Hosting

I thought about calling this post Entertaining. But the behavior I'm talking about isn't always about entertaining. You could even say entertaining can sometimes get in the way. So let's get right into it.

My Bride and I have just completed our most active season of hosting in our 36 year marriage. In the past 12 weeks (84 days) we have had the following:

• Number of days with at least one overnight house guest - 50. 
• Number of days with multiple house guests - 34. 
• Number of different individuals who were house guests - 27.
• Highest number of house guests at one time -13.
• Total number of guest-days (a guest-day = one individual staying over one night) - 148.

Whew. That's a lot of linen laundry. And that's not considering a dozen or so other friends and family that dropped in for an afternoon or a cocktail party to catch up with the overnighters.

Here is some of the documentary evidence of these past few weeks. I will concentrate on the group events. First, a few shots of the family get-together in early August. Here we have the classic dinner shot with, from left to right, my mother Dolores, my son Ted's girl friend Summer, granddaughter Leili, grandson Cyrus, moi, son Ted, daughter Cathy, son-in-law Matt, daughter Christine and my Bride.

Here we have a classic post-dinner game session (Quirkle this night) with Christine, Summer, Cathy, Ted and Leili.

This pic is of the equally classic s'mores party with Ted instructing his kids on the basic skill of not burning your marshmallows to a crisp, and Christine demonstrating her well-honed technique.

And finally, a four-generational version of happy hour in the gazebo.

A couple of weeks later we hosted the annual weekend gathering of our Music Night group. Again from left to right, Jeff Reinhart, Christine, Pat Rouan, Pat's bride Linda Mathews, Laura Forest, moi, my Bride, Deandra Reinhart, Quinton Anderson, Jim Wyatt, Laura's hubby Brian Bauer, and the Reinhart offspring Miranda and Justin.

This shot is of a casual post-lunch gathering under the deck umbrella with Brian, yours truly, Justin and Deandra.

 

And a gathering of electronic tablets on the deck shutter table with Justin, Linda, Deandra, Laura and Nancy.

Finally, a late-night Irish cream session in the gazebo with faces shaded to protect the guilty.

The Music Night crowd had barely left town when another family episode unfolded. Here are my sister Wendy, up from Florida, and my sister Cindy from Flushing.

During her stay at Wiser Times, Wendy was visited by two of her Michigan daughters. In this first shot we have daughter Melanie from the Traverse City area who joined in the family fun for the Labor Day weekend.

Wendy's eldest daughter Jennifer also dropped in for an afternoon with her daughter Lauren. From left to right Christine, Lauren, Jennifer, Wendy and Melanie. It was fun to get this group of nieces and cousins together for the first time in quite a few years.

Closing out the group hosting series for the summer the weekend after Labor Day was a gathering at our home in Grosse Pointe of a few of Nancy's high school classmates, in town for a 45th reunion weekend. In this pic, I'm sitting at the bar in our family room with Miguel from Tennessee (who with his bride Jan were also house guests for the reunion weekend) receiving instructions from Nancy on the role of non-classmate spouses at the big dinner (smile, buy drinks, and avoid private conversations with her and Jan's old boy friends).

Here is a picture of several of these old friends as they gathered for the reunion dinner down the block at the Grosse Pointe Yacht Club. From left to right one more time, Carol, Sue L, Pam, Gary, Sue V, Nancy, Eva and Dawn. All but Sue L spent time at our home that weekend either as a house guest or cocktail party attendee.

There'll be more coverage of all these noteworthy events in my 2016 in Review posts at the end of the year, but you get the idea. There was a fair amount of hosting going on this summer in the Burk household.

So you may ask, "Are you nuts? Why would anyone do all that? I mean, you're retired, right? Taking life easy?"

No, we're not nuts. And yes, we are retired and for the most part, taking life easy. At least we hope to be soon. Let me explain. Or at least try to make a cogent argument for our odd behavior.

First of all, we like people. Especially our close family and friends. And, not to get too heavy about it, we have a family value to do things with and for our family and friends (see previous post Family Values for more on this concept, rooted in my former days as a Franklin facilitator). This value has led us to think about ways to spend time with our family and friends and to fashion our activities and worldly spaces to accommodate that thinking.

Second, getting together is fun. And as I've noted in a number of previous posts, fun is one of my best things. It pumps me up and starts those creative juices flowing. Now I do like my private time - playing music, watching movies, reading books, communing with nature at the water's edge. And my hanging-with-my-Bride time - chatting, choring, binge watching TV series of our mutual interest, going to movies, playing golf, imbibing by the fire, and road-tripping around the country. But many of our favorite memories are of our times in the presence of the many family members and friends we consider to be kindred spirits.

And third, there are a few practical benefits of periodically inviting others into your space as I have waxed about philosophically in a number of previous posts. Deep cleaning, home improvement projects, lawn and garden maintenance - all seem to take on greater importance and satisfaction when company's in the calendar. It seems as though these worthy but onerous tasks often don't get done until only a few days (or sometimes hours) prior to cars pulling into the driveway.

Now despite these excellent reasons for hosting, I admit that it does take a little more than good intentions and to-do lists to pull it all off. Over the years I've learned a little about the art of hosting, how to keep it fun, and how to retain the desire to some day host again despite the challenges. So I thought I would share a few tips. Here goes.  

1. Don't do it unless you really want to. This may seem a little harsh, but we should start at the beginning. Not everyone is cut out for hosting. And that's fine. We each have roles in life that we're not comfortable with. And no hosting is painless. If you're not comfortable with others exploring your house, working in your kitchen, playing with your toys, tapping your beer fridge, and generally rearranging your household, hosting isn't for you. All these are requirements for putting people at ease, which is key to successful hosting. If such behavior makes you wince, you'll be better off practicing the equally valuable skill of being a gracious guest. No shame in that.

2. Don't do it unless your spouse (if you are so blessed) really wants to. Your life partner should be as comfortable as you are with the guest behaviors described above. For those of you who are strong feelers, this should be intuitive. Nothing grieves an otherwise happily married soul as much as an unhappy spouse. And you don't want to experience this debilitating phenomenon with a house full of people looking for a good time. For those of you who think such an obstacle can be overcome with a little planning and smooth talking, you have my sympathy.

3. Do some initial planning. If you make it past Tip 1 and Tip 2, you're ready to actually think about how to make your hosting adventure a success. Your plan should be simple, but you do need to consider the basics - who's coming when, what will they eat, how do they like to play, and if overnighters are involved when and where will they sleep. The greatest benefit of developing your plan is that once you've thought through all the prep work that will be involved in your hosting event, you will likely cancel the whole thing and save yourself the trouble.

4. Don't hog all the fun. If you make it past the planning, the cleaning, and the menu prep, and you're actually in the presence of a house full of guests, too late. You're toast. Just suck it up and live with the fact that you blew all your chances to escape. However, even at this late date, there are still a couple of things to keep in mind. One is that good people - the kind you would invite into your home - always want to contribute. So don't be selfish. Take advantage of Be kind and let them express their natural generosity.

For example, encourage them to bring food items they like, and even help you with kitchen chores during their stay. You could also "inadvertently" leave out a cleaning or maintenance tool or two. You never know when a guest might enjoy firing up a vacuum cleaner or playing with a weedwacker.

5. Accommodate those guests with special needs. This notion is a slight variation on the previous suggestion. We all have friends with what I will refer to as personality quirks, or predilictions for certain activities. These semi-compulsive behaviors can be social in nature, like sharing music or movies, taking pictures, or even taking on a quasi-hosting task such as staffing the BBQ grill. Other behaviors may be work-oriented, such as an obsession for fixing things or improving the functionality of any device within one's immediate surroundings.

In keeping with the spirit of the PGDA (Party Goers with Disabilities Act), I recommend that you take steps to make these individuals comfortable during their guest experience by encouraging them to just let it out. Tell them to feel free to exercise their particular foibles while in your space. And then make a point of thanking them for their contributions.

In severe cases, like incessantly productive personalities, you may need to procure project materials in advance (like a new shower head or a fresh load of unsplit firewood) and leave them out with appropriate tools in full view of the affected souls. This will allow such guests to break into a fit of repair or improvement at their own pace, when he or she can no longer hold back. They will enjoy the rush, and with a little foresight you may get a burdensome task off your list.  

6. Act like a guest yourself. My last tip for surviving a hosting experience is to do as little doting on your guests as possible. The best way to accomplish this is to usher your guests to their accommodations, show them where everything is (food, drink, bathrooms, spare meds), and give them license to explore your home at their leisure. It also helps to point out your latest toys and entertainment devices, and encourage all to try them out. And then, just blend in and go about your business as if you were a guest yourself.

What you will find, especially if your guests have been in your space before, is that they will quickly learn and master "the drill". They will know everything necessary to relax and enjoy themselves and interact with your other guests just fine, unless you get in the way. The only exception to this principle is to make sure you listen to and promptly act on any "suggestion" your spouse might make regarding the comfort of your guests. After all, you want to do more than just survive the current -hosting assignment. You want to live to host again.
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Well, that's enough for now I would say. I hope you find a pearl or two in these tips to help you either avoid or make the most of your next hosting experience. And perhaps you will feel a little more at ease when you are next hosted by the Burks, now that you know that our inattention to your every need is not personal but just part of the plan.

Grosse Pointe Chuck

NFTL - RDate 48.24

I've been off doing things the last few weeks instead writing about them. But as I celebrate the fourth anniversary of my retirement, I think it's time to return to the blogosphere with an edition of Notes from the Lab. These updates relate to a few posts from the earliest days of the blog. So here we go.

Emerging from the Cocoon (7/17/12) - Two years ago in an update of my inaugural post, I bragged that I had after 22 months fully departed from the overly structured but safe and secure confines of my work world and ventured forth eagerly into the halcyon days of retirement. I was emoting over the freedom of choice and endless options that characterized my waking hours. And how I had accepted this transformation without regret, shedding the manacles of structure and flitting euphorically from one form of play to another.

However, after four years in my new world I now realize (to paraphrase Secretary Nimziki in Independence Day regarding a denial of Area 51) that was not entirely accurate. What has actually happened is that I've spun a new cocoon. Granted, the new cocoon is more pliable than the old, has impressive portability, is more work resistant and less accessible by others, and came with a great entertainment package. But it's still a cocoon, and I tend to leave it for the outer world only when She someone makes me.

In retrospect I should have realized that I was retiring with the same hard-wired brain, in the Jungian sense, that I depended on all those work years. My day planner lists are just as long as they used to be, although the nature of the tasks is quite different - more commitments to myself, fewer to others. I find I notice as many things as ever that I would like to change about the world, though these days I usually only act on those that directly affect my well-being. And as I sit sipping my coffee each morning, I don't seem to be able to fully boot up until my plan for the day is reviewed, critiqued and finalized.

But I'm okay with all of this. Life in the cocoon is good. I've been able to squeeze a vast array of toys inside. My life-support systems are fully functional (providing ample supplies of food, meds, Wiser's Deluxe and cheesy science-fiction movies). And my family and friends are usually willing to visit me inside the cocoon or only a short distance away. What more could a body just not quite ready for complete adulthood ask for?  

Chores (7/29/12) - My last discussion of this topic centered around the deep freeze of 2015 and the snow removal and frozen pipe issues it spawned. This last winter was pretty mild by comparison, so no new "weary of winter" woes. But lately I've noticed a few chronic chore challenges that seem to be getting the best of my normally rosy disposition. They are things that never seem to be done, regardless of effort or ingenuity. I call them the d--- three Ds - dusting, decluttering, and deck lights.

Now if you recall, my retirement required a renegotiation with Nancy regarding household maintenance duties. For the most part, the results of that tricky conversation have worked for me. I have approached my new duties with vigor and the philosophy of continuous improvement that characterized my work life. You know. Learn how things work, then figure out how to do them better or easier (see previous post He Has a System for Everything for a full discussion of this idealistic handicap). But my efforts to excel in the three Ds have been ineffective.

Take dusting. Tedious but simple, right? Periodically wipe down everything you own to remove any dust that has accumulated since your last wipe down. And where appropriate use cleaning agents (Pledge, Glass Plus, my Bride's all purpose homemade concoctions). But, I can't seem to keep dust away for much longer than it takes to stow my cleaning supplies. Dust is mostly just dead skin, right? That's flaked off an unknowing person or pet or other living thing and hidden out in your abode's atmosphere waiting for no one to be looking so it can quietly sneak down and cling to some prized possession that has hard to get at nooks and crannies?

What am I doing wrong? Is it my technique? Is it those dollar store furnace and airconditioning filters? Have I offended the dust gods with my frequent disparaging remarks about their domain? Whatever it is, it's wearing me out. The constancy of dust has taken the fun out of housework. And there wasn't that much fun there to begin with.

Then there's decluttering. I know, this is a self-inflicted wound. Anyone who proudly crams as much stuff into his limited spaces as I do just to show he can do it, deserves this problem.

The clutter potential of any space is directly proportional to the amount of stuff in it. And as I do my best to use all of my toys as much as possible, there's a high likelihood that a lot of items will be out of their assigned bins at one time. Ergo, clutter. Couple that with my compulsion to put all my toys away before I go to bed, and de-cluttering becomes a constant event. But I can't help it. I like all that stuff. And I need it. I just wish the Mary Poppins finger-snapping thing worked.  

But the most aggravating of the three Ds is my running battle with deck lights. Let me explain. My Bride, whom I dearly love, loves deck lights. Deck lights, in turn, love to torment. And I'm not just referring to the ordeal of installing the strings - drilling many tiny holes and hand turning little brass hooks into those holes the full length of the desired deck light locations (from my reckoning, we have about 100' of deck lights).

No. The scraped knuckles, broken drill bits and life-threatening wood slivers that come with this job aren't enough. There's the post-installation bad behavior. I've learned that deck lights are just as nasty as their little cousins, those infuriating itty-bitty Christmas lights that all stop working at once when any of their number feels like taking time off. Worse, you can't put deck lights in a box in early January and lock them away for eleven months. They torment all year long.

And deck lights have evolved over their lemming-like Christmas kin. They are smarter, and quite independent. They don't all go out at once. They take turns. They want to make sure that each and every mischievous act causes maximum pain, forcing me to procure a new bulb, haul a ladder out to the problem venue, and spend treacherous moments hanging off that ladder while stretching out to wrest the culprit from its socket and install the replacement.

Further aggravating my situation are two additional factors. First, I'm now fighting this war on three fronts. We have deck lights (all different types, of course) hanging from our garage in GPW, and our deck railing and gazebo at Wiser Times. And I'm pretty sure these three rebel armies are coordinating outages with each other, communicating through electrical power cords and maybe the Internet. Come to think of it, they could be wireless.

The second complicating factor is that the manufacturers of these pernicious creatures seem to discontinue previous models in favor of new designs on about a weekly basis. So trying to buy replacement bulbs that match the old ones is futile. One has to settle for something that won't look too weird sprinkled among the old survivors. Either that or you're reduced to buying and installing a completely new set of deck lights. Doubtless they would come with even more sophisticated behavior problems.

But, I'm okay. I've adjusted. I'm not taking my 20-ounce claw hammer to the perpetrators anymore (got tired of sweeping up the glass). I'm just going with the flow, quietly searching thrift shops and yard sales and buying up a wide variety of used replacement deck lights, and cutting back on the ice in my evening cocktails. That, and looking forward to our next power outage.

Music Night (8/6/12) - But life isn't all chores and first aid. For one thing our little musical miracle is still going strong, having just completed 25 years of fun. Our latest collection - Insanity - is in production at the moment, scheduled for delivery at our next event in August. That night's topic will be Number 124 - Fascination. In honor of this topic, I'd like to share a few fascinating facts about Music Night:

--Number of unique recordings (different songs or repeated songs by different artists) that have appeared on a Music Night collection - 4174. 175 of these recordings have appeared more than once including 77 on the Music Night's Greatest Hits set from the first 100 collections. So excluding the Greatest Hits set, for which a recording had to have appeared in a previous collection, 98% of all Music Night selections have been original. Not too shabby.

--Number of evenings the Music Night group has spent together creating collections - 117. On six occasions two collections were made in the same evening.

--Number of evenings making collections with the help of an impressive spread of food and drink - 117. Average calories consumed by the group during a typical Music Night - technically, 0. I think I read somewhere that food and alcohol consumed while listening to music doesn't count.

--Number of individuals who have selected a recording for inclusion in a Music Night collection - 77. The eldest of these was my mother Dolores who made her selection at age 90. She may very well beat that record this summer as she will soon be in Michigan for a visit and will likely attend our next evening. The youngest person to select a recording was undoubtedly one of the children of our group that have joined in the fun. So far there have been 19 of these "next generation" participants, including a boy friend, a girl friend, two spouses and two guest "sons" from Germany. My guess is that the youngest age at which one of these kids made a selection was about 10. We'll have to conduct a little more research to confirm that number. That would give us a span of 80 years between the oldest and youngest participant.

--Number of  venues that have hosted a Music Night evening - 15. Two Music Night families have hosted at two different homes and another at three different homes. That's really a fairly stable record I think, for 25 years.

--Number of participants at our first event in June of 1991 - six, known in the group as charter members. Number of charter members still active - five (one has sadly passed away). Number who have attended all 117 Music Night evenings - one. Guess who. Can't help it. I'm a planner. And I've been lucky.

--Number of rules governing whether or not a music selection fits with the topic for the night - 0. You pick a recording, it's in. 'Cause hey, it's a party. And this rule - the fact that there are no rules - has kept the peace all these years.

Enough catching up for the moment. I'm about to enter another three-week period of doing, most of which will be away from home. But hopefully the mobile Lab will be operational, and generate a post or two.

Grosse Pointe Charles

Trip Chronicle - March 2016, Part 5

I've been off line for a couple of weeks, traveling between family venues checking out different places to sleep. I'm now back in Florida for a few days, and caught up on my research. So it's time to offer the final installment of my report on our March trip.

Before I start on the final chapter, a quick review might be in order. In Part 1 I covered the trip south, complete with some personal memories triggered by certain landmarks along the way. In Part 2 I shared some pics of the new Polynesian Vacation Club facilities as well as the indulgent story of how Nancy and I became WDW annual pass holders. Part 3 explored the interesting world of Florida retirement communities where most of the visiting kids are sixty somethings. And Part 4 covered a senior day at theme parks and why it is that such a counterintuitive phenomenon can even happen. We pick up the action the next morning.

Tuesday, March 15 

Day 9.  Though a breach of senior vacation protocol, we decided to return to the theme parks for a second day in a row eschewing the customary "'tweener" day of rest and rehab (sometimes for the sake of family honor you just have to suck it up). The Dyatts were hot to see Harry Potter so they headed up I-4 to Universal Studios. I have no photo history of their day of magic, but I can report that they returned about 8:00 that evening dragging their wands.

Nancy and I, being of a slightly more cautious ilk, opted for a stroll around the World Showcase. This is one of my favorite Disney activities as it seems like everyone there is on "the old man tour". That would be moving leisurely (no fast passes needed), studying the architectures and exhibits offered by the various countries, shopping, and basking in the beautiful surroundings.

After clearing security and flashing our annual passes (:-), we sauntered up past the big golf ball (Spaceship Earth) and through Future World to the duelling gift shops that mark the entrance to the World Showcase. Feeling our roots, we decided to head counter-clockwise on this visit (west) to Canada and Great Britain. We took in the always impressive 360 film in the Canada pavilion and lunched on fish and chips in an authentic London pub. From there we headed around the promenade to France. Here are a couple of shots from the walk. It was a gorgeous day.  

After a little shopping for French wine and perfumeries, we returned to the promenade and ran into these street performers. We watched them build this unlikely tower out of a table and a few chairs. 

If you look closely, you will see that the chair assembly is built on top of four wine bottles. Unbelievable.

We continued our world tour with a little more exploration and shopping in Morocco and Japan. We then found some shade and a couple of scoops of ice cream, before taking in the multi-media show The American Adventure, another uniquely Disney presentation. This review and tribute to the resiliency of the American spirit, as told by life-like recreations of historical figures (Ben Franklin and Mark Twain, among others), is another Burk family favorite. It's refreshing in this day of reality-show politics and social unrest to spend a few minutes reflecting on the longer arc of where the country has come over the last three centuries. Call me mush. But I've always been a big picture guy.

We agreed to call it a day after The American Adventure, and headed out to catch the trolley to our car. Although we did take a brief detour to ride Spaceship Earth as the lines were down to nearly nothing (a good EPCOT tip - always hit Spaceship Earth on the way out, not the way in; it'll save you at least a half hour).

Upon arrival back at the Treehouse we met up with the Dyatt's and shared the day's adventures over cocktails. And agreed that theme parking three days in a row might not be a good idea.

Wednesday, March 16

Day 10. The group surfaced from slumber leisurely and enjoyed coffee and a light breakfast on the Treehouse deck. After recharging up to a range of 100% (Dave) to about 40% (yours truly), we headed off to Disney Springs (formerly known as Downtown Disney) to see the new offerings, have lunch and shop. 

I remember very little of this day, as I was running on reduced power. Several sensory functions were shut down to protect vital systems. But those needed to walk, eat and find places to sit were kept on-line. I do have a vague memory of cruising down Woodward in a convertible with the top down. But the more I think about it, it may have just been that we had lunch in a booth that looked like the back seat of a '57 Chevy. Not sure.

I did manage to take a couple of pics, as I had periodic mini-bursts of energy (solar-generated, I think). This first one I believe was a little after lunch as the girls (Robyn, Nancy and Mary from left to right) browsed some expensive souvenirs. 

Later we returned to the Treehouse for what has become a traditional cookout on Burk-Dyle-Wyatt vacations. Here's a shot of the service crew in full culinary splendor.

After gorging ourselves on BBQ chicken, pasta salad and ice cream drumsticks, we waddled into the living room and slowly fell into dreamland watching Spotlight (I think, but given my level of consciousness it may have been All the President's Men or Citizen Kane; I'm sure it was something about a newspaper).

Thursday, March 17

Day 11. Arising a little better rested (now back up to about 75%), I begged the others to please drag take me to Universal Studios to experience the joy of The Wizarding World of Harry Potter. The fact that the Wyatts were treating us to tickets had, of course, no impact on my enthusiasm. I am after all a fully qualified Potter nerd, having read the books twice and seen the movies a number of times. So we headed out for what looked to be a very fun day. Little did I know.

The subterfuge was subtle (which I guess is the best kind). The day started out innocently, with a stroll down the main promenade to Diagon Alley, I in my theme park uniform toting the yellow bag.

The first sign that we were approaching wizard country was this secret abode well known to any Potter-phile (12 Grimmauld Place).

Shortly thereafter we found ourselves in the midst of several other familiar edifices two of which are shown below, the latter complete with an escaping dragon.

It was at Gringotts Bank where the sinister plot was hatched. You see Gringotts has a thrill ride within its walls fashioned after the three-rail, high-speed open trolley from the movies. Through a clever combination of live action, surround video and animatronics, riders get to roar their way up, down and through the vault chambers, just like Harry.

Now I'm no expert on thrill rides, as I have previously lamented. But I know rides that put you in a gondola that only has seat belts and/or a safety bar over your lap aren't that bad. The Gringott's bank trolley ride is of this style. So I scrambled aboard. And the ride was fun, keeping the actual twists and turns suffered by riders to a level acceptable for someone of my refined sensibilities. I didn't realize it at the time, but I was being lulled into a false sense of macho.

Feeling frisky from a rush of testosterone way past its best-used-before date, I asked "what's next?" Reigning me back down into my support hose, they told me Hogwarts. To get there we had to take the train.

After we were seated in a fashionable Hogwarts Express compartment, the train pulled out of the station and rolled over the short distance to its destination. The effect was enhanced by a video of passing countryside posing as the window. Very cool.

Upon disembarkation, we headed first to Hogsmeade and the Three Broomsticks for a little lunch. 

Lunch, which for some of us included a little butter beer, was slightly more than light. One could say it was more Hagrid-ish. But it was delicious. However, unbeknownst to me it was all part of the conspiracy. As you will see shortly.

Following lunch was a discussion of the thrill ride inside the Hogwarts castle. Normally I would forego such a ride and spend time exploring and shopping while others took life into their own hands. But having "mastered" the Gringotts trolley, I was pondering (like the hotel commercial) "should I stay or should I go?" So I turned to a (formerly) trusted comrade, and asked if the Hogwarts ride was like the Gringotts ride. 

If I had been on my game, I would have picked up on my comrade's sheepish expression when he uttered, "uh...I...uh...hmmm...sha...sha...shhhhhuuuurrrrr!" Mary did, and promptly sauntered off to protect her sensitive back. I on the other hand, still fogged in by machismo mist, came back with something like, "Well, let's go then." Here's a pic of me pondering my decision as we approached the castle, still trying to defrost the windshield.

Once there, we got in the fairly long line that winds through the garden area and a couple of Hogwarts hallways to the ride entrance. I did note that at a few locations along the line path there were exit doors, through which an occasional potential rider came to his or her senses and bolted. But by the time I figured out what they were doing, we were at ground zero. 

Before I could say Tower of Terror, my wimpy butt had been whipped into what looked like the pilot's seat of an F-14 Tomcat and rendered immobile by the closure of a steel cage around my torso and head. The only thing missing was a helmet with "Maverick" written across the front. It was at that point that I realized I'd been had. I was looking up from the crumb tray of a toaster.

And then life became a blur. I was immediately lifted up and over backwards to the right and rocketed down a series of Hogwarts corridors, out through a stainglass window, high over the castle to the Quidditch field, and...well...I did say it was a blur. All I remember after that was worrying whether I would make it to the end of the ride before my less-than-light lunch made it back up to my soft palate. I think the ride was about an hour and a half. 

Fortunately, my lunch and I both survived this harrowing experience. I even had composure enough to confront the architect of this attack upon my person. But he denied any wrong doing, claiming no memory of his pre-ride assurances (while covering a grin with his right hand and offering me a Tums with his left). 

I will admit that aside from the digestive dilemma, it was kind of fun. The realism of the ride was incredible, and I felt completely safe in my body armor. And I felt I finally had the right to keep the Hogwarts pin (that the kids had given to me the year before) on my yellow bag as a badge of honor. But, I don't think I'll do that ride again soon. Like not in this century.

To restore my metabolism and psyche after my ride on a virtual Nimbus 2000, we took in a few more of the sights offered in the park. Things more my speed, like this. 

And this. A little pirate-guy-meets-pirate-girl acrobatic-fantasy show. Here the bodies flying through the air belonged to other people. Just the way I like it.

Having reached our limit for the day with the pirate pageantry, we gathered our gear and made our escape. We shopped our way out of the park and cruised back down I-4 to the Treehouses. There, we crawled into our respective nests and slept off our third trip to theme parks in the last four days. 

Friday, March 18

Day 12. Our last full day of most vacations is spent resting up from the vacation. This trip was no different. We hung around the Treehouse relaxing, reading, playing online and watching a little TV. A few went to the pool. We were all adjusting our attitudes for the trip home.

Except for me. The day before I had learned that my sister had taken ill, and my mother was in need of some help for a few days in Zephyrhills. So Nancy and I took the the Traverse for the one hour drive to Mom's, picked up my sister's pickup and brought both vehicles back to Disney. That would allow me to return to Zephyrhills on Satuday while Nancy drove home to Michigan to rescue the dog from her temporary quarters and to start on spring house and garden chores.  

We ended the day with our final clean-up dinner (an attempt to devour all remaining foodstuffs that wouldn't travel well) and, of course, a final happy hour. Here's a shot of our group enjoying the closing ceremonies, reviewing the week's activities and making initial plans for the next time. 

Saturday, March 19

Day 13. We packed. We loaded. We left. Thus endeth the trip, and this chronicle.

Post Script. I enjoyed sharing this inside look at our recent vacation, and reliving the adventure again myself. Especially the old memories sprinkled throughout the five posts. 

One of the benefits of writing this blog that I hadn't anticipated are those old memories. What I've learned is that in order to write about something, you have to think about it. Think about it more than when you actually did it. For me, that makes the memories even more meaningful. And writing them down puts them in a place I can find them, and relive them again when I want. It's a hobby I recommend.

Trip Chronicle - March 2016, Part 4

At the end of Part 3, Nancy and I had met up with the Dyles and the Wyatts at Disney's Treehouses resort. We resume with the next morning.

Monday, March 14

Day 8. As this was a theme park day, the crowd stirred fairly early for adults on vacation - 7:30-ish. In the good old days with a passel of kids in tow, we would arise between 6:00 and 6:30 on theme park days, rouse the little darlings, make and pack lunches, pile into the van, and head to the park of choice by 8:00. That would put us at the gates by 8:30 or so just in time for park opening.

Well, these are the good new days. While we stepped lively through the morning routine, it was sort of senior-lively. That means focusing on getting each step of the routine right the first time, to minimize do-overs. And keeping the pack down to just the basics - extra meds (in case of a "silver alert" - I was once lost for a day in the Carousel of Progress), a wrist band with emergency contact numbers (helpful in the event of a hit and run by a double baby stroller), and the usual shawl (those Florida springs can be chilly).

Now I say senior-lively, though the Wyatts are just youngsters in their early 50s. However, to their credit, by hanging out with the Byles so much (that would be the Burks and the Dyles), they have become quite proficient at dropping their keys, accenting their ensembles with foodstuffs, not remembering what they got up and went into the next room for, and dozing off during early evening movies. In short, they've adjusted to the senior lifestyle quite nicely. At least when they're with us.

So, having readied ourselves for the day's adventure, we headed out for a tour of the newly expanded Fantasyland. To get there we drove to the Magic Kingdom parking lot, rode the trolley to the Transportation and Ticket Center, and ferried across the Seven Seas Lagoon. Three rides already and not even there yet :-)

From the ferry dock we cleared security, passed under the WDW Railroad and sauntered up Main Street. Just before Cinderella's castle we bore to the right past the northwestern edge of Tomorrowland, by Cosmic Ray's, the Teacups, and the Grand Prix cars, to the entrance of Fantasyland. Whew. Time for our first break.

This might be a good time to deal with the issue of why I (and many other adults, I think) keep returning to theme parks. This would be in spite of expensive entry fees, large crowds, long lines, and overpriced food. Not to mention those killer strollers (one took my Dad out once - three stitches in his forehead) or occasionally finding yourself in the blast zone of a family in total meltdown (a phenomenon I like to call Survivor Disney). And, isn't it true that the parks hardly ever change? So why go back for the same old thing?

Well, I'm of the philosophy that in life you usually find what you're looking for. So if you're looking to be inconvenienced, overcharged, or bored (or all three), theme parks can certainly satisfy your expectations. But to me, there's more there than potential unpleasantness.

First, there are the memories. Over the years Nancy and I spent many, many hours traipsing around Disney theme parks with our kids. And with rare exception the euphoria of the kids would carry the day. They were so amped just to be there, to see the shows, to be thrilled by the rides, and to enjoy the freedom of what we as parents felt was a safe environment, that they kind of created their own biosphere of joy. Gratefully, we were caught up in it. I can't help but associate the parks with the great feelings I have had there. And those feelings are still with me. Every time I cruise through a theme park gate, they come rushing back. And I feel like I did the very first time.

Then there's the overwhelming variety of things to see and do. Everyone knows the popular thrill rides. At the Magic Kingdom that would be the mountains - Splash, Thunder and Space. At Epcot, you're talking Test Track, Mission: Space, and maybe Soarin' in The Land pavillion. At Hollywood it's Star Tours, the Rockin' Roller Coaster, and the big enchilada - the Tower of Terror. And in the Animal Kingdom there is Dinosaur (formerly the Countdown to Extinction) and the newest roller coaster at Disney World - Everest.

They're all fun (at least that's what my kids tell me). But they're only the glitz. You could hit all of these attractions and not spend more than 30 minutes total (not counting the average of 30 minutes to an hour - depending on the season - waiting in line for each). But what I love is all the stuff you walk through and around to get from one of these thrill rides to the next. The live action shows, the exhibits, the audience participation programs, the Disney character greetings, the street performers, the slow-moving gondola presentations, the themed shopping areas, and even the unique dining experiences (where else can you sink your teeth into a take-out turkey leg, bite into a burger in the back of a Buick, or plough into a pizza in a pachyderm's penumbra). The truth is, there is way more to see, do and digest in each of the parks than can be done in even several visits.

And, contrary to the skeptics, things are changing at Disney all the time. Although it's not always obvious as the big-name attractions and rides are fairly constant. But to the trained eye, one of the most fun parts of a theme park visit is learning of and experiencing those new items. For example, the most popular new item our little group experienced this trip was the new fireworks show at Hollywood Studios. I missed it (as will be explained shortly), but my Bride - a true fireworks enthusiast - said they may be the best she has ever seen, anywhere.

Finally, in addition to the memories and the variety of things to do, there is the physical and mental fitness value of theme parks. I mean it's mall walking on an interplanetary scale. This may seem like a stretch, but you just can't get from here to there in a theme park without blowing out your pedometer. There's also a weight bearing component to the workout due to all the stuff you jam into your backpack to take to the park and the additional souvenirs and tee shirts you buy at the park and carry out.

From a mental health perspective, your brain is in for an active day. You'll find that you're constantly scrubbing neurons and spurring synaptic activity trying to make sense of the little maps Disney passes out at park entrances to confuse newbies. Arguments over the quickest route from where you think you are to where your youngest child wants to be has been known to cause one of those family meltdowns mentioned earlier.

And then there's the team problem-solving activities like "will the left line or the right line be shorter (most Disney rides offer this choice)", "which fast-pass should we get next (you can only have one at a time)", and "should mom or dad contact security to report the missing children". Mentally, a day at a theme park can be very Mensa-esque.

I could go on, but I'll end your pain here. Suffice it to say, to the die-hard Disney-ite it makes perfect sense to get back to theme parks as often as possible. (Remember, my goal wasn't to convince you that my obsession should be yours, but rather to provide you with a first class rationalization for this seemingly odd behavior. I hope I met that standard.)

Time to resume Day 8. When I left off, our little group had stopped for a short break at the entrance to Fantasyland. After a BP and pulse check, we continued into Fantasyland and found Dumbo. Over the years I often heard that Dumbo is the most popular attraction at Disney World, from a ridership perspective. I would believe it based on the historically long lines one finds wrapped around the entrance. To make Dumbo more accessible, Disney has added a second ride (an additional 16 elephants) and an elaborate "big top" playscape that serves as the wait line. Here are a few pics.

First a shot of five well behaved wannabe Dumbo riders, waiting their turn in the playscape "adult" area (we were all too tall to be allowed into the very cool climbing area). 

Having served our time, we were allowed on the ride. Here are the Wyatts (lower elephant) and the Dyles (upper elephant) with huge smiles on their faces as they soar into the pachysphere (I may have put this pic in backwards).

And a shot of me and my Bride in our Dumbo delerium.

Once we came down from our elephantine elation, we were ready for more. This little treasure is next door. Please note the strange dude in the Hawaiian shirt in the lower left corner. Seems like I see him everywhere I go.

The Barnstormer is a rollercoaster for thrill-ride trainees (the 48" rule does not apply). It's also popular on what in our family is known as the "old-man tour" (attractions I used to frequent while the kids rearranged their internal organs on real thrill rides). I think five of us took the 45 second flight with Goofy up over, around and through the barn. (The party who wimped out shall remain confidential - what happens on the senior tour stays on the senior tour).

At this point, our group split into breakouts for independent study and exploration. The Dyles hopped over to the Animal Kingdom to check out a favorite show (Nemo, I think, but my notes are unclear). While the Wurks (that would be the Wyatts and the Burks) meandered over to Tomorrowland for lunch at Cosmic Ray's and a little shopping at Mickey's Star Traders.

We completed our time in Tomorrowland with a spin on the People Mover (formerly known as the Tomorrowland Transit Authority). This ride, another favorite on the "old man tour", is a leisurely second-story run through all of the attractions in Tomorrowland in a gondola powered by linear synchronous motors (like I know what those are). The highlght of this ride is a detour through the dark and eerie confines of Space Mountain, complete with screams and shrieks provided by those high above us "enjoying" their simulated ride through space.

Upon our return to Earth, we headed over to the Fantasyland station of the WDW Railroad for a leisurely ride around the southern end of the park to Frontierland. To accommodate me, actually. You see, I am one of those (nerdy) pin collectors, and I like to acquire the pin for every resort I've stayed at. Missing from my collection was one for the Treehouses.

That particular pin is marketed only to Disney Vacation Club members, and is kept in a drawer with other limited edition selections until asked for by a person with proper ID. And, they are available in only a few places. One of those is the pin store in Frontierland. See where I'm headed with this? Yes, being a Disney nerd has its own special thrills.

After procuring my new pin, we worked our way back through Adventureland, past the Crystal Palace and down Main Street (hitting a few shops along the way) to the park exit. We then trollied, drove and re-trollied our way from the Magic Kingdom to Hollywood Studios. There we treated ourselves to a little ice cream while we waited for the Dyles to rejoin us for a showing of Beauty and the Beast. The plan went smoothly. The Dyles found us right on tme, and the show was as entertaining as always.

One feature of Disney culture that I have not yet commented on is the quality of the performers. They are consistently outstanding, making repeat viewings of the many 30-40 minute live versions of Disney classics found throughout the parks a highlight of every theme park day.

As a follow-up to Beauty, we took in the multi-media Little Mermaid show. This is a part video, part live action and part physical special effects telling of Ariel's quest to grow feet. How romantic can you get. We then moved on to a revisit of the Zootopia short film at the Animation Studio (that Nancy and I had seen the previous week) after which we found ourselves overtaken by hunger.

As we dined on another elegant theme park repast (this one at the ABC Commissary), I realized I was running on fumes. I estimated that I had just enough energy left to make it to the parking lot trolley. And if my calculations were right, I would reenergize during the trolley ride sufficiently to make the walk from the trolley to the driver's side of the car. So I went for it.

Abandoning my park buddies, who were determined to stay and visit the Star Wars-based attactions and see the fancy new fireworks, I headed for the exit. Mary had also reached her limit for the day and decided to join me. I was thankful for the backup.

Mary and I made it safely back to our Treehouse, and even had enough left in the tank to arrange a modest celebration for Dave. It was his birthday. So when he and the others returned later that evening, we surprised him with cake and ice cream. Here's a shot of the birthday boy drooling over his carrot cake (I see that the weird dude in the Hawaiian shirt was still lurking around).

Finally, full of new memories, good feelings, a child's portion of the family brew, and a generous serving of cake and ice cream, we were ready to close the book on another fine theme park day.

I think it's also time to close the book on this post, and publish. See you for the exciting finish to this chronicle coming soon in Part 5.

P.S. There was one other event that happened at the end of the day that was not so wonderful. And in the interest of full disclosure, I feel obligated to share it. While wrestling party materials out of the car, I lost my grip on my cell phone and helplessly watched it tumble end over end until it crashed onto the parking lot asphalt. I had dropped this phone many times before without severe consequences.

But this time, it made a different sound when it hit. Something like a really large bug - Florida grade - hurtling into your windshield at 75 miles an hour. I knew it was bad.

As I slowly reached down and turned the phone over, I found myself the unwilling owner of a strange new piece of art. My display glass was mostly still located in the same geometric plane, but it was way more interesting. It sported I'd say about a linear meter of cracks, masterfully woven into a web-like design that could only be found in nature.

Amazingly, the phone still worked. But the touch screen feature was a little tricky. Fortunately, I travel with band aids.

Grosse Pointe Charles

Trip Chronicle - March 2016, Part 3

At the end of Part 2 Nancy and I had departed Disney's Polynesian and headed out to my mother's place in Zephyrhills, about an hour away. The trip was uneventful, and we settled into Mom's steel bungalow with the ease of familiarity. Here's a recent pic of this cozy abode, complete with my favorite possession - a 40' palm tree.

We pick up the action the next morning.

Friday and Saturday, March 11 and 12

Days 5 and 6. I'm reporting on these two days together because, well, I couldn't tell them apart. Let me explain.

When I'm in either of my own nests (Grosse Pointe or Greenbush), my days are fairly routinized. That's because I've had nearly four years of retirement to sort through my favorite activities and craft them into the perfect day. Arise leisurely, lounge with coffee and a light breakfast, watch a little Perry (Perry Mason for those of you at work from 9-10 each morning), dress and groom leisurely (if at all), take lunch (on the deck whenever possible), then spend the early afternoon on whatever "tasks" I've scheduled for the day (that would be from 1-1:30).

After this rigorous work period, it's time for play. Until happy hour. This play could involve a variety of hobby activities involving music, movies, games, reading, even a little blogging. Or when the weather's right, a brisk walk, golf, biking, kayaking, hammock stretching or the like (this may sound like exercise, but it's really playing at a moderately faster pace; and you don't want to overdo it). After happy hour (which can be a happy two hours) and a light supper, back to play until 9:00 or so. Then end the day with a movie from my personal library and some time with my current book, until I nod off. You get the idea. Routinized.

I would like to add here that my Bride, while not quite as deep in a groove as I am, has her own routine parts of which, thankfully, align with my own. Those would be the morning laze, lunch, certain activities in the afternoon play regime (walking, biking, kayaking, golf), and happy hour, which frequently morphs into happy dinner or happy dinner-and-a-movie.

Outside of these shared times, Nancy has a long list of independent interests that fill her day while I'm off in the lab or fine-tuning my dawdle. Among other things, this list includes gardening, the Little Chickadee (her backyard birding website), a variety of craft projects, exercising Coco, binge-watching crime dramas, and monitoring a global network of police scanners (if you're into break-ins in Brisbane, she's your girl).

Our respective routines have served us quite well through the years, keeping us connected through our together time and affording each of us sufficient parallel play to pursue our separate interests. I'm a firm believer that it's similarities that make people compatible but differences that keep them interesting to each other.

Now back to Zephyrhills. As you might expect, Nancy and I have had a fair amount of success adapting our routines to the road, especially in venues where we spend a good deal of time. My mother's place qualifies in this category. Fortunately, my mother's routine dovetails nicely with our own (and has likely had some influence on ours as she has had 30 years of practice - she retired in 1986). The mornings go like this. We arise leisurely, lounge with coffee and a light breakfast, watch a little Perry, dress and groom (not optional at Mom's), and take lunch (at a favorite restaurant whenever possible; Mom likes her lunches out).

Nancy is usually up before me, as is my mother, which provides them a little private time in the morning for mind-tuning (Mom with crosswords, Nancy with her favorite tablet app Einstein Riddles) and to chat about what a great son and husband I am. Once I've joined the morning coffee klatsch, I've noticed that Nancy (technophile that she is) sort of migrates to her laptop and plunges into cyberspace. Curious. Well, maybe not.

But while our mornings in Zephyrhills are only a minor variation of our home routine, after lunch things get a little crazy. There are occasional house fix-it chores for me (have to maintain that "great son" thing). And frequent runs to the grocery store, the drug store, the bank, Home Depot, the liquor store, just to name a few. My mother is an active member of her community and comes from a generation that enjoys getting out. Shopping isn't just a chore here. It's an activity. People know their service providers, the cashiers at the grocery store, the druggist. It's nice.

Once the afternoon's outing is done, we repair to the living room or the Florida room for a little rest and relaxation, and to freshen up for happy hour. Nancy and I may catch up on our emails or challenge my mother to a little cribbage. Every once in a while, a brief nap has been known to transpire.  

After happy hour (which at Mom's is at least two hours), and a not-so-light supper (can you say Mom's home cooking?), we don our walking shoes and cruise the streets of the Tippecanoe mobile home park until our heads clear and our blood chemistry returns to normal. This usually takes about 45 minutes, after which we rejoin my mother for her nightly viewing of the day's DVR'd soap operas. I must say, though it's often weeks and sometimes two or three months between my exposure to these soap operas (I see them only at Mom's), it seems I seldom miss any important plot points.  

There is one notable deviation from this pattern. During baseball season the soap opera airings are held earlier (preempting Pat, Vanna and Alex) so that they can be completed by the first pitch of the Tigers game. My mother catches every Tigers game on MLB.TV, which she HDMIs from one of her two laptops to her big-screen hi-def TV. As you may have surmised, my mother is fairly tech-savvy for a nonagenarian.

On a comforting note, having survived wild variations from my usual routine, I'm generally able to close a day at Mom's in a familiar manner. My mother and my Bride generally hit the hay around 10:00, Mom with her canine companions Lola and Laci,

And Nancy with her tablet. I then enjoy a couple of solo hours in film land, most often with Forensic Files, a worthy alternative to any crime drama - truth is stranger than fiction. This is followed by a little drowsing up with a good book until I fade out, successfully completing yet another day in paradise.

So there you have it, the story of the Zephyrhills portion of our trip (and the Zephyrhills portion of nearly all of our trips). I must admit, it gives me a warm and fuzzy feeling to know that my mother's conception of a perfect day has a few overlaps with mine. Just good genes, I guess. Time to move on.

Sunday, March 13

Day 7. Our third morning in Zephyrhills went about like the first two. It being Sunday, our morning coffee TV fare consisted of a little CBS Sunday Morning and a tad of NBC's Meet the Press (with a little Daniel Boone and The Rifleman tossed in).

But, as this was another getaway day, there was a modicum of pressure. I knew where the car was parked. In the driveway. And there was no irritating checkout deadline. But although there was no threat of permanently losing any valuables (we would be back soon, and often), there was the worry of having to retrace our steps to retrieve an item left behind without which life could not go on. You know, like our meds, Nancy's puzzle books, my day planner. Fortunately, the travel gods smiled on us, and we were fully (and properly) packed and on our way back to Orlando shortly after lunch.

Due to our recon work the previous week, our arrival and check-in to the Tree Houses resort at Disney's Saratoga Springs went quickly and smoothly. We unpacked and took a self-guided tour of our vacation home and the surrounding area. Here are some pics. First up, the master bedroom and bath.

  

Here we have the great room sitting and eating areas as well as the kitchen.

And the other two bedrooms and second bath.

And finally the attached deck, walk up and barbecue area.

Nestled into our home for the week, Nancy and I uncorked our favorite libation and awaited the arrival of our friends, the Dyles and Wyatts, who would be joining us after a long weekend on Captiva Island. They made it in safe and sound that night, after which we had a second libation and planned our week in Orlando.

This seems like a good point to wrap up this installment and publish. I'll report on the ensuing week's activities in a Part 4, and as promised in Part 2, take on the issue of adults and theme parks. Talk to you soon.

Grosse Pointe Charles.