A few shots from my Father's Day weekend.

We had the opportunity to visit Pismo Beach, my Mom, sisters, niece, son, daughter, son-in-law, grandson, and brother-in-law (hope I didn't leave anyone out) this past Father's Day weekend. This time, we stayed two nights rather than the one night whirlwind trip. Although time was short (as always), Loretta and I managed to fit everything, and everyone, into the two days on the coast.

The annual Pismo Car Show was going on, and though we had hoped to stroll the streets of Pismo gawking at all the cool cars, that didn't happen. It was just too darned busy and crowded to make the attempt.

A little barbeque Saturday at my sister's and a self-cooked Father's Day breakfast at my Mom's with Jimmy, Jen, Roth, and the baby highlighted the weekend.



Brother-in-law, Mark, and niece, Kassie (home from UC Santa Cruz). Sister Kris and Kassie.



I handled most of the cooking honors at the barbeque: Foil roasted salmon, grilled zucchini and portabellos, Italian sausage, and a "96-ouncer" sliced up for everyone to enjoy a slice or two of beef. Kassie, by the way, is a vegetarian. A few beers, a couple of cocktails, a game or two of croquet, and excellent chow...and it was over almost before it began. But, the short length of time spent was coveted and we all had fun. Our Sunday morning breakfast was similar in time. A few hours with Jimmy, Jen, Roth, Rowan, Mom...and, of course, Loretta. Jen, Roth, and Rowan flew back to Seattle on Monday morning. Jen's perspective chronicled on her blog.

The 500+ mile drive there and back is always near excruciatingly painful, ie, Highway 5...ecch!!! But, is always worth the effort. Hopefully, we can make the jaunt again sometime this summer or fall when I have some vacation time.

Check out 80 year Betty and granddaughter Kassie playing croquet.





You can't beat times like this!

Modesto: Where American Graffiti all began.

"Where we you in '62?" That was the catch phrase from George Lucas' 1973 film about a group of teenagers' last night of the summer after graduation. Modesto, California was Lucas' hometown and the setting for this enigmatic movie, a macro-chronicle of post pubescent passage.

We've lived in Modesto for close to eleven years now. And echoing my own bitching and complaining in past blogs, "We hate it here!" Sorry, Modesto lovers everywhere. Yes, it was our choice. No lectures, please.

Despite this aversion for our current location, Modesto does hold that one claim to fame for us fans of American Graffiti. No, it wasn't filmed here (Petaluma and San Rafael were chosen). It was based on George Lucas' actual teenage experiences in the town where he lived for quite a while including attending high school. Many of the street names and other geographical references remained in the script, ie, Paradise Road (where the climatic car race scene was suppose to have taken place).

A few years ago, the American Graffiti Car Show was resurrected. And, it is going on this weekend at Modesto Junior College (one of Lucas' alma maters before heading south to USC film school). Loretta and I managed to spend a few hours there yesterday. It has gotten quite huge. Hundreds of people from all over California and the U.S. converge here with their hot rods and classic cars of all shapes and sizes. There is also the usual contigent of nasty, tomane-potential, fair food peddlers and vendor booths selling almost everything except car-related products. We did buy a bag of fresh-popped pop corn and a couple soft serve ice cream cones. We passed on the polish sausages on a stick, chicken skewers and fried rice plates (the best chance for acquiring a three day case of the runs), and other dangerous, though great smelling barbequed animal flesh concoctions. We were there to gawk at and me to envy the cars! And there were lots to look at.

My favorites: the 60's and 70's muscle cars not customized much beyond their original showroom appearance. Chevelle Super Sports, Pontiac GTO's, and '69 Mustangs tickle my fancy the most. The older, completely-restored-to-original 50's Buicks and Chevys are also sights to behold. I did bring the camera and a new lens. I forgot to bring my wide angle lens, so all the shots are closeups from the telephoto.

















































As usual, I couldn't help snapping a few self portraits in the shiny chrome bumpers and paint jobs!
The weather was perfect. We ran into a few old friends. And, we had a great time. What else is there? Well, next weekend: The Pismo Car Show.

Good news from the vet the other day: "His testicles have definitely dropped...!"

Good news from the vet the other day: "His testicles have definitely dropped. He's an early riser!"

Loretta gleefully reported that news to me upon returning from Boo Boo's first vet appointment (and checkup) the other day. Besides getting his next round of shots (the 6-in-1 thing), the dog doc confirmed that his package is complete. You see, we had been concerned that "it" hadn't happened yet since his "package" seemed devoid of, well...nuts! I guess they just haven't yet grown to their full size. Whew! No big deal, it was just some sort of male, testosterone-concerned thought. "Damn it...I want our new little boy dog to have balls!" A side note, somewhat related: he squats to pee. Thank goodness...a non-alpha male dog!

And with the injection he got the other day, Boo Boo will be protected from bordatella, parvo, etc, and we can feel more secure about taking him to public places, ie, the park. Oh, and he weighs about 8 1/2 pounds, perfect for his age (5 months) and close to the 10-11 pounds a male mini doxie should top out at.

On another note, the young canine squire will be accompanying us on our Father's Day weekend trip to Pismo. He loves riding in the car and is fairly well-behaved to this point. We are still in mid-training in efforts to leash train the little shit. He is requiring a chest harness as still thinks that he is the boss. Practice, practice, practice. One of the things we are looking forward to: a walk with him on our old beach. He must experience the taste of sand, seawater, and old seaweed as part of his development...not to mention chasing the seagulls on the wet sand.

Daughter Jen, son-in-law Roth, and their young squire (my grandson), Rowan, will be visiting Pismo from Seattle that weekend as well, so, needless to say, we are very excited about our first little weekend away in quite a while. This time for two nights as I have three days off in a row! The annual (huge) Pismo car show is going on that weekend and hopefully we can see some of that. Visiting my mom, my son, and my sisters are also on the agenda for those days. A lot to do, but we always look forward to and savor our time on the central coast, our old stomping ground.

With new puppy and cameras in tow, we will leave this Saturday morning and return Monday. Should be a nice Father's Day, one of the first in years I haven't had to work in some silly restaurant on one of the most chaotic food service days of the year!

"It's All Good!" Bullshit!

This will be a short one. Sorry, but my new, least favorite coined saying is, "It's all good!"

Well...I'll tell you what. "It ain't all fucking good!" That's MY new, favorite saying.

What it is is this. It's as good as you want to make it. And that's it. Put "It's all good!" on the same list as:

"Have a nice day"

"Love means never having to say you're sorry"

and..."You get better with age"

The fun part is making a list of all the naive, deluded, catch phrases in the world today. Now, that's all good.

Schwinn!

Amidst living in a new [rented] house in a new neighborhood with a new dog and a new (8 months) job, I seem to have resurrected the covet for something from my teen years. Like an old, unrequited teenage love affair, my passion to own this now relic of a machine has not subsided over the years. When I was fourteen or so, my Sears J.C.Higgins model paled in comparison to the lines and chrome forks of my neighbor's Schwinn Continental. Another buddy of mine pedaled around on a Schwinn Varisity, a lessor Schwinn than the Continental, but...it, as well, was a Schwinn.

My new 1979 Schwinn Continental was one of the last few actually born in Chicago. Japan and Taiwan became the parent countries of Schwinn bikes a short time later. Without going into a mini-history lesson to help extol the virtues of Schwinn bicycles, some real, some imagined...let's just say that to many of us, old and young, the name itself is an American icon.

In today's world of trendy carbon frames and carbon components and carbon wheelsets, it's the still the steel (chromolloy to be more precise) that brings home the bacon in bicycle frames. And although my '79 Continental weighs more than twice Lance's or Levi's wheels, it rolls as steady and sturdy as any road bike on the road. Yes, it's called a road bike now. The change in moniker necessitated by the continued addition of more and more gears over the years. One would be hard pressed to find a "new" 10 speed nowadays. The bicycle world now accepts an 11 speed rear cog set as norm...times two in the front...well, you get the pictures. BTY...three speed front cranks, popular for a while, are going the way of the Do Do bird and are said to be owned only by wimps and city slickers who never ride their mountain bikes any longer.

My other Schwinns, in various forms of restoration and part raping, are a Super Le Tour, two Open Roads, a World Sport, and a Le Tour. A couple of these frames will morph into those trendy single speed things that don't require shifting gears. Photos coming soon to a blogsite near you.

To put it simply, being someone who has always thoroughly enjoyed dismantling things and, on occasion, actually putting them back together...farting around with these bikes is a real kick. The 1979 Schwinn Continental that resides in my garage (and the subject of these photos) was acquired recently from my next door neighbor. It had been sitting in an extra room in his house for nearly 30 years. I convinced him to sell it to me and he did, with one condition: I don't sell it, ie, keep it for myself as a collector item. And so, I probably will. The restoration was relatively simple and painless. I took it apart, every nut and bolt. Clean it, repacked all the bearings, both wheel and headset (where the handle bar stem goes), put on new cables and housings and new tires. The old tires exploded when I tried to pump them up! Voila...a near perfect '79, Chicago-made Schwinn Continental...Candy Apple Red. The paint will need a touch up here and there. Other than that, I now own something I only coveted since the age of fourteen.

It's just a piece of steel, chrome, and rubber. But, it is a Schwinn. And, I think I will still refer to it as a 10 speed if that's alright!

By the way, if you know of anyone wanting to sell a vintage Schwinn Paramount (the model just above the Continental), let me know. I've been known to pay way too much for old bicycles!

Say Hello to Jack Boo Boo Diddley, Esq.

So, yah...we have a new dog. A puppy, to be exact. And why I feel obligated to explain the reasons for this action is beyond me. So let's just say, "It felt like the right thing to do right now".

His name is Jack Boo Boo Diddley. Although our next door neighbor, Bob, insists on calling him Bo Diddley and thinks the dog and his name is rather cool (Bob is our age. 'Nuff said?). Boo Boo is a soon-to-be registered Mini Dachsund acquired locally from a lady who owns the mother dog. Boo Boo is an only child from his litter. The exact color description for this type of weiner dog is Black and Tan, Silver Dapple. He is four months old and was born on my birthday...a strange and appropriate coincidence.

Our other remaining pets, Sassy (the old lady), a four pound black Pomeranian...and Sparky (the old man), a twenty six pound Dachsund are reluctantly dealing with this new addition in their own ways. Sassy remains sequestered in her closet sleeping quarters for most of the day. Sparky's routine hasn't change much, as he sleeps in various out of the way places all day, lumbering out only for food, water, and bodily functions. Both Sassy and Sparky truly want nothing to do with Boo Boo's young, impetuous, playful, harassing demeanor. When Boo Boo attempts to play with Sassy, she let's out strange blasts of gurgling, blood curdling dog screams, at the same time running in and out and around the furniture with an occasional faux counter attack (no, definitely not playing). The puppy remains undiscouraged. We try to keep them apart as much as possible. With Sparky, it's a simple case of, "Get the hell away from me!"...communicated by deep growls followed by some convincing body language, ie, a nose nudge or outright body slam. Boo Boo is still enthusiastic and continues to subscribe to the illusion that Sparky will someday run around the backyard with him, something that will never happen as Sparky is over 100 in dog years, is blind, old, and extremely grumpy. Loretta and I think that both of the older dogs are pissed off at us for letting this wiggling, energetic, bothersome thing into their once peaceful, mundane existence.


Boo Boo is still learning how to assimilate into his new environment, with only an occasional "mistake". He knows how to use the dog doors. Despite the challenges of raising a new, young dog, he has brought new joy into our lives. His personality is what drew us to him from the first meeting. He is very affectionate, playful, and sensitive...he knows "no" and responds to verbal discipline immediately. He has already learned how to pout when not getting his way or we yell at him. And, yes, Boo Boo is very protective of us and his home, although his bouts of barking are judicious, short-lived, and very selective.

Are we crazy? No, just dog lovers.

Dog Day Afternoon. Lost friends. New roads.

Who new?

Dogs would play such a poignant part of our lives.

Three months have passed: Our dog, Lucy...Jen's dog, Sierra...Ronda's dog, Bailey...Sue's dog, Leo. All gone now. They all meant so much...a part of our lives, members of our families. Our new dog, Boo Boo...a welcome new addition.

Six months have passed: My first grandchild...geographically afar...but closer than most and sweeter than I could ever imagine.

Nine months have passed: Our house...gone. Some friends...lost? A career...put on hold while I work for money. Just find the strength to swipe the time clock five days a week.

Thirty years have passed: Too much to write about in a silly, neglected blog. Nearing sixty. Much to contemplate...much to plan still...too many regrets, no time for that any longer. At least some contact with one of two siblings. Bicycling, writing, photography dreams help.

Forty years have passed: Wish I could do over...impossible. Too much water under the bridge.

Fifty two years have passed: Does that plane crash still affect me? It still does affect everyone who was there according to their blogs. I still cry every day. I guess I'm not alone. Some consolation: commiseration...and, I'm still here for some reason.

Must write more.