Another Day in Paradise: Memory Lane - LDLR The Rest of the Story (2011-2019)

In my previous post I shared the background and early history (through 2010) of a recurring social gathering I and my friends refer to as the Labor Day Listening Room or LDLR. As often mentioned these get-togethers took place at Wiser Times, our family cottage in Greenbush. In this post I'll cover the ongoing story of the LDLR through its prime to its unwelcome conclusion in 2019 due to COVID. For some, this should trigger a few memories.

From 2011 through 2013 things came off rather routinely. We had most of the usual players from the previous years. Here's a group shot from 2012.

From left to right are Tommy and his mother Linda C, Jeff R with son Justin, I and my bride Nancy, Mary W, our daughter Christine, Jim W, Deandra R and daughter Miranda.

Activities included the usual music marathon, fabulous cuisine and relaxation. There were a few new wrinkles, like (non) white water canoeing. Here's a shot of Jim and me on our qualifying run for the annual Grayling-to-Oscoda overnight canoe race.

The good news is that we didn't fall out of the boat. The really good news is that we didn't qualify. Something about an improper weight distribution as I recall (for a full accounting of the 2012 event check out my initial LDLR post).

During our 2013 event, Jim and I wowed the crowd with a demonstration of how to operate a CD duplicating tower, a critical task in the production of our music collections. Heady stuff. We thought the demo went well, despite the lack of follow-up questions.

2014 turned out to be little more interesting. We had our biggest crowd - 14 - and the usual routine. Big dinners.

Happy hours.

Scintillating evening entertainment.

But we also had this.

In the middle of all the fun I spent a night in the Alpena Regional Medical Facility. On Saturday, during a vigorous game of lake Frisbee, I had a sharp pain my chest. Oops. Never having had such a pain before, I/we weren't sure what to do. It hurt when I breathed deeply, but not at rest. Being of what you might call a cautionary nature, I/we decided to check it out.

On a Saturday of a holiday weekend, available medical services in northern Michigan can be hard to find. The nearest facility was in Alpena, 35 miles north. So Nancy and I piled into the car and headed to Alpena, leaving the 12 house guests to fend for themselves. The group, being well-versed in LDLR management, continued on without losing a step. Eventually, when someone else had to play bartender, they missed me.

At the hospital my fate was sealed when Nancy mentioned the words "chest pain" in the ER waiting room. Within 10 seconds a wide-eyed orderly blew into the room, lashed me to a gurney and whisked me into triage. After a quick once-over, the tending physician determined that I wasn't in distress and things calmed down. But for a while it was exciting.

After examining me, the doctor concluded that I had pulled a small muscle in the area of my sternum. But because of a hospital protocol, I was kept for 24 hours. As the doctor explained, the results of my enzyme test were troublesome. The normal result for this test is a level of 1.045. My level was 1.046. And there is no tolerance allowed. Any level higher than the 1.045 requires 24 hours of observation to make sure the enzyme level doesn't rise (which would indicate possible heart damage). The doctor surmised that 1.046 might be my normal. But without a baseline to establish that, they wouldn't risk releasing me. I had to stay. Having seen me through the crisis, Nancy dumped me and went back to the party.

So while everyone else was enjoying the cottage and the beach and each other, I spent a comfortable 24 hours watching the hospital channel and having my enzyme levels checked every hour. All night. It was the first time I had been in a hospital since 1970 when I had a brief bout with pneumonia during my Army basic training. Forty-four years was a pretty good run, I guess.

My enzyme levels didn't change overnight, and the next day brought me back to the party where things had rolled along just fine during my absence. I had even returned in time to take my turn in the music rotation. But I laid off the Frisbee for the rest of the weekend.

There was one other special situation at the cottage during our 2014 LDLR. It was this guy.

Kody, our husky-mix shelter dog finally made his appearance at an LDLR. Kody, also known as the Kodeman or Kodalicious or the Kodatola, had missed earlier gatherings because of his affliction - an overdeveloped territorial imperative. He would lose it when strangers entered family spaces. He was fine with the family. He was fine with others outside of the home. He was an excellent walker and a favorite at the kennel (they once selected him as boarder of the month). But in the house or the cottage or even in the big van we drove in those days, he couldn't tolerate strangers.

But early in 2014 at the age of 11, he became ill. There was nothing that could be done for him other than relieve his pain. He was put on phenobarbital to prevent seizures. A side effect of the drug was that Kody became Mr. Mellow. He became passive and friendly. We refer to those last six months of his life as Kody's farewell tour. He finally met all of our friends. He attended the June family picnic at home. He came on weekends with family and friends to the lake all summer. And finally made it to an LDLR.

He seemed to enjoy his new personality, as did we. He had a favorite spot out on the berm overlooking the lake where he spent a lot of time taking in the sights and smells. And he had a favorite toy - a soft miniature basketball that he could have easily ripped to shreds. But he never did. He would play fetch with it, carrying it gently in his jaws. He always kept it close. Here's a shot of Kody that weekend relaxing with his ball.

We lost Kody in November that year, but he had a great final ride. Here's another shot of Kody. My favorite. The faithful dog looking after his troubled master (I had pulled the leg-lift lever on my easy chair a little too aggressively). He was bringing me another one of his favorite toys, a rubber beetle, to console me.