wind happens to be blowing that day.

"The 6-mile bikeway parallels the Great Miami River and winds through a nature preserve" This is true, but again leaving out the scenic waste treatment plant discussed above. Well... actually I think the trail is closer to 5.5 miles in each direction, but hey... if Grand Cayman's 7 mile beach is really only 5.2 miles long, I think Hamilton/Fairfield is okay in taking some poeticlicensee here. As for the nature preserve, there is a beaver dam, as I can attest to having seen an beaver go flopping across the trail recently, however the mainstay of mother nature's representation besides interesting fauna is an overabundance of chipmunks and squirrels, interspersed with theoccasionallyy snake that makes it's way up from the river. The nature preserve is basically a nice way of saying they did not cut down every tree within twenty feet of the trail....

"Plans are underway for a northern extension, which will connect Hamilton’s Bikeway with trails traveling through Dayton." Yeah right... like six or seven city governments are going to sit down long enough in a civil manner like Hamiton/Fairfield did to get this done.... dream on!!!

Hope your having a good day,

Your Bro...

In memory of Eva Susshine

Dear Bro,

As you already know Melody's mom Eva passed away last Friday. The memorial service and funeral were today (Monday Oct 16th) and yours truly was asked to give the eulogy. The following is the script of the eulogy I wrote over the weekend and delivered this morning.

The last time I stood at this place was seven years ago, to share with you in grief over the loss of Kevin Susshine. And the one comment I received more than any other afterwards was:

“Who are you?”

This time let me begin by introducing myself. My name is Rich Harrison, and I am Eva’s son-in-law as I had the privilege of marrying her youngest daughter Melody back in 1993. And thus joined by Loretta’s husband Mike Marshall and Mary’s Roger Turner I have been an official member of what Eva would have probably referred to as “Eva’s Boy Toy club”.

I am going to ask you to close your eyes two times during my ramblings, and this will be the first of those times… so I would like everyone to close your eyes and image that you are standing outside Eva’s kitchen window on a sunny afternoon… there are a couple of pies cooking in the oven…. now just breath in deeply….

Ahhh….. that was pretty good wasn’t it…..

Eva could prepare the best fried chicken on the planet. I think if scientists studied her recipe they would find that she didn’t use any hidden ingredients, no secret Lake family formula handed down generation to generation, just an ability to take a chunk of fowl and turn it into a masterpiece. And if you didn’t like chicken, well just ask Loretta’s husband Mike sometime about the monster cheeseburger she would make on the side for him.

Eva’s cooking was legendary on Benton Road, as she would always take time to cook for a neighbor in need, or for the neighborhood kids who discovered the gourmet faire awaiting them at the Susshine house.

As a matter of fact, when her eldest daughter Mary got married back in the sixties, they had the wedding at 1pm, and did not have the reception and dinner planned until 7pm that night. Well in the interim, family members went to the Eva and Leo’s house and … well… Eva being Eva… she cooked up a big batch of chicken and fixin’s. When it came time for the reception…. No one was really that hungry….

We remember the card shark Eva, who loved to play 500 rummy with Loretta, Mike, and their friend Mike. She had no idea how to play when they first started this ritual, but she was a quick study and soon was beating up on the rest of them. Plus my understanding was that the friend in question was quite handsome, and in a small way probably did not hurt in Eva’s quick study of cards….

Then there was the disciplinarian Eva… the one that used to chase Kevin around the yard to give him the whipping for which he had done something to deserve… and Leo, you missed that one because invariably the reason Kevin ran is because 1) you were out on the road driving freight 2) he was under the mistaken impression that he could get away with bad behavior while you were gone, and 3) he thought he could outrun Eva… he would stop and yell “mom… I’m sorry… I won’t do it again!!!!” … but Eva was undeterred in her mission… and that young man would eventually be caught and dealt with….

Loretta and Melody remember the “mail box mom”, for if they were running late she would be waiting at end of the driveway shaking her finger at them with that evil “you should have been home when I told you to be home” stare

The one thing we didn’t get to see was the driving Eva, for even though Leo went to the effort of buying a car for her, she never actually learned to drive the darn thing. She did however try to learn by driving a rider mower. She hopped on that thing and started cutting that grass with a vengeance… and then she came up to a line of small trees and shrubs that Leo had planted earlier that year. Eva grinded to a stop and grabbed the lever to jam it into reverse…. Well… after several unsuccessful attempts at this she did what any other person in that predicament would do: she put it back in drive and just mowed over those sapling so she could finish mowing that yard. And since the Arbor day massacre, Leo never attempted to get her to drive again….

So we come here to remember mother, wife, sister, and friend that was Eva Susshine. I have two poems to leave you with in honor of Eva’s memory. Before reading them, and here’s the other point where I ask you to close your eyes, I would like to take a moment to reflect on your personal memories of Eva’s oldest son Harry, who passed away in California in July of this year.

For this moment of silence, the words that William Shakespeare wrote in Hamlet seem appropriate:

When sorrows come, they come not single spies, But in battalions.

The first poem is entitled

Remember by Christina Rossetti

Remember me when I am gone away,

Gone far away into the silent land;

When you can no more hold me by the hand,

Nor I half turn to go yet turning stay.

Remember me when no more day by day

You tell me of our future that you planned:

Only remember me; you understand

It will be late to counsel then or pray.

Yet if you should forget me for a while

And afterwards remember, do not grieve:

For if the darkness and corruption leave

A vestige of the thoughts that once I had,

Better by far you should forget and smile

Than that you should remember and be sad.

The second poem is called:

This life mattered

Ready or not, someday it all comes to an end.

There are no more sunrises, no more minutes, hours or days.

All the things collected, treasured or forgotten, pass to someone else.

Wealth, fame and temporal power shrivel to irrelevance.

It matters not what was owned or owed.

Grudges, resentments, frustrations, and jealousies finally disappear.

Hopes, ambitions, plans, and to-do lists expire.

Wins and losses that once seemed so important fade away.

It no longer matters where you came from, or on what side of the tracks you lived.

No matter whether you were beautiful, or brilliant

Gender and skin colour are irrelevant.

So what matters?

How is the value of our days measured?

What matters is not what we bought, but what we built; not what we got, but what we gave.

What matters is not our success, but our significance.

What matters is not what we learnt but what we taught.

What matters is every act of integrity, compassion, courage or sacrifice that enriched, empowered or encouraged others to emulate our example.

What matters is not our competence, but our character.

What matters is not how many people we knew, but how many people will feel a lasting loss when we are gone.

What matters is not our memories, but the memories that live in those who loved us.

What matters is how long we will be remembered, by whom and for what.

Living a life that matters doesn't happen by accident.

It's not a matter of circumstance, but a matter of choice.

Yes my friends.

This life that we remember mattered.

Why Guido needs a kitten

I have come to the conclusion that our cat Guido is in need of a kitten. Guido has been a member of the household since November 1999. (see story of Obleo in this blog) For several years inbetween we had a second cat, Max, who was a "free to a good home" we found in the newspaper. Unfortunately, Max did not live a long life, subject to being shot once and breaking a leg a year later, his poor little kitty heart could not take any more stress and he passed away. Since that point Guido has been the sole pet of the house.

Now, we have already ascertained that Guido never misses a meal. If his food bowl is below the half full level then he is automatically standing in front of Melody or myself meowing like a broken record. If I am not out of bed by 5:30am to feed him his morning "pounce" snack, then he stands by the bed and meows like .... well... like a broken record. If I reach down from the bed I can reach his little kitty head with my hand, but to date I have not felt the urge to throttle him, only to gentlely stroke him while telling him in a kind voice to "shut the $@%(&@ up!!!".

At this point you are probably thinking... "gee Rich, aggrevating.... but doesn't really go toward why you think Guido needs a kitten..... True, but wanted to let you know the type of house tyrant that Guido can be when he wants his way.

Which leads to the reason why the need for the pet for my pet. Recently, there have been instances where Guido has been sleeping next to me while I was sitting ready on either the love seat or the couch with my feet up on the seat right next to him. He has proceeded to wake up, shake off the sleepiness, lower his ears, and sink his teeth into my leg. He thinks of this as play time. I think of it as pain. I usually manage to dislodge this misguided pseudo-vampire from my leg, only to hear a low growl emerge from him like a long dormant volcano waking up, followed by another lunge at my leg, arm, or any other body part in range of his big gnarly cat teeth. This will usually go on for at least ten minutes or so, which makes me wonder if my loving housecat ocassionally wants to "play" then why the hell would any sane person want to own a lion, puma, bengal tiger, or other exotic cat for a pet when twice a year it might lose it's marbles and try to play "McDonald's Happy Meal" with your torso?

It has only happened twice since Max passed away and happened with the same frequency before we adpoted Max, but he never attacked either one of us while Max was around.


I wonder why not????

This year's Tomato harvest

Dear bro,

Okay, the blog title today is a bit of a mis-leading one. Allow me to explain...

On an annual basis Melody and I go digging in portion of the yard in the spring to set up our vegetable garden. This is just something that home owners with an average amount of land in their back yard have an urge to do yearly once the last snow has fallen and the overnight temperatures consistently bottom out in the 40-45 degree range.

So starting in early May we "de-weed" a small section of the yard that we had previously tilled up a few years before. This proves to be tedious as we agreed not to use chemicals in our garden and we pull all the weeds by hand. Once completed, we head off to the local Lowe's home improvement store for some fine plant specimens that had their start somewhere in south Florida, were unceremoniously yanked from the ground by someone who probably was not even paid minimum wage because of their lack of English vocabulary, put in a temporary warehouse with millions of other starter plants destined for gardening saps like myself, and then trucked directly to every major city north of the Mason-Dixie line that is close to having the last frost of the year and an over abundance of black thumbed suburanites who's closest brush with farming is when they get stuck behind a tractor on a rural road after taking a wrong turn off the highway.

We go early to Lowes, about 7:30am on a Saturday morning. For good reason, as by 9:00 am the place is a seething mass of humanity creating queues at the registers. After perusing the assortment of juvenile veggie plants on display, we pick up several varieties of tomatoes (yellow boy, big boy, roma, and celebrity to be exact) , a few pepper plants , and a squash plant. With that annual spring glee splashed across our faces, we happily forked over our hard earned cash (well, okay... we used our Lowes card..) to take home this fall's potential bounty.

Several hours later we have the little green suckers firmly packed with top soil and in the ground, in a 10ft x 6ft patch on the right hand side of our backyard, complete with a small two foot fence to keep nature at bay. Or so we thought.....

A couple of months pass as the garden turns into a behemoth of green, requiring us to place cages to keep them from falling over each other. Several large green tomatoes had formed and it was looking like a few months of salsa, spaghetti, and salad fixings.

Then the horror struck. I noticed on afternoon in late June. I had expected to be able to pick the first crop of the season in a day or two, but when I went to perform the nightly watering, I noticed a lack of tomatos on the vines of the plants. Upon further review, I also noticed on some of the plants not just a lack of tomatoes that were clearly visable the day previous, but also a lack of limbs that yesterday's tomatoes were adorning. There was only one obvious answer... some critter had a Lowes card for my yard......

Two days passed before my first suspects emerged. I was sitting in my office upstairs when I looked out my window to see...



Ahh... a family of racoons. This could be my culprits, however for the last couple of years my small two foot fence had done the trick in keeping them at bay. Plus, they always seemed more interested in the birdfeeder hanging from the tree in the picture above then they ever had in the veggie patch.

Less then two days later I spotted a more likely suspect....



Now this critter could definitely reach over my fence and do some damage to the tomato buffet I had kindly layed out for her. However, it did seem like an awful lot of tomatoes for a single dear to eat. Unless it was really greedy? Or....



Maybe it had two kid bandits along with it.....

Needless to say that we did not harvest very many tomatoes this season, but the local critter population seemed to be very grateful for our efforts.

Soccer game October 7th

Dear Bro,

As yesterday was Saturday and it is after Labor Day, it means that every weekend I lug my 43 year old body out on to a local soccer field and duke it out with another team of glory-seeking over 30 "nothing better to do" male and female "adults". I have been performing this ritual for a spring and fall season over the last 13 years, with an occasional session missed for injuries.

The email from our team captain goes out on a Tuesday with an RSVP required to see if we need to recruit any substitutes for the week. You see, when you play in this league, there is the nagging problem that some of our players have a "real" life, including functions with their kids, weddings, festivals, or even vacations. Rarely have we not been able to round up the 6 guys and 5 gals necessary to field a team. The rules are the same as any other soccer game, except a female has to touch it in the offensive half of the pitch before you can score, there is no slide tackling, and we play four 20 minute periods rather than two 45 minute halves.

So after an active Saturday of running around town taking care of errands, I managed to relax for a 1/2 hour around 3:30 before changing into my soccer garb and heading for the door at 4:00pm. The games start at 5:00pm, but this game was on the other side of town in Day Heights so I needed some extra lead time to be able to get there for the start. As I got closer and got off the freeway for the last few miles, I found that I should have left the day before if I wante d to get there on time, as it took a good 20 minutes to go the final 3 miles up Rte 131 to get there. I actually watched two teens overtake me to the right as they smoked their cigarettes and laughed about something really funny as they walked on by.

Eventually I finally maded it to Miami Meadows park, only to spend another couple of minutes trying to turn left as the cars coming the other direction were backed up as well and no one felt any tinges of chivalry to actually let any of us in the left turn lane perform that particular manuver. This can create an uncomfortable situation for the people in the cars blocking our ability to turn, but they had this figured out as they stared dead ahead with an intensity only matched by Marine recruits on their first day of boot camp.

Now I am in the parking lot and ready to find my playing field. Normally we have played at a field in the far corner by the lake so that is where I point my car towards. Again, not that simple today.... it appears there are well over 60 kids soccer teams that originate out of the Day Heights/Milford area and they all happen to be playing each other on this Saturday at Miami Meadows. So slowly I drive at a crawl trying to get to the back of the park, waiting on numerous occasions for mini-vans(female) and crewcab pickups(male) to pull out of their parking spots, as the majority of them were eager to get in the line leaving at the entrance to the park so they too could spend 1/2 of their lives watching two teenagers in black Hendrix t-shirts stroll by them puffing and chuckling.

Another five minutes pass and I have turned the corner and am getting closer to the gamesite. I then hits me that the park dead ends at the lake so I better not wait til the end of the road to find a parking spot in this sea of parentmobiles. So about 100 yards short I see an open spot and take it quickly before it is gobbled up. Wedged tightly between two very badly parked mini-vans I manage to squeeze out of my car and make it to the field.

I can not find a single teammate. Not surprising as they are probably still cursing the same traffic jam I have just escaped. Within two minutes one of my teammates appears and we both proceed to do what I was doing before, look in all directions for everyone else. Finally we see a teammate across the driveway telling us we are playing over on that side today. So we pick up our gear and head over, to see a few more teammates hanging around there as well as several players from the other team. More waiting followed as neither team has many members and no one present had the prerequiste for warming up... an actual soccer ball.

More minutes pass and we finally have more team members from both sides making it through the gauntlet and appearing on the pitch. Then some members from two other teams that we are not playing that day show up and start discussions with our opponents. More time passes... then our opponents tell us that the other home team has a "season reservation" for the field we were going to play on and we have to find another one. So back we go to the field that I originally thought we would be playing on to play the game.

We have brought our own ref, as it appears to be the practice of most teams we play to forget that they are to supply a ref as well. Thus we begin the titanic struggle. At first we dominate, but soon we find out that they play extremely well together and pass very well. Our team does manage to score first on a breakaway, but I spend most of my time chasing this tall young guy named Jeff. The first half comes to an end.

Here's where the breakdown of the game occurs, and this is not an uncommon occurance. As I stated before, the team must field 5 women and a limit of 6 guys. In the second half they decided to play a game commonly referred to as "5 guys and a touch". It would be "6 guys and a touch" but one male was their goalie. The way "5 guys and a touch" goes is simple, they get a girl to touch the ball in the offensive half and every male on their team sprints to the goal and trys to score, ignoring the fact that they have 5 other members on their team. Unfortunately, they had one player who made a hell of a shot from outside the penalty box to score, evening it up at 1-1. We pretty much packed the defense and held off their onslaught, and the game ended with a tie.

We did well considering how fast and young they were, and how well they passed the ball. Kudos to them for playing tough against the male players but not fouling any of our females. I came away with a very sore big right toe and bruised ribs from a close call, but still in one piece.

To make things better, while we played all the 60 other kids teams had finished and left, thus we only had to fight traffic on the main road to get home. And I only got home about an hour later than I normally would expect.

Oh, and about eight miles down the road from the park were our two young friends, still smokin' them butts!!!

The Bear Story

I think if we all live long enough we will have a bear story in our lives. It does not necessarily have to be a bear, but any large critter that would cause you to pause later and say "Crickey!, I could have been done for!!!" would qualify for this category. (btw- kudo's to Steve Irwin for introducing such a great word as "crickey" to the American masses) Since Melody and I have been married 13 years we have had enough time to experience a bear story. This is that story.

It starts on Thursday June 14, 1996. I was working as a senior accountant at Pomeroy Computer Resources at the time, but we were so busy with work and I was under such direct pressure to work every weekend that I made up a fanciful lie to be completely out of touch for a three day weekend in Gatlinburg. But you ask "Gee, Rich... why not just let them know that you would not be available? Well, because last time we attempted that it ended up where I was pressured into not going, which did not create for a friendly climate in the Harrison household for a week or two. Thus Melody and I dreamed up a cockamamy story about a sick relative and leaving quickly to get the hell out of Dodge for a long weekend.

We stayed at the Park Vista Hotel, which is basically a big cement tower on a small hill behind the main town of Gatlinburg. (see picture above) The view from the room was simply spectacular, however the hotel and it's staff had all the personality one would only expect to find at a Governmental Accounting convention and ,as the biggest sin of all in our book, the coffee they served tasted like it was made several days prior and then aged to perfection. As official coffee snobs we felt that Juan Valdez needed to come here and make a personal inspection, at which point the Park Vista should be forced to apologize to anyone who still has a pulse and was subjected to the brackish liquid they had the nerve to call coffee.

Our second day there we decided to rent a jeep and explore the Great Smoky Mountains. We had hiked down the hill a couple of times to the main street of Gatlinburg and had passed a business that rented Jeeps, motorcycles, and scooters to the public at large, so we picked this particular place to rent a vehicle. We actually had a car with us as we had driven down from Cincinnati, but for the life of me I don't know why we decided not to drive it. Anyway, we plunked down our hard earned cash for a three hour rental of a Suzuki Sidekick and proceeded to explore. We started with the Roaring Fork Motor Nature Trail which... well... let them tell you about it:

The Roaring Fork Motor Nature Trail is a wonderful eight mile driving loop which starts just outside of Gatlinburg. This drive gives you a look at second growth forest full of hardwoods and hemlocks with views of mountain steams, rapids, cascades, and falls all along the roadside. There are hiking trails to Grotto falls as well as Mount LeConte. The one-way trail is open to cars, vans, and pickups from early spring until December 1st.

In all actuality I highly recommend this trail as it was very scenic with wonderful rapids and forest scenery. We stopped along the way at several different locations to observe mother nature at her finest and breathe in the forest air. (Some photos are here)

This trail took about 1/2 hour, so we then drove down to Gatlinburg proper to hit the main road into the Great Smoky Mountains National Park. We spent about an hour and a 1/2 touring around past Chimney Tops and the Newfound Gap, waiting in line a considerable amount of time to drive through a small section of the park, realizing half of the vistors to central Tennessee had the exact same idea we did on that day. Growing weary of the mix of nature and car fumes, we decided to call it a day and head back to the rental agency.

So here we are at the rental agency with about an hour to spare, so yours truly decides to ask for a trade in on a small Honda scooter to make one more trip around the Roaring Fork Motor trail. They were okay with that trade, so we donned those o' so attractive red motorcycle helmets they had on the wall, fired up the scooter and headed around the trail.

It was another enjoyable run, with the small ups and downs of the hills and the narrow turns limiting our speed to under 20 miles an hour, much to the approval of Melody hanging on for dear life on the back of the scooter. Then it happened... We had not seen so much as an oversized chipmunk the whole time we were in the Sidekick, with the most threatening event being a large poodle barking at us from inside a mini-van. When going down a small hill near the end of the motor trail we turn a sharp corner and saw the following sight in the middle of the trail about 20 yards ahead:



Melody is well aware of what a city slicker I am, and being a country girl herself she felt the need to bring me up to speed on the situation at hand. As I came to an extremely quick stop she put the sides of my waist in a WWF grip of death and proceeded to exclaim for my benefit:

"Oh my God, it's a bear!"

Now I am sure I would have figured this out for myself, but as we were within "tasty snack range" of the bear she felt it imperative that I be educated quickly in case I really did think it was an oversized chipmunk.

And it was a bit of a predicament, as we were facing downhill on an underpowered scooter at a fairly large bear. (my best guess is that it was a black bear and weighed around 300-400 lbs.) It was actually in the process of crossing the road when we came round the corner so it decided to stand there and stare at us. We could not turn around and go back the way we came as going uphill the bear could probably outwalk the scooter, let alone outrun it. Another alternative was to try to shoot past it on the left hand side (if was facing to the right), but then we run the risk of it playing handball with one or both of us as we pass. We chose option #3, which was to sit on the scooter and just stare at it. It seemed like hours, but was probably less then 10 seconds in all. The standoff was successfully ended with Melody and I in good health, due to when I revved the engine on the scooter the bear ran into the woods at about the same pace we were sitting there contemplating running if the bear came at us.

We went about 100 yards further down the trail to a small parking area by the road and I jumped off the vehicle to light a much needed cigarette (I still smoked back then). A father was standing by his mini-van while his family ran down the trail in the same general direction I had seen the bear headed. I informed him of this and he just kind of snickered, but when Melody backed up my store he became a little more serious and headed off after his clan. I don't think the bear got them because it would have been all over the local papers. When we returned to the rental agency and told them, they laughed at first too, then realized we were serious and didn't know what to say. Obviously not good for the motor scooter rental business for tourist to run into bears too often.

The funny thing was when I got back to work on Monday I could not tell a soul, as I had lied about why I was gone. I nearly busted a gut holding that one in....

The stroll

As part of Melody and I attempting to control the continuous attack of middle age spread, we like to get out on the weekends for a walk in one of our wonderful local parks. This morning I got up at my usual 5:30am, proceeded to prep a pot of coffee, and then braved the brisk morning air as I performed the daily "where the heck is the newspaper" manhunt. After finally finding it out of view in the gutter, I quickly trotted back into the house. At this point Melody has miraculously awoken and is in the kitchen pouring a cup of java with a sheepish grin. After thirteen years of marriage it never ceases to amaze me no matter how long I sleep in or early I get up she usually manages to get out of bed about ten minutes after I have finished grinding the coffee beans and the coffee maker has managed to eke out enough juice for a single cup o' joe. She must have ESP or something!

I wait for that wonder of modern science to produce another cup of wonder juice, then head into my office (converted from our third bedroom) where Melody is already reading the paper. I first read the sports page, as it is my solemn duty to read every single word written about the Cincinnati Bengals that is committed to ink. Then it is on the Sunday crossword puzzle, which is my way of finding out for that particular day if I am the dog or I am the hydrant. Today, I was the hydrant.

It does not get light until about 7:30 am this time of year in Cincinnati, so Melody has plenty of time to read the paper and get prepared to go out into the world. Remember, whereas a guy can be ready in ten minutes, including shower and shave, most females of the species require a multiply of about 5 or 6 based on that factor. (add an additional minimum of 3/4 hour if they wash their hair) While she is getting ready I read more of the paper and attempt the crossword one more time. I am still the hydrant.....

Today we walked at Winton Woods. It is part of the Hamilton County park district and has a nice paved walking/cycling path that forms a 1.6 mile (2.6km) lazy circle around a scenic lake. Melody is wearing a nice gray "jogging" ensemble while I have on blue track suit bottoms, my Liverpool FC training top, and a Bengals baseball cap. Such slaves to fashion are we....

Off we go on our stroll around the lake. Normally we would do at least three laps but today we will only do two. This is due to my weakened condition after playing a spirited game of soccer the previous evening on my over thirty league team. (We drew 1-1) It's not that I was not physically capable of walking further, it was that every bone joint below my diaphragm was screaming like a diving Stuka with every step I was taking. Of course we can't end this without discussing the different types of people we see while walking. If you are looking for stereotypes, then walking around the lake at Winton Woods is the place to be.

First off we spot mid-fifties balding running guy, who is wearing "I make a lot of money and am not afraid to spend it" running shoes with long sleeved Nike "Dry Fit" running shirt. However, even though he does not have an ounce of fat on his frame, he still manages to wear a pair of running shorts that are entirely too tight. He is very intent on his running and does not break his gaze on whatever landscape is directly in front of his face. My guess is that he is a business owner has hired and fired an imaginary assistant several times since starting his run.

Secondly comes the late forties "gossip while you walk" female duo. They are fairly nicely dressed, not as haute couture as 50's running guy but no slouches in their own rank. Also, unlike the runner, they stop gossiping long enough to say hi to Melody and I, then dive right back into the juicy rumor of the day.

I would rather not mention the third breed, but since I brought it up... along comes the "I must get back into shape" female. This one is wearing headphones and sunglass so this combination does not invite anyone to say good morning. My guess is she is probably in her late thirties and clearly could be well served by losing a considerable amount of weight. Her walking pace is swift, but the true crime is that she is wearing shorts tighter than the one's cyclists like to sport. That wouldn't be much of an issue in most cases, but in this particular case an entire Tour de France team could fit in them. We just walk on by.....

Lastly is old guy with equally old dog. Old guy thinks fashion is a Danish word for "steal my hard earned money" and wears clothing that was last worn by anyone under the age of forty during the Johnson administration. (yes, Lydon.. not Andrew) However, true to form, nothing is too good for his gray whiskered beagle, which has a new collar, leash, and "purty" fancy tartan doggie sweater to make sure he does not catch a chill. He always has a big smile and hello for anyone within a twenty yard radius.

Bro, I would discuss more types, but my still "wicked hard" painful joints are informing me that it is time to soak them in a tub of hot water... Adios mon frere....

PS: tried the crossword one more time... just paint me yellow.......