Vacations - Part 2

Prologue

This post has been delayed because of the "L" word - life. Despite my diligence in adding "Blog" to my task list nearly everyday the last couple of months, very little work was done. Because of a few life surprises during this period, I found myself forwarding this commitment with painful regularity. I've never really been comfortable with the notion that life happens faster than you can blog about it.

To be specific, our straightforward plan to replace the Wiser Times deck morphed into a rebuild of the entire cottage front (lakeside) wall, including new windows and door walls, new siding, and reconstruction of the bay window area and front bedroom floor. Throw-in a tree limb incident back home and - oh yeah - an emergency root canal, and you begin to understand why I've been distracted. (I wonder if home ownership problems can make your teeth go bad? Hmm.)

Of course, I'm not talking about losing time to actually performing house repairs and new construction. We have guys for that kinda stuff. I'm referring to the myriad of issues and decisions one has to process in order to get through such ordeals (although I did personally participate in the root canal thing).

It all started innocently enough. There was the cottage deck to replace. Materials to select. Built-ins to consider. Canopy, no canopy? Things like that. We managed to navigate that process fairly smoothly. But when the old deck was removed to make way for the new, we received the dreaded news. The words one hopes never to receive from a service provider. The news that can drive one to the liquor cabinet. It came in a brief but ominous text - "We have issues." Yikes! Not that!

The issues turned out to be rotten wood. A lot of it. Underneath the surface of the old deck the wind, the rain and the sand off mighty Lake Huron and its shores had for years been beating the crap out of the front of the cottage. That coupled with what appeared to be questionable materials and shoddy workmanship in the original construction of the lakeside wall, made for this home improvement opportunity.

Then, back home a couple of weeks later, licking our wounds and pondering our next step in the "save the cottage" campaign, we felt a big thud overhead. The big maple tree in our deck, apparently feeling ignored, saw fit to hurtle part of itself onto our family room roof, taking out some eave trough in the process. It was the third time in three years that this arboreal menace has laid siege to our battered abode. Lesson to be learned - old maple trees can be moody.

I'm happy to say that we are now truly on the mend. My smile has been restored, and we have had the downed limb removed from our roof. And after much wringing of hands and gnashing of teeth, we've concluded that the fickle Ms. Maple has to go. Her value as a source of shade has been negated by her potential to cause financial ruin. It'll happen toward the end of this month. You don't have to hit us in the head four times for us to get the message. Three did the trick.

At the lake we've digested the damage to the cottage and come up with a plan to restore and weather proof our little piece of paradise for good. Our builder is just about done with the repairs at this point and well into construction of the new deck. We've also laid in a case of Wiser's and tapped into our kids' inheritance to fund it all. We hope to return to normal life at the cottage within a fortnight.

Despite all this drama (or maybe because if it) we are anxiously awaiting this season's social calendar at the lake, which will launch soon with a visit from all our kids and grandkids. And I'm determined to wrap up reporting on our last family gathering before we run into the next one. Or before more life surprises intrude into my usually well-organized existence. So back to Disney.

Vacations Part 2

In Vacations Part 1 I chronicled the first week of our March vacation south. During that week Nancy and I caught up and spent time with several sets of friends. There was also the mention of a new bed in my mother's guest quarters. All good. A week of relaxing, fine conversation, overeating, and a libation or two. All the key ingredients of a successful seniors' holiday.

On Sunday March 17th, St. Patrick's day and the 10th day of the trip, that all came to an end. For while Nancy and I were re-packing the car for the next leg of our journey, this was happening.

That would be daughter Cathy and husband Matt with little Lena and big brother Ian aboard a silver bird hurtling through the skies to meet up with us at Disney World. Note that Lena had dressed for the occasion.

As the story goes, the kids managed the flight very well. Ian, a stickler for procedure, spent his time boning up on the safety features of their aircraft. 

Confident big brother had the situation under control, Lena took the opportunity to rest up for the rigors of theme parking that lay ahead.

Nancy and I arrived at the "Happiest Place on Earth" first, sailing under this friendly arch for the umpteenth time.

We went through our regular ritual of checking in, being told our room wasn't quite ready yet, and heading off to the local Publix to stock up on a week's worth of groceries. We then returned to the Old Key West Resort to await the text that would confirm that our vacation home was available. Meanwhile, the air travelers had transferred their kids and their gear to a rental car and were on their way to join us.

While we wait for their arrival, I think this would be a good time to update Burk family Disney statistics. Haven't done that for awhile.

Let me start with my usual disclaimer. We know that Disney isn't everyone's cup of tea. It's often crowded, always pricey, overwhelming in it's variety, and uniquely exhausting. And from time to time controversial in its business and employment practices. 

But the bottom line for us is - we don't care about all that. Through the years we have made so many visits to the various Disney venues that they have become an important part of our family history. And with a little research and planning, we have found the immensity of the entertainment options and the not-always-at-their-best crowds to be quite manageable. But the art and science of enjoying theme parks is a subject for another post. For the present, suffice it to say what we proudly display on our license plate mount - "Been There. Done That. Goin' Back".

Regarding the statistics. Lena's visit to meet Mickey and Minnie was the 84th time someone in our family has checked into a Disney resort. A couple of other numbers. Over the 84 visits we have spent 374 nights in Disney properties. Yes, that's slightly over a year. And on 95 separate days at least two of us have visited a theme park (can't remember anyone ever going alone). Some time later this year we should hit our 100th theme park day as we have two more 2019 visits on the books. And they say I'm not a numbers guy.

But back to the fun at hand. The kids arrived a little after 4:00 pm in fine shape. We unloaded, set up house in the condo, tended to the kids, and reviewed the week ahead. Being a chip off the old block, Cathy had a plan. It was based on some well-established Disney vacation protocols, the most important of which is "the optimal length of stay at a theme park is equal to the attention span of your youngest child" (this long-standing principle has recently been expanded to include "or the endurance of the wimpiest grandparent, which ever expires first").

Other guidelines built into the plan were:

--Don't rush. You can't do it all, but this won't be your last opportunity to see Disney.

--Provide plenty of downtime in between major activities (allowing the kids to savor the fun, the parents to recharge, and the grandparents to check their vitals).

--Don't forget great grandma; she lives only an hour from WDW and always knows where we are.

The plan shared and confirmed, we each in turn shuttled off to get a little sleep before the adventure began.

On Monday March 18th, we got up early, ate, bundled up our kid-management gear and headed off for today's venue - The Magic Kingdom. Here are some shots.

In this first pic, taken between parking the car and catching the tram to the park entrance, we see some last minute prep activity. Matt is taking a final attitude reading from Ian and fine-tuning expectations, essential to the tenuous art of managing toddler moods. Cathy meanwhile is rigging the dual stroller for extended travel. For my part, I'm observing and admiring this display of parental care and concern, and wondering how my kids ever made it to puberty.  

In this second pic we are underway, engaged in our primary activity for the day - walking. Note that despite its creature comforts, Ian has eschewed the high-tech stroller in favor of a more traditional conveyance - pack-grandpa. 

Fortunately, Ian quickly bored of my conversation and shortly after this pic joined Lena in the stroller. I wasn't offended.    

    

I must say the day was a huge success. The weather was pleasant, the crowds were manageable, and Cathy had gotten fast-passes for a couple of high priority rides (for the uninitiated, that would be reserved times). First up on our list was Dumbo, historically the most popular ride at the Magic Kingdom. Here is a pic of Ian flying with mom and dad for the first time.

And a shot of the aerial cameraman who couldn't help this selfie plus.

Lena didn't quite meet the height requirement, so she sat out the ride and kept an eye on Grandma.

Feeling a tad peckish after our flying pachyderm experience, we cruised over to Frontier Land to a favorite eatery, the Pecos Bill Tall Tale Inn and Cafe. Sad to report that no photos were taken during this overly interactive experience. The four adults were otherwise occupied as we split up to accomplish the tasks integral to theme park dining. 

At Pecos Bill's that would be selecting and procuring appropriate foodstuffs from the western-eclectic menu (sort of a Tex-Mex/fast-food/happy-meal fusion thing). While the food crew was on their away mission, the table crew (my assignment) was busy locating and defending a table from other desperate would-be diners with the same goal. All this while working with the little ones to keep them semi-amused until the food arrived. You could say taking pictures was, well, just not in the picture.  

But as usual, it all worked out just fine. We used the stroller and park bags to mark our selected table and benches. The food crew arrived in good time with an impressive array of sandwiches and chicken nuggets, French fries, cold drinks, and most importantly plenty of napkins. And despite our weakened state, we had no trouble cleaning our plates (or more accurately our little paper baskets).  

Revitalized from our epicurean delights, we tacked our way through the park to the Jungle Cruise. On our way through Adventure Land, Cathy, Grandma and Lena made a stop at the powder room (read diaper changing station). While the girls were busy, Matt took the opportunity to give Ian a few pointers on the tricky art of safely navigating a theme park filled with life-threatening wheeled vehicles. As you can see from this pic, the lecture came none too soon.

Most of these hazards are one, two and even three person strollers being pushed way too fast by tired, wild-eyed, sometimes cranky adults looking for an opening in the crowd ahead rather than what's right in front of them. 

The practice of counseling new family members in this critical skill arose back in the 90s after one of these unlicensed assault weapons took out my Dad during a visit to Busch Gardens. Pop ended up face down on the concrete without even so much as an "oops" or "I'm sorry" from the perp (not to worry; an hour in the first aid station and a few stitches later my Dad was up and around and doing his best not to frighten the Clydesdales with his battle-scarred forehead).   

Following the counselling, Ian took a shot at applying what he had just learned.

But a few steps later after a close call with a runaway Graco, he opted for his traditional mode of transportation.

We'll work on the solo thing next trip. Meanwhile, I was off fulfilling my most frequent duty during theme park days. That would be watching all the gear while taking a breather on an out-of-the-way bench. And practicing my selfies.

Note my badges of accomplishment. Clip-on sunglasses in the right-hand ready-access position for a quick one-hand mount when emerging from a darkened theater. Important when your other hand has a firm grip on your two-year old charge. And of course a stylish park bag sporting a couple dozen collector pins. I'm the envy of every 10-year-old in the park. 

Everyone suitably refreshed, we were off (another 10 minute weave through the horde) to the Jungle Cruise ride. That's where we float around in a low slung river boat adorned with survival equipment and pet the elephants and hippos. Well, we don't actually pet them. We ooh and aah at them. And they're not really elephants and hippos. They're sort of animal droids. But just as scary as the real thing to a two-year old. I liked it.

Here's a shot of the Kuhlmans nestled into their boat seats awaiting launch. Note the expressions of excitement. Especially on the parents.

And one of the happy grandparents. We were excited, too. But mainly to be sitting down again.

Here's a couple of pics of what the fuss was all about. 

The kids did seem to be really into it (both generations), as indicated below by what on a jungle cruise passes for an action shot. Lena was somewhat distracted by the cute tour guide.

After the cruise, we were nearing both of our theme park red lines - napless antsy kids and weary grandparents. So we started our trek back out of the park.

However, not too far into the journey we came upon this unique attraction.

Disney movie fans will recognize this as the tree house from Swiss Family Robinson. Ian, having recently semi-mastered the art of stair climbing, showed interest. So after a brief status check of the crew, Cathy and Matt decided to fit in one more adventure. They and Ian went climbing while Nancy and I stood guard over Lena and our gear.

We were able to catch the threesome on film a couple of times as they wound their way up and around the several levels of the tree house. In this first pic the group is in standard "dad-lead, mom-rear guard, charge-in-the-middle" formation. The preferred mode. Ian's shirt can be seen just under the leaf.

A little later in the climb, the group began to spread out a bit. This was an attempt to accommodate Ian's methodical but time-consuming both-feet-must-touch-each-stair approach. Here Matt has foraged slightly ahead to clear the way (and perhaps encourage a little quicker pace). Though unseen, you can be sure Ian is in there somewhere between the parents.

Although missing from the final report of the climb, this pic later showed up on the Internet. Apparently for one reason or another, mom was forced to apply the one-hand-hood-grasp control technique to restore order. The details are still fuzzy, but as far as I know no park officials were involved.

Though harrowing at times (at least for the grandparents watching from below), the exercise was successfully completed, as indicated by the "victory" photo below. Personally, I think Ian is well on his way to zip-lining.

After returning the kids to their dual stroller and bundling/strapping them in securely, we resumed our quest for the park exit. The kids seemed ready.

Of course, at Disney the shortest way to anywhere is never a straight line. As we shunted around the throng of park guests, enemy strollers, street vendors and roaming Disney "cast members" keeping the place tidy (there is always an army of white clad staff armed with brooms and long-handled dust pans sweeping up debris often before it hits the ground), we managed two more stops. 

The first was for nature. The kids, serviced independently, took their respective turns as the other sat patiently with the grandparents. Here's a shot of Ian in the queue, contemplating the days events.

  

And baby sister with grandma, once again fresh as a daisy.

The second stop was ever so brief right in the middle of Main Street. Necessary to take the classic family photo with Cinderella's castle looking on. Ian seems to be wondering "So who's Cinderella? 

Having made our escape through the gate and across the Seven Seas Lagoon, we found our car, disassembled our equipment and loaded the kids. Here's a shot of the happy first-timers maybe not remembering much except that they'd like to do it all over again. 

Back at the vacation condo, the evening meal and bedtime went just fine, with kids and caregivers alike weary from the days events. Or so we thought.

Once the little kids were down, the big kids took the opportunity to get a little more time in at the park. So while Nancy and I kept watch, Cathy and Matt slid out to enjoy some of their own favorite Magic Kingdom attractions. Among those, or course, were the fireworks.

And what better way to wrap up a day at the "Happiest Place on Earth" than with a ride on the carousel. Here's a shot of Cathy reliving her several summers at Black River Horse Camp.

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I took up a lot of ink at the beginning of this post whining about my personal problems. So to keep the length of this edition reasonable, I'll close here. Our family spent four more days floating around Walt Disney World in March. I'll tell that story in a Part 3 that you won't have to wait long for.

Until then, Grosse Pointe Charles,

Or as they refer to me at Disney World, Goofy.

Vacations - Part 1

Nancy and I recently returned from our latest trip south. This one like so many others covered a fair amount of ground, both geographically and people-wise. In other words we greeted the morning sun from a number of exciting locales and spent good times with a diverse collection of old friends.

Part of this trip was introducing a new traveler to our favorite Disney haunts. That would be five-month old Lena Elizabeth, the lovely recent addition to the family of daughter Cathy and son-in-law Matt. Here's the chronically happy Lena packaged for just about anything from a theme park visit to a moon shot. Kids come with more (and better) stuff these days.

But before we take this ride through recent memories, and document Lena's first encounter with The Mouse, let's reflect on the whole idea of "vacation".  My Merriam-Webster first defines vacation as "a respite or a time of respite from something". Thanks, Noah. Helpful.

I guess that definition can work for normal people. People with jobs and a responsibility for being useful. But as a retiree, I take a slightly different view. I feel my whole life is now a respite. So my working definition of "vacation" is that time when I am away from home but have taken enough stuff with me so that I can sustain the cushy existence to which I have become accustomed.

Luckily, I have found that this can be accomplished with a little planning and a mid-sized or larger cross-over vehicle. Also, a pleasant, multi-talented and accommodating caregiver traveling companion helps. Despite my personality foibles, I still have one.

So let's get this party started. Nancy and I arose on March 8th, a Friday, loaded up the Traverse with slightly more than we would ever need, and pulled out of the drive. On board we had a few extra items to ease the travel burden of those that would be flying down to meet us later in the month.

Our Day 1 plan was to roll, pitch and yaw our way down the washboard that is I-75 between Detroit and Toledo. Then, after tiptoeing through Buckeye speed traps, enjoy some fond memories as we buzzed the western border of Cincinnati (the place we first met).

From there, we would meander through bluegrass country and the western foothills of the Appalachians to a most stylish B&B in Spencer, Tennessee. That would be the home of our good friends Jan and Miguel. You might remember this secluded venue from an earlier trip (shot taken one morning as we attempted an early getaway; something about an unpaid bar bill).

Our Day 1 plan came off without a hitch. We had a delightful evening with our mountain retreat hosts. They got us liquored up, gave us a tour of the latest improvements to their private paradise (including a new guest room in process) and then stuffed us full of excellent cuisine. The usual. We were a little too lubed that night to drag out the camera, but here's a shot of us with these great friends from the last time we enjoyed their hospitality. They still look just like this.

Our Day 2 plan also worked out well. That was a descent from the mountains into Chattanooga followed by a sprint through Georgia to our second favorite state.

We arrived safe and sound at my mother's place in Zephyrhills in time for a delayed happy hour and a late supper. And, our last couple of nights in my grandmother's old bed. More on that shortly.

We hung out with Mom on Sunday and Monday, did a little shopping and cruised around in her new Terrain. Here's a shot of Mom with her new ride. No flies on Dolores.

On Tuesday, Nancy and I headed south to the Fort Myers area for a lunch with some old IRS friends. Here's a shot of this little reunion crowd.

From left to right is Debbie Schmidt of Fort Lauderdale and her husband Buddy, yours truly with bride Nancy, and Paul Bischoff who winters in Ft. Myers with his better half Connie. The Bischoffs' northern home is in Minnesota.

We had a great time catching up. Paul and I are long since retired. Debbie is still fighting what we refer to as the "tax wars". But most of the discussion was about our kids, current activities and future fun. Need to do more of that sort of thing.

After lunch Nancy and I continued on to South Seas Resort on Captiva Island for a couple of nights with our friends the Dyles and the Wyatts. We spent our island time sitting in the sun, dipping in the pool, eating, drinking, and in the evening watching a movie or two. We also worked in a round of golf on the resort executive course.

True, we do this sort of thing on a pretty regular basis. But equally true is that it never gets old. Here's a timeless shot of the active members of what we call the Burk-Dyatt Vacation Club. That would be left to right moi, Robyn, Jim, Nancy, David and Mary.

On Thursday, Day 7 of the trip, we returned to Mom's for what became the great bed caper. Remember a little earlier when I mentioned my grandmother's old bed? It was a full double that was installed in my parents' second bedroom almost 20 years ago after serving for a number of years in my grandmother's home. In other words, it was tired.

In recent years we had added a memory foam topper to give this ancient warrior a little more life. But the bottom line is that its claim to comfort had rung hollow for a very long time. I made an idle comment along these lines within earshot of my mother during my last visit in January, and noted that it might be time for an upgrade. She took that suggestion to heart.

A couple of weeks after we returned home from the January trip, my mother announced during our daily call that we should plan to spend some time on our next visit shopping for a new bed for the guest room. Turns out she meant it.

The day after we had arrived back in Zephyrhills (that was the previous Sunday) we went shopping. Before we finished we (read Mom) had purchased a new queen mattress and platform (formally referred to as a boxed spring) as well as a suitable headboard.

That meant that on Friday the 15th, Day 8 of the trip, we had to rise early, dismantle and remove the old bed, and assemble the new headboard and frame in anticipation of the happy delivery. Well it wasn't quite that easy.

As is our way, we were as frugal as we could be in this adventure. After price-shopping and obtaining a good deal on the mattress and platform, we thought we could save a little more money by first looking for a headboard at one of the local habitat/thrift stores. After all, it's very "Florida" to appreciate and celebrate the "golden" years. Even for furniture.

In the interest of full disclosure, I should fess up here that one of my favorite pastimes is to cruise thrift shops and second hand stores for what I would describe as hidden treasures. Stuff that for some reason a previous owner had cast aside while still in its prime.

Okay, maybe just a little past its prime. Or, perhaps it would be more accurate to say "to the trained eye, still possessing a measure of useful life - at a bargain price". You get the idea. At least it gets me out of the house for a little exercise. It beats mall walking.

Anyway, suffice it to say we found a formerly owned headboard that would meet our needs. So with a little move planning and a modicum of groaning, we worried the new queen-sized headboard down the narrow hall of my mother's home, around the corner and into place.

Then with a handful of right-sized bolts, washers and nuts procured from my father's shed, which contains a lifetime supply of such odds and ends, I was able to properly attach the headboard to the new bed frame. Here's a shot of me in my usual work position, completing my final task in this endeavor.

A couple of hours later, two highly-trained and physically fit women (think roller-derby queens) arrived in a big truck with our new bed. I did provide a couple pointers to these ladies on how to navigate the narrow hallway and the 90 degree turn, having sorted that out with the removal of the old bed. But they did the heavy lifting. And voila! The new bed was a reality. Here's a shot of our delightful and much appreciated new resting place at Mom's, complete with new bedding procured for the occasion.

Having now field tested this welcome addition to the family for a few nights, I can say with confidence that the project was a huge success.

On Saturday the 16th, I awoke thinking that there was only one task remaining on my Zephyrhills to-do list. That was to procure a noodle floatie for grandson Ian. But before I could quaff my second cup of coffee, Mom had come up with another problem. She needed a new chair.

Now my mother's history with living room chairs is long and filled with disappointment. She goes through them fairly quickly. Some turned out to be too big. Others too small. Some didn't wear very well, and others just seem to lose their appeal. The important thing to note is that when Mom says she needs a new chair, she means now.

Okay. I know the drill. There is one particular furniture store that my mother has used over the years. And despite the failure of past chair purchases from this store, it is still held in high esteem. Go figure.

So before lunch we headed out to Dade City for more shopping. I will save the details of this outing for a future post on my mother's many chair adventures. But I would like to report that a new chair was procured, carefully loaded into the Terrain, brought home and installed in my mother's living room before mid-afternoon. Again, no flies on the proprietor of 3420 Carnation Lane.

To consummate this quick but successful transition, the old chair had to be disposed of. Unlike several past displaced chairs, there was no place else in my mother's house to put it nor was there a relative (child, grandchild) in need of an extra chair. That meant an opportunity for me to visit one of my favorite places.

Those of you who are regular readers of this blog will remember some past posts in which I describe the joy of removing unwanted articles from one's life by tossing them over a concrete ledge into the gaping maw of a monster dumpster 15' below. Escorting Mom's discarded lounger to its doom was just as much fun as I remembered. (For a full exploration of heady times at the Pasco County Solid Waste Facility, see my Jan-Feb 2015 post).

As I came down emotionally from my chair disposal high, I remembered about the noodle. Grandson Ian would be needing such a device to navigate the pool at Disney. And I was just the guy to perform this task. For those of you not familiar with my history and prowess with noodles, I offer this documentary evidence.

In this shot from 2012 I am demonstrating for my other grandson Cyrus the inverted-chest-clutch position. Note that Cyrus at this point was still in the upright-death-grip training mode. He has since progressed nicely.

To complete this assignment we went off to Walmart where I snagged these beauties - one for the new noodler and one for the lucky dad, or grandpa, depending on the duty roster.

With my Zephyrhills chores complete, Nancy and I packed up for the next day's drive over to Disney to meet up with the Kuhlmans. And that's where we will pickup the story in my next post.

Till then.
Grosse Pointe Charles

The Holidays Part 3 - Splash Down (the Do Over)

My first edition of this post became corrupted somehow. Fonts and line spacing wouldn't behave. Probably because of something I said. So for the record here is a corruption free version of the post, with just one or two minor edits. Sorry for the breakdown in QA.
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In this post I will share the balance of my experiences with that period of the year we call "The Holidays". In the first post of the series The Launch I dealt with Thanksgiving and the buildup to it. The second post The Gauntlet covered those busy weeks between Thanksgiving and lights out on Christmas Eve. We pick things up here with Christmas morning.

In my dotage I have to say that I seldom need an alarm clock. Regardless of when I hit the sack, my body starts rebooting around 8:00 am. It takes about an hour for those systems that still work to come fully on line. Focusing the brain on the nuances and plot twists of a Perry Mason episode can help those neurons defrost and start firing.

When forced by circumstance to arise earlier than normal - mostly when traveling - I initially operate in what I would describe as "safe mode", until about 8:00. During this period I have limited functionality. I can dress, drink coffee, sit in a car (but not the driver's seat) and communicate in short, standard responses like "okay", "that's nice" and "yes I have my wallet and planner".

Christmas morning is a little different. In the early days of our family when young children were involved, the day started around 7:00. Of course, the kids had been awake and building up a charge well before that. Fortunately, I was younger with fresher batteries and could shift through the gears from park to neutral to low fairly quickly (low is my normal cruising gear). That was enough for me to put on my robe and slippers, shuffle down the stairs, pour a cup of coffee and take a seat before incurring a delay of game penalty.

The idea for Nancy and me then, as well as now, was to make this unique few hours of the year last for as long as possible. After the many hours of decorating, planning, cleaning, hosting, shopping and wrapping, not to mention cooking and baking, this was the payoff. The sense of urgency was gone. Time to make time stand still.

The kids, however, were operating on a different dynamic. We were usually able to freeze the proceedings long enough to capture the traditional shot of the kids sitting in front of the gift-adorned Christmas tree. Here are a couple of examples. First of the girls in 1989.

And another from 1992 with big brother Ted joining in.

All I can say is awww.

Of course, then the frenzy began. I seldom got to play Santa. Too slow. I would describe the nature of Christmas morning in the Burk household as a sort of temporal rift. Those of you familiar with the physics of Star Trek certainly know this term.

In this case what actually happened was that time was unfolding at different rates in two places in close proximity, creating a tear in the fabric of space-time. The kids were ripping the wrappings from one gift after another as fast as they could, while Nancy and I - a short distance away - were doing our best to draw out and savor every giggle and other expression of joy for as long as possible.

As the morning unfolded and the rift slowly closed, normal time was restored revealing the resulting rubble. The living room was typically strewn with new stuff - shiny toys, stylish items of clothing, exciting music and books, and other welcome treasures.

As such, one had to be careful while navigating across the room to the kitchen to secure another cup of coffee or holiday treat, as much of the Christmas booty was buried under piles of shredded paper, crushed boxes, stocking candy wrappers and the occasional item of discarded sleepwear. But as normal house tidiness protocols were suspended on Christmas Day, no fines were levied nor behaviors criticized. Although I did my best to contain the maelstrom to the living room.

One other tradition should be noted. One of the fun things for Nancy and me each Christmas was to watch for presents that seem to really hit the mark. It would often be what we thought of as the "big present", something that might be a little more pricey or especially desired by the recipient. But not always. Sometimes it was a simple thing that had surprising appeal.

One of the more memorable of these unforeseen moments was a Christmas where Santa had stuffed a Sudoku puzzle book in each of the kids' stockings. Sudoku was fairly new at the time. The kids - pretty much all numbers people - were mesmerized. They spent most of Christmas afternoon engrossed in one puzzle after another, as shown below.

Not sure what was going on with Ted's eyes here. Perhaps he was temporarily overcome by an unusually insightful Sudoku move.

While Christmas mornings were dedicated to celebration with the immediate family, the afternoons involved getting together with the parents, grandparents, uncles, aunts and cousins. This meant that we had to break away from the euphoria, clean up, and either tidy up the house and prepare food or pile into the car and brave whatever weather was at hand. I remember a number of cold and snowy white-knuckle drives on Christmas Day, especially when we had our diesel Oldsmobile. It didn't like cold weather.

But whether we hosted or traveled, these gatherings with family members some of whom we didn't see very often were always worth it. We shared memories of past events, caught up on all the family news (this was way before social media), and renewed relationships.

As I noted in The Gauntlet, during the late 90s and early 2000s our family would journey to Florida over Christmas to spend time with my parents (who wintered in the sun in those days). We would stay through the new year to visit friends and often cruise Disney theme parks.

However, whether we traveled south or rode out Christmas in the Pointes, it was always a high energy week. Outings, bowl games, comfort food, late nights, way to much sugar - it was grand. But totally exhausting.

So when January 2nd rolled around, I was always grateful. Sometimes I would be cruising home from Florida in one of our big vans, with kids sleeping the week off in the back. More often I would be stumbling down the stairs to the living room and for the first time in days actually surveying the damage. Either way, I knew that what remained of the festival I've called "The Holidays" was the cleanup. The only thing to do in such situations was to suck it up, switch to auxiliary power, and go to it.

That post-holiday ritual is still the same today. First up is putting our new acquisitions away and tossing out those unfortunate wrapping materials sacrificed for the occasion. This part normally isn't so bad.  It's fun re-examining those new friends that were greeted in such a rush on Christmas morning, and ushering them carefully to their new quarters. Although it can be a little unsettling when this involves adjustments to a well-established storage system. In such cases, I've found that an extended session of Canadian whiskey yoga can get you over the hump.

Then comes the de-decorating. The good news for me here is that the de-decorating team doesn't trust me to pack all of those delicate articles safely in their containers anymore than they trusted me to hang or install them around the house in the first place (as confessed in The Launch). Proving once again that there can be a little solace in ineptitude. So I don't enter the fray until everything is packed up. Then I get to reprise my skycap role and stow those precious parcels away.

Now remember my comments in The Gauntlet about the good old days when our decorations were stored upstairs. Just read that passage in reverse and you'll have the story. Haul the boxes and bags upstairs, ease down on my septuagenarian knees, crawl into the attic and carefully stuff everything back into place. All the while dodging obstacles a la Indiana Jones in The Last Crusade (you remember the cave of the crescent moon).

The epiphany of relocating our Christmas decorations storage to a downstairs closet a couple of years ago is even more appreciated during the endgame. Since with my deteriorating relationship with gravity, up is trickier than down.

Prior to the advent of on-line shopping, snugging the decorations away for the season signified the end of the post-holiday recovery ordeal. But no longer. Now there's another chapter - the garage. That's where for weeks I've been stashing all the cardboard boxes and Styrofoam packing materials from the steady stream of UPS and Fed Ex deliveries.

It's great when your on-line purchases magically arrive at your front door. And it's not too much of a nuisance when you have to remove all that material to the garage during the height of the buying and wrapping frenzy, to get it out of the way. But all that is temporary. Eventually there's a bill to pay.

In my case I have a two-car garage that has been converted to a one-car garage with a cardboard storage area. And during the binge-buying it's a tight fit. So the night before the first trash day of the new year I grab my trusty utility knife and call out the enemy.

I slash and rip and fold and stomp my foes into submission. The reformatted cardboard I jam into my 60 gallon recycle bin. The Styrofoam is not recyclable in my area and must be further crushed and broken up so it will fit into the smaller trash barrel.

There is some risk. If you're not careful, a hidden staple or two may take a swipe at you, occasionally drawing blood. But like the carving battle on Thanksgiving Day (see The Launch), with a little concentration and proper footwork one should prevail. After all, as with the turkey your opponent is dead.

The bad news is that overpowering the cardboard and Styrofoam once is seldom enough. There's way too much to fit into one stuffing of the bins. The last two years it's taken me three trash days to get rid of it all and declare victory.

But the end does come, once you've wheeled that last tubful of Christmas shipping and wrapping debris to the curb. "Splashdown" at last. Time to pause and reflect.

You prepare a fresh cup of coffee or hot cocoa and retire to your favorite recliner. As you settle deep into the chair, you look back on the fun parts of the last six weeks. In a dreamlike state you relive the uplifting times with family and friends, the satisfaction of successful gifting, the pleasure of those delicious holiday desserts.

The endorphins do their thing, and you enjoy a gentle rush. And thanks to human self-preservation instincts, the burdensome and annoying parts of "The Holidays" start to fade from memory. Genius.

Eventually you come down. You smile to yourself as you realize that the stress bred by holiday activity has oozed out of your body and dissipated into the atmosphere. And you take some comfort from the fact that it's more than 300 days before the cycle starts again.

Then the mail comes. You get up and walk over to collect the newly delivered items from the foyer. As you pick up the bulging envelope that is your December VISA bill, you peek out the window and see the six inches of new snow that has fallen in your 100' driveway. As an old departed friend used to say, "It's always something".

Until next time,
Grosse Pointe Charles

The Holidays Part 2 - The Gauntlet

When we left off on this journey, we were sleeping off a month of anticipation that ended with a day of satiation. The high expectations we had worked toward and nurtured for weeks finally bloomed with another fine Thanksgiving celebration. It was grand. 

But as we struggled for consciousness the next morning, we slowly remembered that Thanksgiving was only the opening act. The main attraction was about to take the stage. 

I call this second phase of "The Holidays" the gauntlet. I'm talking about the period between Thanksgiving and Christmas, up until the time you put out the milk and cookies Christmas Eve. Indeed, this month-long encounter with tradition can test the best of us. Our only hope is that the generous dose of goodwill we loaded up on through turkey-day gluttony will carry us until Santa arrives.

Okay. Maybe it's not quite that bad. But during this period of roughly four weeks a lot comes at you at a pretty good clip. For me it starts early on what we now refer to as Black Friday. I'm not talking about fist fights in department stores over this year's hot toy. No, what I'm referring to is for me really black-and-blue Friday. The day we put away Thanksgiving and get out Christmas.

The first order of business is to return all the items moved for the big dinner back to their usual spots. I've tried the "spoonful of sugar" thing. It doesn't work on furniture. So it's back to tugging and lugging and Ibuprofen. Including a carefully navigated descent down the basement stairs doing the two-step with the super-sized table leaf.

It's when all that's done and I've plopped down into an easy chair for a breather that I begin to hear it. The faint, rustling sound of wreaths and ornaments and synthetic pine trees straining against cardboard confinement, trying to breakout. Somehow they know it's time. Is it the drop in temperature? The low humidity? Or the smell of turkey leftovers being nuked? I've never figured out how they know, but they do. 

For most of the 30 plus years we have lived in our Vernier home, answering this cry for freedom was truly an ordeal. It involved trudging up and down stairs to retrieve the complainants from our attic crawlspace, accessible only through a small hidden door in our upstairs hallway. This out-of-the-way location seemed perfect 11 months of the year. It did its job dutifully, keeping things secure while leaving more convenient storage areas available for important stuff (like back-up VCRs, slide carousal overflow, or my extensive matchbook collection).

To keep peace with members of the family who were hot to decorate, I would climb the stairs, get down on all fours, and crack open the attic door. Now in attack position, I would cautiously crawl inside and one-by-one haul out the various boxes and bags of Christmas paraphernalia and stack them in the upstairs hallway. 

As there wasn't enough room for me to turn around in the attic, I had to crawl forward and backward several times to complete the withdrawal. And with the narrow opening, low ceiling and unfinished pine board floor, I usually managed a few head bumps, finger scrapes, knee bruises and the occasional splinter in the process. Once everything was out in the hall, I in my wounded state would carry/drag these rascals down the stairs to the staging area in the living room, doing my best not to get blood on the carpet.

Fortunately for me, once the inventory was delivered the A-team took over. I was excused. It was established years ago that my greatest value to the Christmas decorating mission was as skycap. It was okay with me as I was then free to seek the medical supplies (band aids, ice packs, tweezers) I needed to fully recover from my ordeal. Once I was propped up somewhere out of the way to recuperate, the others gleefully went about unpacking, assembling, hanging and otherwise deploying their holiday treasures. 

I did have the additional task of re-stowing the now idle containers until they were needed again. But empty, they were no match for me. I admit to a smug grin on my face as I wrestled these lightweights back up the stairs, shoved them into their cold attic refuge (no insulation) and turned out the light. With only one or two additional head bumps.

Now, I did say all of this happened for most of the past 30 years. About three years ago I had an epiphany. As empty nesters, Nancy and I had converted the girls' bedrooms to guest rooms. In the case of our downstairs guest room, one with ample closet space as it at one time was the master bedroom. It dawned on me that this space might be put to better use.

I grabbed my tape measure and started comparing the size of my Christmas problem with the capacity of the potential solution. I concluded that with a wee bit of planning and repackaging, all that stuff would fit nicely into one of the two available guest room closets. And it does. The new Christmas decorations storage facility is only about ten feet from where it all gets delivered and unpacked. And at the same height above sea level. No more stairs. This was a joyous discovery which still makes me smile when this task comes around each year. 

Outwitting the Christmas decorations was nice, but there were and still are more hurdles to clear before escaping the holiday gauntlet. Like gifting.

When we think of gifting, what comes to mind? It's the expression of joy that seizes the face of someone who just received the perfect present. Right? Sure. But let's back up a little bit. How does that happen?

How about this theory. All year long you are on the lookout for just the right item for each individual on your gifting list. And every so often you find one of these items. You buy it. Wrap it. And tuck it away in your secret hiding place until it's time to deliver it or put it under the appropriate tree to be found. Is that the way it works where you live?

Well, here in my world it's a little different. It starts like this. The wounds from your decorating encounter are nearly healed. You've regained the use of your hands and you're paging through your day planner to see what you've missed. And wham! You realize the number of days until Christmas is lower than the outside temperature. Time to boogie.

In the old days, this meant a steady stream of trips to crowded malls and specialty shops, all of whom were short on staff and none of whom had adequate parking for the holiday crush. Also, it usually snowed or sleeted from the time you left your driveway until you returned with armfuls of goodies to sneak into a private area for further processing. At least that's the way I remember it.

For a few years after we acquired Wiser Times, Nancy and I mitigated the gifting challenge by packing the procurement work into a "fun" weekend at the cottage. We would leave on a Friday morning in early December and shop our way up I-75, making stops at Great Lakes Crossing (the huge designer mall northwest of Pontiac) and Fashion Square (the mall between Saginaw and Bay City). 

We would have lunch on the road and arrive at Wiser Times just in time for a stiff drink and a light supper. We would head off to bed feeling we had made good progress on our gifting quest, and happy to be up at the lake enjoying its winter beauty and solitude. 

On Saturday morning we would inventory our booty from the trip up and take note of remaining needs. We would then traipse around small shops in Oscoda and Tawas looking to fill out our list. The Ben Franklin in Tawas was (and still is) a favorite stop as it's full of local flavor - Michigan-made trinkets and souvenirs. Shopping there always reminded us of our old Canadian cottage days when we would frequent a similar store in Forest, Ontario, known as Stedman's. This local outing - half shopping half a cruise down memory lane - usually resulted in a few more gift needs being checked off our list.

Then on Sunday we dug in. We took note of the (hopefully) few gift needs remaining. We then carefully plotted our course home to include whatever additional stops were needed to complete the mission. This sometimes included venues along the way, like the Bay City Mall (where we had often shopped in earlier years when my parents still lived in the area) or stores closer to home. We would arrive back in The Pointes by early evening, pretty beat but with the lion's share if not all of our holiday shopping done.

Those were the old days. Today it's different. The change began on one of those Wiser Times trips. One Saturday it had snowed a bunch overnight. Rather than drag out the snowblower and battle our way up the drive to the highway for some local shopping, we decided to see what we could find online. And discovered the modern miracle that has fed the online shopping revolution. Free shipping! 

We sat at the big table overlooking the lake with dueling laptops searching various sites (but mostly Amazon) and pretty much completed our list. Still in our pajamas, robes and slippers. Christmas shopping was changed forever. 

We still usually make a December trip up north to check on the cottage and enjoy the peace and quiet of the lake. And we occasionally do slip down to Ben Franklin's or the Tawas chocolatier for finishing touches and stocking stuffers. But our Christmas shopping (like most of America it seems) now consists of a couple of extended computer sessions in our family room at home. No crowds. No weather. No lugging purchases in and out of the car. Just a pot of coffee and a lot of keyboarding.

True, our online habit has alleviated a lot of the stressful side of Christmas gifting. But it has created a new monster to contend with. Cardboard. Mountains of cardboard. And its little monster toady Styrofoam. There'll be more about these nemeses in my next post, as they really work their terror as the endgame of the holiday season unfolds. But for now, just know there's a little unfinished business there.

Of course, the final chapter on gifting is wrapping. This can also be stressful. Unless you have a mature case of OCD. Wrapping is where it's at for the holidays as far as I'm concerned. A wide variety of paper, an array of boxes of various sizes, double-sided tape, the occasional ribbon or bow. What could be more fun. Or relaxing. Yes, I am in counseling.

When I get too puffed up over my wrapping prowess, I remember what an old friend told me once about wrapping before tape. They used straight pins to hold the paper in place. Straight pins. Wow. I tried it once, way back when I first heard this. Kept getting blood on the paper. Humbling.

Now let me say that everything that happens during the "gauntlet" isn't filled with stress. There's a lot of fun. Like Christmas parties, office luncheons, classic holiday movies, eggnog, Christmas cookies, and cruises down Lakeshore Drive to see the gaudiest light displays since National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation. All good.

I'm just saying the period between Thanksgiving and Christmas is pretty much non-stop. Full of both gotta-do-it and wanna-do-it activities with very little down time to recharge. The batteries can get pretty low. Low enough that when you finally do trudge off to bed Christmas Eve, you're ready to move on. Here's a shot of that "ready" moment at our house from a few years ago, when the kids (and the skycap) were younger, and the attic storage and mall shopping wars were in their prime.
.

And one from a couple years ago. New venue (about only six feet from the new storage site). 

Still pretty inviting.

When I was a kid, I didn't sleep very well on Christmas Eve. I was too pumped and happy about what lay ahead with the rising sun.

As an adult, I sleep really well on Christmas Eve, exhausted but happy about what now lay behind me - the gauntlet. It's a good place to be. Of course, the sun still comes up on Christmas morning. And that story will be told in my closing post on "The Holidays".
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One note should be added here. The gauntlet was a little more elaborate during our "Christmas in Florida" years, roughly from 2002 to 2012. Those years involved all I've discussed so far plus a major road trip to be with my parents on the big day. We would then close out the trip with a few days at a Disney Resort or down on Captiva Island with our friends Robyn and Dave and their kids. 

The challenge of Christmas away from home with kids, of course, was assuring them that Santa would find us on Christmas Eve. That meant Santa's helpers had to pack all the Christmas gifts,  without being noticed, in with the luggage, golf clubs, in-flight entertainment supplies, and the usual assortment of stuffed animals (can't go to Disney without Mickey, Pluto, and the gang). Fortunately, during those years we had a series of full size conversion vans (the full story of our life as van travelers was chronicled a few years ago in a series of posts starting with Vans Part 1 - The Tiara Years). 

I'm happy to report that because of the big vans, along with a little distraction, some appliance-sized cardboard boxes and few large plastic bags, we were able to preserve the magic. It usually looked something like this just before we pulled out of our drive. 

Until next time.
Grosse Pointe Charles