My California Wedding Adventure (by Katja)

Dear George,

Recently my sister Ami and I flew from New York and Cincinnati, respectively, to attend our nephew Tyler’s and his fiancé Amelia’s wedding near Los Angeles.  It was the first wedding in our family’s younger generation.  It was also my first trip ever to Southern California.  We flew initially to Sacramento where my brother David met us and brought us to his and Susan’s home about 30 minutes away. Tyler is David and Susan’s “first-born” child, and, though it has been too many years since I saw him, it was a wonderful opportunity to get together with the whole family.

This is the front of David and Susan’s house.  It’s truly an estate with many many rooms, an enormous amount of indoor Victorian wood carving and architectural details, and filled with Susan’s artwork.  We sat on the porch till late at night, talking and drinking and having fun.  David is quite the baker, and he got up in the early morning and baked cinnamon bread, and made smoothies for the family . Best of all, he made wonderful cups of espresso on his super-duper espresso machine. I have rarely felt so pampered in my life.  I slept late and watched the U.S. Open for hours at a time. Although the matches didn’t turn out the way I would have liked, I had my own big screen TV to enjoy the tournament.

Compared to Cincinnati, California’s flora is very exotic.  This enormous palm tree is in the front yard.  Each year a man climbs up to the top of the palm trees and trims their huge leaves at a cost of about $2000.  David trims all the topiary bushes by hand. The house is surrounded by wonderful landscaping – citrus bushes, flowering bushes, trees and flowers.  Susan has done a magnificent job in the landscape department.

David and Susan have completed all sorts of renovation since we were last there.  They’ve put in new walls of Venetian plaster themselves all through the house, and it’s magnificent.  Everything is in a Victorian style but with up-to-date appliances. 

This is a dining room view.  The huge oval dining table seats 12 or more.

The bathroom floors are all retiled with beautiful white tiles, and there are mammoth Victorian bathtubs with their original hardware.

There are patios at the front, back, and sides of the house.  This one is brand new.  There are chairs, umbrellas, grills – everything you need for California living. 

This is the newly renovated swimming pool.  We lounged by its side in the morning and late afternoons, drinking martinis and white wine and eating brie and crackers.  It was like being movie stars.  The only thing missing was a butler. 

On Thursday David, Susan, Ami, and I drove down to Los Angeles, an 8-hour trip through a largely desert-like inland countryside.  Here’s our group on the magnificent beach in Malibu (from the left, David, Ami, Susan).  It was amazing to be standing at the edge of the Pacific Ocean.  We poked our toes in the water and surprisingly it was warm.  I  felt like I was in a Ray Donovan episode on Showtime, although nobody else knew who Ray Donovan was.

Ami and I are enjoying our drinks at the bar of Loew’s Hotel on the beach in Santa Monica.  

Here are the proud parents of the groom the day before the wedding.  

The sunset over the Santa Monica pier was beautiful.

The wedding was at a ranch high high up in the San  Gabriel mountains, 100 miles east of L.A.  Here is Tyler’s sister Mandy (left) and one of the other bridesmaids.  Mandy was exquisite.  David looked very chic in his new suit, black shirt and black sunglasses. Susan was elegant in her flowy Eileen Fischer outfit – absolutely perfect for the occasion -- and Ami brought a wonderful touch of New York to the wedding with polka dots and leggings.  Jonny looked wonderful in his groomsman  tuxedo – tall, dark, handsome, and full of fun. What a great family!

Tyler and Amelia are exchanging their vows.  Amelia was absolutely stunning.  She looked like a Rosetti painting.  Tyler looked manly, proud, and happy.  It was simply a beautiful ceremony.  

Tyler and Amelia enjoy their first dance together as a newly married couple.

Here’s Susan with her two sons, Jonny and Tyler.

I have lots of good memories, as you can see.  I’m happy for Tyler and Amelia, who I’m sure will enjoy a rich and exciting life together.  It’s wonderful for David and Susan too.  All in all, this is the sort of event that is a major marker in our lives.

Love,

Katja      

G-mail Comments

Linda C (9-26): What a great wonderful time you must have had, looks just beautiful.  You look so lovely Katja , and  also your sister,  fun time.

-Susan and David W. (9-25):  Thanks, Katja! What beautiful memories is right!  We loved seeing you and Ami at our son's wedding.  Our visit all together was a lovely family reunion.  Thanks again so much for being with us all.  Susan and David

Clifton in Verse, Part Three

Clifton Ave., looking north toward Ludlow Ave.

Dear George,

I’m sure many (maybe even most) people are inspired to poetic musings by their neighborhoods.  That’s certainly the case in our Clifton village.  Our two major thoroughfares are Ludlow Avenue which runs east and west and Clifton Avenue which runs north-south.  Ludlow contains the center of the business district, while Clifton houses several major institutions and an elegant residential area.  I did two previous photo/poetry postings about places on Ludlow Ave. (see “Clifton in Verse”), the first one for the south side of Ludlow and the second for the north side.  The present photos and accompanying poems are mostly for Clifton Ave.  I haven’t covered everything of note, but this completes my neighborhood poetry-writing project.

Love,

Dave

Hebrew Union College

Hebrew Union’s a quick walk away

So many fine treasures of old

It’s a famous fixture, I’d have to say

With scores of new rabbis enrolled

Brueggers Bagels

In Bruegger’s they stare at their laptops

There’s only one patron per booth

The youth are all clad in their flip-flops

And the geezers look long in the tooth

UDF

UDF means “Farmers, United Dairy”

They sell eggs plus milk plus ice cream

Some like the peach, others black cherry

But it’s egg nog that leads us to scream

Good Samaritan Hospital

Good Sam is only eight blocks away

We got sitters from the nurses’ dorm

They took good care of our young son J

They were always so nursily warm

Burnet Woods

Whenever I long to get away

Burnet Woods is a soothing respite

Our sheepdogs wander about and play

On the trails they’re the handsomest sight

“The Muse of Clifton”

I’d say I’m in love with this sculpture

She’s the symbol of springtime and youth

I don’t know if she’s really high culture

But she radiates beauty and truth

Dewey’s Pizza

We go to Dewey’s for a married night out

They cater to adults and kiddies

The pizza is splendid, of that there’s no doubt

And their salads give people the giddies

Presbyterian Church and Day Care Center

The Presbyterians offered a center

We  sent off our son at age four

J’s teacher was an outstanding mentor

She taught him to mop up the floor

310 Bryant Ave.

My inlaws came to Bryant 310

They moved all the way from Philly

Helen would do it all over again

But my father-in-law thought it was silly

3507 Clifton Ave.

This was our home in ‘74

It’s a mansion befitting a king

We occupied the entire first floor

It made Katja smile and sing

Clifton School (now the Clifton Cultural Arts Center)

Clifton School had oodles of stuff

Like reading and cursive and art

Multiplication was ever so tough

But the kiddies who got it got smart

Mt. Storm Park

Mt. Storm Park is not much of a mountain

It’s more like a pretty high hill

The dogs like to sup at the fountain

And the cityscape gives us a thrill

My Standup Comedy Routine

OMG, I look just like my father

Dear George,

I watched a lot of Last Comic Standing on TV this summer.  It made me laugh out loud. It reminded me that when I was a kid I wanted to be a standup comedian more than just about anything. It’s not an easy business, of course, but making people laugh is one of the noblest things you can do.  I don’t know when I got sidetracked, but it’s never too late to begin a new career.  I've been trying to figure out what I could develop as a standup routine.  Being married fifty years is pretty funny.  Or living with rowdy sheepdogs.  Growing up in the U.P. has some amusing stories too.  Finally I decided that getting older would be the best.   

You don't see that that many older standup comedians. On TV, most of the comics seem to be in their thirties and forties.  Of course, there’ve been comedians like Groucho Marx in his eighties or George Burns who was still performing when he was a hundred.  But these guys got their starts in vaudeville when they were teenagers.  I never heard of anybody trying to break into the comic business in their seventies or beyond.  Maybe most seventy-year-olds don't think life is that amusing.  Or it could be that youth audiences don't think really old guys are hip enough.  On the other hand, everybody likes grandfathers.  Grandfathers are usually funny even when they’re not trying to be.

I have to admit that I’ve been obsessed with aging ever since I looked into the mirror a while back.  I was astonished to discover that I look almost exactly like my father did when he was in his seventies. That came as quite a shock.  I have no idea when it happened. Most of my life I’ve thought of myself as the firstborn son in our family rather than a member of the older generation.  But there was my aging self, staring back at me – very hard to deny.     

Age can be confusing though because it’s not always obvious how young or old people really are.  When I went to my last college reunion some of my friends looked forty and some looked 102.  Since I was a kid I've always looked younger than my actual age.  When I was 16 I could still buy a child’s ticket for twelve-and-unders at the movie theater.  At 30 I had to grow a beard because all my students thought I was an undergraduate.  It took three weeks before people even noticed I had any facial hair.

The last time I saw my doctor he said, "You don't look 77 and you don't act 77, but don't kid yourself -- you are 77."  That caught my attention.  I don't feel 77 either.  But now it's like there's an old person locked up inside of me.  He's probably banging away at my rib cages at this very moment.  I'm doing my best to keep him confined.  My only hope is that he'll be too feeble to break his way out. 

It’s also disturbing when you realize you’re the oldest person in the group.  When I was a little kid, I was the very youngest member of my family .  Now I'm practically older than all the rest of my relatives combined.  I don't know what to make of it.  Family members differ in lots of ways.  Somebody’s the tallest, the thinnest, has the most Facebook friends, the happiest marriage, has gone to Acapulco the most times.  But of all these different things, people are the most aware of who's older and who’s younger.  There might be some positive things about being the oldest. But I’ve never heard anybody say that they can't wait to be the oldest member of the family.

In our family, when our parents reached their seventies, my siblings and I began to address them as the “Oldies”.  Like, “Hey Oldies, where have you hidden the peanut butter?”  I don’t know who thought up this name, though it could have been my sister.  Anyway “Oldies” had many connotations.  Affection, poking fun, stark recognition of reality, horror at our parents’ imminent decline.  My mother was not enthusiastic at all about being called an “oldie”.  My father took it in stride, confident that he could contradict any wicked stereotypes we were entertaining.  Nowadays the younger people in our family haven’t yet thought about calling their elders “oldies”.  I’m not going to remind them. 

I wasn’t always nervous about getting older.  In fact, years ago I and my friends believed that being older was the best.  When I was in kindergarten I thought that sixth-graders, who were twelve, were the coolest people ever.  Then when I actually got to the sixth grade I was in awe of high school students.  When I was thirty the people I respected the most were forty- and fifty-year-olds who had accomplished a lot in their careers.  But at some point that all changed.  I can’t remember ever looking ahead and thinking how great it would be to be sixty. Of course, now when I think about sixty, I think of that as a pretty desirable age.  Maybe someday I'll look back with nostalgia at my mid-seventies.  I'm in no hurry though. 

The main thing about getting older is that different things start to go wrong.  For me, one example is that my feet ache more.  I figured out on my calculator that I've walked over a hundred fifty thousand miles since I was one year old.  That would make anybody's feet sore.  I usually wear running shoes because they're more comfortable.  I buy them at the big sports store at the mall because there's always a knowledgeable salesman who helps me pick at the best shoes.  Last time the guy showed me a pair of Porky's that had been marked down from $110 to $50.  I'd never heard of Porky's, but he said they were the best.  The cashier at the checkout counter couldn't believe it.  "Porky's for $50.  Wow!  I wish I'd seen those."  I wore them the next day, but my feet really hurt.  They were way too tight.  The box said they were a size 9, but they felt more like a size 8.  No wonder they were on sale.  That was a year ago.  I’ve been determined to get my fifty dollars out of them, so I've worn them every day since.  I thought my feet might adjust and shrink a little bit, but I’ve just gotten more resigned to the pain.  You'd think these shoes would be worn out by now, but Porky's seem to be very well-made.  Just like the guy said.

My hearing is getting crummy too.  This started happening when I turned fifty.  I was having trouble hearing student questions in the classroom, especially from young women.  I finally figured out that the students find it amusing to torture older professors by asking questions from the audience in soft voices and watching the teacher squirm up on the podium.  Nowadays I consider closed captions on TV to be humanity’s greatest invention.  I've also started borrowing "assistive listening systems" at the movie theater.  You put on these big headphones, and you can adjust the volume.  It does make the soundtrack much louder.  Now, instead of listening to inaudible distorted dialogue, I can listen to noisy distorted dialogue.

Poor hearing is bad, but an even worse thing about aging is how fast your nose hairs grow.  It doesn't make any sense.  Everything else is slowing down.  Why should your nose hairs grow faster?  You’d think that teenagers would have the fastest growing nose hair, but that’s not the case.  My biggest problem is I don't know how to get rid of them.  I tried using a tweezers, but that didn't work.  Mostly I grab them between a fingernail and the tip of my thumb and yank them out.  I usually do this while I'm driving in the car.  It's convenient because you can throw them out the window.  It may not be the best idea because the pain makes you wince and close your eyes.  I told Katja if I die in a car crash, they should engrave on my tombstone, "Done in by his nose hairs.”

While getting older is interesting and often enjoyable, there are various other negative things that can also be connected with it.  Curiously, most of these start with the letter “D”. For example, disease, deterioration, decay, disability, deformity, disfigurement, depression, drunkenness, delirium, dementia, dunderheadness, dandruff, and death.  This plethora of D-words makes me a little nervous because my first name, David, also starts with the letter “D”. Then I realized that most of the other bad old age things are “C” words:  cancer, cardiac arrest, coronary thrombosis, colonitis, cirrhosis, canker sores, corns, cramps, clammy palms, and crows’ feet. Of course, my middle name – Cramer -- starts with a “C”.  This does not strike me as a coincidence.  Since I’m a DC person, I worry that I might be especially vulnerable to these frightening DC outcomes.  So far though I’ve only been afflicted with drunkenness and clammy palms.  Thinking more positively, it could be that my DC name will actually protect me against the bad DC things because my electrical field gives off the right vibes.  Only time will tell. 

That’s it for tonight.  Thanks a lot, guys.  You’ve been a super audience.  I hope to see you again soon.

Love,

Dave

G-mail Comments

-Donna D (9-15):  really, really funny david!  you missed your calling :)

but it's never too late.  i'll bet maple knoll has a stand up comedy night.  wha'dya think?  donna

-Phyllis S-S (9-14):  Dave,  Painfully true and very funny.  By the way.  Two ideas for nasal hair.  They make special little scissors that are knobbed on the ends so they don't cut the skin inside or there is an electric version.  Since you are still wearing those too small shoes I suspect you are not going to purchase either if these.  Instead I suggest you tell Katja and she will. Uh one for you, perhaps.  After all, dying with nasal hairs showing would be the worst.  Phyllis

-Gayle C-L (9-14):  David, You'll probably feel better to Smile :))   the next time you take a Selfie:).  As far as getting older or being older... I think you're doing extremely well... You're very healthy!  So what if you can't hear so well.. That's probably a good thing!  You're very active. You're  travelling, writing, being a husband, grandfather !!, uncle and friend!!!  

That's pretty good... Plus you don't  look 77.  You're still a handsome guy! 

Sooo Keep up the good work.  Lots of love !!    G

Local News, Sept. 8

Dear George,

It’s been quieter than normal around our household recently.  Katja flew to Sacramento last week for her nephew Tyler’s wedding.  She, her sister Ami, her brother David, and her sister-in-law Susan drove down to L.A. for the big event.  The wedding, Katja reports, was a great success.  Katja has never been to Southern California, so it’s been an exciting adventure.  I chose to stick around here with our aging sheepdogs.  Mike and Duffy have never been in a kennel, and, given that they need extra attention at their creaky ages, boarding them at this point in their lives seemed out of the question.   It’s actually enjoyable being home on my own.  It’s quiet and relaxing, the dogs are faithful companions, and I get to set the air conditioning wherever I want. 

Dog space

You’d think that with only one human in residence there would be excessive room in our kingsize bed.  The dogs, however, have taken it as an opportunity to enlarge their dominion.  There’s always been an unspoken rule in our house that the dogs get whatever spaces on the bed that they like.  Since they claim the entire lower half each night, it means that I lie sideways at the top.  That works out all right.  The dogs get about nine hours of sound sleep a night.  I get at least six.  

The new Moroccan restaurant

The exciting addition to our neighborhood business district is the new Moroccan  restaurant.  We’ve had five Indian restaurants on our street for years, and, when one of them closed, the Moroccan Restaurant opened in its place.  Katja and I visited it on its second day, and we liked it a lot.  The service wasn’t perfect.  Katja’s Bastilla dish arrived on time, but they entirely forgot my order until I went up and reminded them.  The waiter was better the next time around, and I’ve been there a couple more times since.  It’s definitely my favorite.  

Buying a share in the co-op

Our local IGA shut down three years ago, and our neighborhood business district has lacked a grocery store ever since.  There’s been a serious move afoot to establish a co-op grocery store, and residents have been invited to buy ownership shares for $200.  They’ve now reached about 700 members, though they need to raise $4 million to make the co-op actually happen.  I’ve been besieged almost every day by e-mail to buy a share, but I’ve put it off to get a better sense of whether the venture has a hope of succeeding.  Recently I got an e-invite from an acquaintance who was holding a house party to promote the co-op.  I didn’t recognize any of the invitee’s names.  I promptly walked down the street and purchased my $200 share.  This suggests an effective strategy for fund-raising with introverts.  Invite them to a house party with strangers, and they will pay practically anything to get out of it.  

Checking our breath for liquor

Katja and I were coming back from a Thursday night outing via one of Cincinnati major north-south streets when we ran into a sobriety checkpoint staffed by around a dozen sheriff’s deputies and police officers.  One of them stuck his head right into our window to smell my breath, asked me a couple of routine questions, then waved us through.  My initial reaction was relief at not being caught drinking and driving.  Later I got more indignant about the police stopping me and thousands of other drivers indiscriminately with no probable cause to check us out for criminal violations.  My understanding from a quick Google search is that about 1.5% of motorists wind up being arrested at such mass traffic stops. I guess our checkpoints in Ohio are fairer than New York’s stop and frisk procedures since the police here stop a lot of white people and not just black and Hispanic males.  Nonetheless, they treat a lot of people as potential criminal suspects with no justification.

(Un-)controlling my blood sugar

On my last annual physical exam all my lab tests turned out normal except for my blood sugar.  That’s been running above normal for a few years.  The doctor gave me a self-testing monitor and a batch of test strips which I use every morning.  If anything, my readings have been steadily creeping upwards.  I saw in a tabloid at the grocery store that Jennifer Aniston had lost ten pounds in ten days, and I decided that I could reduce my blood sugar if I were to lose five pounds in eight days.  I went on a strict diet of water, salad, and red wine as soon as Katja left town.  After six days I’ve lost one pound.  My blood sugar is higher than it was a week ago.   I’m still confident I have complete control over my own body.  Unfortunately, my inner organs don’t seem to be listening.  Perhaps the next step is to cut down on the water and the salad.    

Duffy’s pee

Like myself, the dogs’ recent lab tests were mostly good, though one of Duffy’s liver enzymes was running high.  They did another blood test, and it was still high, so the vet ordered a urine test to check for the possibility of liver disease.  I gathered a sample of Duffy’s urine in a plastic cup on our morning outing the other day.  That turned out to be easy to do, and Duffy never noticed this intrusion on his privacy.  Now we’re awaiting the results.  I guess at Duffy’s and my age we can’t expect everything to be perfect.    

Sculpture garden

I bought a tall and handsome plastic rabbit at a neighborhood yard sale last year, and I was thrilled to find his identical twin along with a short pudgy rabbit at a Dayton thrift shop this summer.  My vision is to create a sculpture garden in our rear patio.  I wasn’t sure that Katja would be as taken with the new rabbits as I am, so I kept them hidden behind the porch for a few weeks.  When I did bring them out and tell her about my plans for a sculpture garden, she was less than enthusiastic.  I hid the rabbits temporarily, but now I’ve brought them out again during Katja’s absence.  I’ve never been to Disneyland, but I think it might look like this. 

School starting soon

Just before Katja left we registered for OLLI courses (for people over age 50) at the university.  I was wary of being back in a classroom when I started OLLI last year, but then I discovered it was more pleasant to be a student than to be an anxious teacher.  We are both signed up in the autumn quarter for “Poetry Writing Workshop” among other things.  We’re sort of apprehensive about it, but perhaps a few poetic rhapsodies will show up on this blog.

Love,

Dave