Tag Archives: Family

A Day at the Races

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Brother-in-law and I ventured out to the investment bank known as Oaklawn on Saturday afternoon. We had modest results, so we may still both safely be numbered in the working stiffs category.

It’s been a long time since I’ve been to a live horse race, though we go to Oaklawn for simulcast wagering on nearly every visit here. Live racing is much better than simulcast, and also drives home the point that my greatest handicap in wagering is, well, my handicapping. I can still read the racing form OK, the small print notwithstanding. Then I struggle over all the strategies that can be applied to this small mountain of data, the “going up in class” ploy, the “going down in class” idea, the “bid, but hung” angle for the last race, the switch from turf to dirt, and on and on. So it was probably fitting that I adopted a simple stategy; I boxed a near-favorite and a resonable, though longer odds horse in an exacta bet, and then bet the longer shot to win. 6 bucks per race, and hence a maximum $54 outlay over the 9 race card.

And the method bore fruit in the 4th race, as a 10-3 exacta fetched $54.40. And again in the 6th, as the 1-5 exacta brought another $21.60. This last win was the outcome of a 1-5-12 exacta box bet; had the 12 horse at least showed, this would have been a nice little ticket to cash. It is worth noting that both these races were maiden claiming races, and hence there was a paucity of data on these lightly-raced horses. So maybe pure dumb luck was my source of success. The money’s just as green, though. We left after the 6th; the hardness of the concrete, and the chill of the day got to us. As it was, I walked out $18 ahead, after paying admission, program, eats, drinks, and wagers. Any day in the black is a good day.

Frequent commenter James left a coment on my last post, wherein he requested that I place a bet on the 5 horse in the 4th. I’d have happily placed the wager on Mrs Stoner Creek, who, if memory serves1, went off at 15-1 or so, 2 pounds overweight, and wound up in 5th or 6th. I’ll probably head back there today, where the 5 in the 4th is named Meeither; morning line is 6-1, with the comment:

Meeither won twice here last year with better speed ratings than most in the field and may surprise today in deep stretch.

So, I’ll probably have the ladies drop me by the track this afternoon; brother-in-law will walk down the hill from his job(he’s working today), and meet me. More yarns will be spun. More wagers will be made. More lies will be told.

This is great!

-k-

1 The paper with the results has already hit the recycle bin; brother and sister-in-law are efficient like that.

Wreaths Away!

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With the ordering of multiple units of QVCs item #H95000, our Christmas shopping is done for family, and those considered in exactly the same way as family. You know who you are. Watch for the big ol’ UPS truck the week of 12/7.

The tradition of the wreath is still somewhat bittersweet; when we got back from burying Buddy 11 years ago, we had holes in our hearts that we thought would never heal. I don’t remember Thanksgiving that year, and my little bride and I were definitely not in the Christmas spirit a few weeks later. Then, someone gave us a wreath. Fresh and piney it was, gracing our front door with its beauty. We were still sad, still hurting, but inspired.

Since then, we send wreaths to our family and considered-as-family members. And I hope it brings them a little joy, and a bit of solace. And I hope that somehow it expresses our love for them.

That’s the Tradition of the Wreath.

-k-

89′er

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This is the 89th anniversary of my dad’s birth. He passed away nearly 24 years ago, just when he was getting wiser and smarter every day, at least in my eyes. He had just turned 65, and was making retirement plans, and looking forward to his emeritus years.

I cried when he died, out of shock at the suddenness of it, and out of shock at my instantaneous promotion to the elder male of our family. I cried because I was worried about Mom, and how she’d hold up by herself; my little bride and I were living in California at the time. I cried because I somehow felt responsible for everyone’s well being, and wasn’t sure I could bring anything to the table.

As the years rolled by, many was the time I wished I could pick up the phone and talk to Dad. Mom did an excellent job by herself, and things turned out well; she had more grit and composure than I’d have imagined initially. She lived in the family house, bought at what to Dad and her was a princely sum in 1961, until she passed away on July 30, 1999. My little bride and I moved coast-to-coast in that time, following an endless series of computer related jobs.

I don’t know where I’m going with this; I still miss Dad, and occasionally ponder what he’d be like if he were still alive. He could be a robust, twinkle-eyed 89 year old; frail perhaps, but mentally sharp. Or he could be in a home, physically alive, but unaware of our comings and goings to visit him, which we’d be obligated to do. I’m not so sure I could have handled the latter scenario. I’m thankful that Dad is with the Lord, and I need not worry about visiting him in some facility where he wouldn’t know me. Maybe that’s selfish of me; so be it.

It is sobering when I think that I’m just a few years shy of Dad’s age when he died. Maybe that’s what I’m trying to say.

In Memory of Don Nelson, 8/1/1919 – 12/7/1984.

-k-

Safely in El Lay

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Well, the no-fly streak is officially over, thanks to Virgin America airlines. MLB and I arrived at our daughter’s yesterday afternoon. She and the grandkids still love me; makes the whole thing worthwhile.

Even the TSA, while it still sucks, couldn’t dampen my spirits. They made me put my Crocs into the bin before leaving Dulles. Crocs. Plastic Crocs. I guess the fact that I was allowed on the plane meant they didn’t hear nor care when I mumbled “fuckwits” under my breath.

The winner in TSA uselessness occurred at LAX, where confusing signage to the Virgin America baggage claim1 led to a spate of questions of two lackluster TSA agents at the exit checkpoint. Proving that incompetence and lack of concern knows no racial nor gender barriers, the black female TSA agent kindly pointed out that This was not the baggage claim area. The lack of conveyor belts and the carousel were a dead giveaway there. She at least said something; the Hispanic male version of TSA’s finest merely grunted at the passengers. Thanks, folks, you two blew the one chance the TSA had to do something to actually help the travelling public. Though I think your customer care skills are probably up to TSA’s exacting standards.

On the plus side, Virgin America is a great airline. I wish they went to more places I wanted to visit.

Grandkid pictures to follow. Stay tuned.
-k-
[stags]TSA, Virgin America[/stags]

1 There was one arrow pointing down to baggage claim, and another pointing right on the same level. These signs were adjacent. To me, that’s confusing.

Happy Birthday, Sweet 16

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Our oldest granddaughter, Ericka, turned 16 last February 29. The big celebration was held mid last-month, with a paintball party. Her mother has shown some new media savvy by posting an iMovie of the event on YouTube. For your viewing pleasure, here it is:

I must admit to being generationally challenged by the event and the background music in the video. But this is no time for me to write anything containing the phrase back in my day.

My only regret about the video is it doesn’t show what a pretty young lady Ericka is. She’s the one in white, with long hair that just couldn’t be confined under the helmet.

-k-
[stags]Life, Family[/stags]

Happy Birthday, Tatiana!

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Our youngest granddaughter turns 7 today. We just called to impress her with our melodious pipes as we sing “Happy Birthday”, but she and her dad are on an emergency run to Toys ‘r Us. We’ll try back later.

She’s a special little gal: the baby, the last grandchild, born on Good Friday. Filipino children are all beautiful, with their dark hair and eyes. She’s no exception. Her siblings have gotten to the age that my little bride and I don’t know what to buy them on birthdays; cash has proven to be the universal antidote for that. Little Tat is still young enough to really make us believe she really likes that yellow dress that Grandpa picked out, or the t-shirt with a frog on it, that Grandma chose.

We’ll have to wait a day or two to hear her gratitude; the box with the aforementioned duds, and a bunch of other cute little outfits, is still in transit. MLB1 and I waited until well past the last minute to do her birthday shopping. Now at 7, she will know what the term belated birthday means. Can’t teach ‘em too young, I always say.

Happy Birthday, Tatiana Cheyenne2!

-k-
[stags]Life, grandkids[/stags]

1 My Little Bride

2 Beautiful name, eh?

Phone Messages

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We had a message on our answering machine last week. The message was from our youngest granddaughter; she advised us that she had lost her first tooth.

A right of passage for her, another reminder for MLB and I that we’re growing older. Our oldest granddaughter turns 16 in February, an event that will make us feel positively ancient.

-k-
[stags]Family,grandkids[/stags]

And What a Time It Was

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Last Saturday, SWMBO and I had the distinct and once-in-a-lifetime pleasure of being in attendance for Dave Slusher’s 40th birthday celebration. Though Dave’s actual birthdate is in August, the celebration was held on Saturday, so that Michelle Malone could come and perform for the revelers.

And what a time we had; there were mounds of food1, a keg of Yuengling2, and a selection of dessert items, chips, salsa, dips, and those types of party fare.

The food was wonderful; a mound of pulled pork, South Carolina style, baked beans, a bushel of coleslaw which earned both SWMBO’s and my seal of approval, and the magnificent Horry County concoction called chicken bog. In attendance was a certified barbeque judge, and a two-time champion of the Horry County Bog-Off; I didn’t get their verdicts on the fare; I just know I went back to the table several times. I must admit to looking for barbeque sauce; I saw a tub of something red, and thought “Ahh, sauce.” Then I realized the tub contained salsa, whereupon I remembered that South Carolina barbeque is served in a vingear and spice based dressing, which was tangy and in no need whatever of any additional condiments. And chicken bog is on our list of something to prepare for ourselves.

Dave picked the songs for Michelle Malone’s set, and nearly everything that I thought “I hope she plays … ” was played, including SWMBO’s and my favorite Butter Biscuit. Michelle can literally sing anything; you’ll hear blues, folk, country, pop, and rock. And she sounds good irrespective of the number or type of musicians backing her up. Head out to her website, buy yourself some CDs, and see for yourself. I bought 3 more CDs after the show, to add to my MM collection of 9 others.

I switched to bottled water for the last hour or so of the party, not wanting to be in any client relationship with Horry County’s finest, and SWMBO and I headed back to our hotel, and returned home yesterday, as I’ve already documented.

I missed the telecast of the Brickyard 400 whilst driving home yesterday, but that’s all right. The green flag flies someplace every weekend; celebrating a birthday milestone with someone you consider family happens only once.

-k-

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1 My sainted mother would have said “Looks like they’re feeding harvest hands.”

2 From which I finally learned to draw a beer that wasn’t 80% foam, and applied this knowledge often.

One Year Without the Acidman

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June 26, 2006 was the day I learned of the death of the legendary blogger Rob Smith, the Acidman. I read his blog always, commented a few times, and grew quite fond of the crusty old guy, even though we never met. His blog is still up; it was his wish that it remain so. It is maintained via several volunteers, who reprise Rob’s posts from the archives on nearly a daily basis.

His was one of the few blogs I read not offering full-text RSS feeds; still is. I still subscribe, I still read daily, and have been treated over the last year to posts I’d already read, and to some I never got to whilst trolling his archives. Some of them still move me enough that I want to hit the comment button and add my two cents; the A-Man was famous for replying to commenters vie e-mail.

I think I expressed my thoughts in a comment to an on-line remembrance after his death:

Hmm, my trackback appeared not to track. I’ve not been this sad about losing someone I’ve never met since the death of Dale Earnhardt. Peace and comfort to Rob’s family and friends. Thanks to all those who put this online remembrance together.

My post:

http://www.quietvoice.org/index.php/2006/06/30/up-too-late-on-a-school-night/

–Ken–

I came across another song from Rob, and post it here in his memory.
The original plan was to do this on June 26, but the day job has been taking its toll lately.

Anyhow, enjoy the Acidman’s song:

Still loved, still missed, still read.

-k-

H/T:Da Goddess for the tunage.

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