Note From Vacation

I'm back from my blogger break. Has a term for that been coined yet? Or should we just call it a "blogger break"?



It is Thursday, so the standard is to post a theme song. But you've all been without me for an entire week, and I'm not sure you could bear not hearing from me in a chatty post. Besides, tomorrow is a Friday round up of The Name Game and I'm going to have to beat you up for coming up with a whopping, what?, 3 names so far??? So I'd better be nice to you today.



Mom, Dad, Uncle Fe and Aunt Jill came and went. They had a very nice vacation and got around to see a lot. I do have a few niblets to report:



On Thursday, Bryan, the kids and I went with them to the Air and Space Museum at Peterson Air Force Base. They had a pretty impressive collection and our docent was very chatty, so it made for an informative, longish sort of morning.



We went from there to the commissary, a place that I've been wanting my Dad, Master Grocery Shopper, to experience. Mostly, I just wanted to brag about our awesome prices.



And, oh yes, he covetted.



We had the kids with us while Bryan and the others were down the corridor at the Base Exchange, the military version of a department store. Dad was pushing the spaceship cart, the kind where the kids sit up high and face forward and pretend to drive with their little, fake steering wheels.



Dad ordered the volpi salami and prosciutto from our deli and this brought out the Italian in him because he then turned to the imported cheese bin, looked for the provolone and, when he couldn't find it, shouted to the guy stocking the bin,



"Hey, que sedice!!"



The guy, a grown man, not, like, a 16 year old punk with earphones stuck in his head, looked up at Dad with an expression that read, roughly, 'What the hell is your problem?'



And I kind of don't blame the guy. This is a military commissary in Colorado Springs. Who goes around shouting random Italian phrases at people?



I asked Dad something along these lines and he said, "It means, 'Pay attention!'"



Yeah. And the cheese manager of the Peterson Air Force Base commissary is supposed to know that?



Dad got his cheese. Then struck up a conversation with an old lady who grew up in Germany. That is, Dad was commenting aloud at how cheap our meat is and she overheard and said, "It is crazy, out in town, how much they charge!" with a thick accent.



So where was she from? Oh, that's right by where he was stationed years ago. What year did she leave? Blah, blah, blah, yaddy yaddah. . . I was glad he was having such a great time.



After paying, we headed for the door closest to the corridor we'd go down to meet the others. I hadn't realized this was an entrance only. Then I saw the big letters, "ENTRANCE ONLY NO EXIT" and said, "Ooops."



Dad saw the letters, "ENTRANCE ONLY NO EXIT," continued walking towards the door anyway, and rammed the cart right into them, knocking the right one off its magnets. Then he said, "Ooops."



I think in regular grocery stores, even when doors say "NO EXIT," they open anyway. Is this true? Because it would go a long way towards explaining. I should test it out. . . In the moment, though, I thought, "I cannot take you anywhere."



We went down to the BX to find the others and found instead a yo-yo demonstration in celebration of Duncan's 80th anniversary.

I had no idea that
a) one could do so much with a yo-yo nor
b) anyone over the age of 10 was making much of an effort to do so nor
c) that one could become a pro yo yo thrower and get paid a living wage.

Did any fellow graduates of Immaculate Conception (heh heh heh) remember Mrs. Field suggesting this was an option?

This particular guy was not at the BX, but I figure, "Why not post a video of the world champion if I'm going to post a video of a yo yo guy?"

Dad and I were captivated by the 3 yo yo guys there. They were all between 19 and 22 years old. Dad asked them if they ever thought about getting real jobs. I, on the other hand, wanted to know if they ever did their yo-yo thing to impress women.

The guy I asked, who was a slight fellow, sporting Elvis Costello glasses and black jeans with white socks and black wingtips, said, "Of course."

I asked if it worked.

He said, "Yes. . . in the sense that women are impressed." And not, I gathered, that it led to any, say, exchange of phone numbers.

But when your job in life is to travel the country throwing a yo yo around, it's OK if other parts of your life aren't going as well as you'd like.

We finally met up with the others. Mom, Aunt Jill and I went out to lunch and then shopping while the boys took a driving tour of Ft. Carson and Betsy and Amy took the kids out. We had dinner at home that night. Bryan retired early with flu-like-symptoms. While I felt some compassion for him, I mostly just didn't want him to get me sick.

So he moved down to the basement guest suite and was sacked out all of Friday and Saturday.

He was well enough Sunday to be out and about whereas I had a detectable cold by then and I decided to hunker down and drink gallons of fluid to ward off the worst. It worked.

So, while Uncle Fe and Dad both caught the germ from Bryan--and blamed him for it!--I offered up the following defense: No one's immune system is more taxed than mine is right now, so if I could shake the germ, all others should be able to as well. They just didn't drink enough fluids, as per my constant advice from the moment they landed. . .

Ah, well. Hope they're feeling better now.

As for some photos that Mom took and sent:

Here we are in front of the Air and Space Museum. The guy in the blue "Italia" jacket is Uncle Fe. The other guy is the docent. Dad is taking the photo.






On Friday, they took the cog railway up to Pike's Peak. We were supposed to go with, the kids were so excited!, but Bryan was so sick and I didn't really want to go for the first time without him. We would have had to wake very early to get there, and the kids and I all ended up sleeping until almost 9:00, so it's a good thing we sat it out instead.

Dad is wearing Bryan's pea coat and, apparently, holding up the train. Looks like a nice day for them, right?

Well, not so much. The Cog wouldn't go to the top. Stopped at 12K feet because of wind, snow and ice at the top. So I was very glad I hadn't hustled the kids out there for the trip.

A view from the window of the train. Note the goat!

At the Edelweiss restaraunt in town to celebrate Mom and Dad's 50th anniversary. Bryan was home sick. Uncle Fe got to telling his stories from his Taylor street childhood, stories that always make me laugh. It was a great night. Happy Anniversary, Mom and Dad!