Carnival Cruise 2014

Yes,.... it's been a while, but I am now going to chronicle our journey to the Bahamas with a stop at our new favorite place, Key West, Florida (see September 2013 Blog for details). Since our daughter has delivered up our first grandchild and our son is now out on his own, we were toying with the idea of house sitters to watch our Texas Summer home (well....all year home) and care for the dogs. Luckily, some very good friends from San Diego came to our rescue. A former Chase Mortgage co-worker Margo and her husband Frank are now retired and are spending it driving around in their motorhome trekking about the US. Frank and Margo were wandering our way and through a Facebook posting by Dianna, agreed to come out and stay in our Casa.

After briefing Frank and Margo on the care and feeding of our two intrepid dogs, Margo comically referred to them as "the hounds" (Peanut stayed with Nicole), we began our eight hour drive to New Orleans. It is becoming rather mundane after three cruises but occasionally, as we have often found, one gets off the beaten track and finds something unexpected and rather off-beat. Having downed a bag of popcorn, we were getting thirsty and one doesn't drive the highways without a decent cold beverage within reach. So we stopped at the Whataburger in Kilgore, Texas, along the I-20, to fill-up, sorta speak. There, we were pleasantly surprised to find a shrine to 50s and 60s music and a memorial to the Beatles within the restaurant. Who knew?

With another eight hour drive under our belts in Dianna's little white Rogue, or as I like to refer to it...the Pill.... because after being crammed into it for eight hours...you are in no mood (or shape) for intimate relations with your loved one. The trip was also complicated by her Garmin NUVI GPS named "Jack". I had recently updated Jack for the trip with the latest map of the south and southeastern states. Unfortunately, Jack must have gotten a case of electronic dementia in that, once in Louisiana, Jack decided we needed to follow some two-lane farm road instead of the more popular (and much faster speed limited) I-49, which is the traditional route, which would lead us to the I-10 and ultimately the Lake Pontchartrain causeway and New Orleans. Imagine my frustration when every effort on my part to derail Jack's evil plan kept deviating us off I-49. Ultimately, I was forced to disconnect Jack and, like Jim Lovell on Apollo 13, fly (well...drive) by the seat of my pants until we got onto the I-10 when a rebooted Jack returned to his senses and we breathed a joint sigh of relief as we successfully entered the rain-soaked causeway into New Orleans.

Our trip on the Carnival Dream begins in New Orleans. I decided to try a different track with accommodations on the West Bank of New Orleans and found the Holiday Inn Tower West Bank in the town of Gretna, Louisiana. I wanted to try another cool boutique hotel in the Warehouse District off Canal St. but Dianna nixed that idea. She has been on an anti-bedbug kick since learning of the increased presence of the pestilence in America. So I had to upgrade us to a mainstream (horror of horrors) hotel and the corresponding higher nightly rates they provide. The Holiday Inn was a good compromise and turned out to be a really nice room and facility.

On our arrival, we (well...I) were ravenously hungry. With only an early morning pancake breakfast at a Cracker Barrel in  Mesquite, Texas at the confluence of the US 80 and the LBJ (I-635) and a bag of leftover popcorn from the Angelika Theatre in Plano, Texas (they only use Orville Reddenbacher), we decided on the hotel restaurant (yes...we violated an inviolate tenant of our travel manual but we were famished). As it turned out...I can report the "Round House Bar and Grille" had great food and drinks. I had (what I get whenever I'm in NOLA) the red beans, rice and sausage, Dianna, interestingly, had the beans, rice and pork chops. Very flavorful and the corn bread was fresh and moist too. The Sangria wines were well done but a little pricy for my tastes (Ok....as we all know...I'm the cheap one). The room was well appointed and we were well up in the tower and had a really nice view of the bridges and some of downtown New Orleans. One of the best comfortable beds we've had in a hotel.

I should mention that as we mounted the Crescent City Connection (CCC), formerly the Greater New Orleans Bridge (GNO), beautiful twin cantilever bridges, to ford the mighty Mississippi to get to the West Bank, Dianna commented on the sharp angles of a large, imposing grey building just below us by Toupultapas Street. The light suddenly went on when I realized it was the much vaunted National World War II Museum. I had read about the museum, which had recently been expanded to include the other theaters of combat from it's original D-Day exhibits. I had always intended to visit said museum but we had not had the time (or presence of mind) to take it in on prior visits. Well....we were going to fix that this time, it was Saturday and too late to go but it was open at nine on Sunday and we didn't have to be on the boat until three p.m.

So, after assembling our stuff from the Holiday Inn (in anticipation of the gauntlet we would endure at the cruise registration and boarding), a quick breakfast at IHOP (yes Nicole and Tameka, we did not go to any cool local breakfast hangouts), we set the GPS for the 2.5 mile trip back across the bridge and right to the WWII Museum parking lot to begin a visit to one of the best military museums I've had the privilege of attending.

When we signed up for membership (think taxes, taxes, taxes), the volunteer told me that the Museum had been there for 20 years. I was surprised to hear it was a privately funded Museum but had recently partnered with the Smithsonian to get some of their war related stuff. Before that, it was mostly dedicated to D-Day because of the  Higgins Boats the allies used for beach landings throughout the war. Higgins Boats were a product of Higgins Industries right here in New Orleans. Andrew Jackson Higgins was a good ol' boy from the bayou who made a living turning out shallow draft boats for mostly the local fishermen and some commercial boats for the oil and gas boys.

Mr. Higgins was a devout patriot and when he heard of the need for shallow draft assault boats, went to  the military and pitched his plans for an all wood shallow draft flat bottom boat that could haul men and equipment to a beach, back up, return to a ship and bring more stuff back. His simple design was a hit with the military desperate for a quick, easy (and cheap) solution to their problem and the LCVP (Landing Craft, Vehicle, Personnel) was born. They ordered Higgins boats by the thousands and most were made by the the 30,000 workers of Higgins Industries, local men, women and minorities throughout Louisiana. At one time, Higgins was the the largest employer on the Gulf Coast at that time. Even Hitler grudgingly admired Higgins referring to him as the “new Noah” of ship builders (take that Russell Crowe!). 

In 2000, the museum was conceived by the late Dr. Stephen Ambrose. The founder of The National WWII Museum spent decades researching and writing about the war, Eisenhower and D-Day. As he collected more than 2,000 oral histories from D-Day veterans, he realized that the United States had no museum to honor these men and women and the people on the Home Front who made our victory in World War possible so a decision had been made to expand the Museum to include other theaters of war and to explain the war from start to finish.

The museum has been continuously expanding and in 2006, the E. J. Ourso Discovery Hall was completed. In November 2009, they celebrated the grand opening of the Solomon Victory Theater, Stage Door Canteen entertainment venue and the American Sector restaurant. In June 2011 they opened the John E. Kushner Restoration Pavilion, which allows visitors a behind-the-scenes look at volunteers and staff restoring World War II artifacts, such as boats and vehicles. By 2012, they had completed upgrading the original building and expanded into three more buildings west of the main building.

One is the The US Freedom Pavillion sponsored by the Boeing Aircraft Company. It has a pretty impressive display of five aircraft hanging from the ceiling ala the Smithsonian's Udvar-Hazy Center in Chantilly, VA we visited when we were in DC and a movie theater with a video documentary of a war patrol of the submarine the USS Tang.  This too, involved raised walkways high enough to stand above and level with the aircraft. Not good for the faint-hearted but for airplane fanatics like myself, way cool. And it happened to have my favorite WWII airplanes, a B-17, P-51 Mustang, F4U Corsair, the SBD Dauntless Dive bomber (like the one Bush senior flew) and a B-25.

The Boeing built B-17E, “My Gal Sal,” was particularly interesting in that it was a recovered and restored aircraft from a forced landing in Greenland in June 1942. The crew was ferrying it to England when weather forced it down to a Captain Sully-style belly landing on the ice. Everyone survived the landing but the crew was unable to make radio contact because they needed the generator on the #4 starboard outboard engine (the one on the far right wing) to run the system. Luckily they had a hand hack-saw and they took turns cutting off the three blades of the Hamilton-Standard prop (found and on display) and were able to light up the Pratt and Whitney radial engine, spin the generator and get their distress call out to searchers. Once found, a naval team took on the perilous task of landing on the ice shelf, hiked in several miles, met the crew and guided them to their ship and safety. Amazing.

Many years later, a wealthy aircraft collector, Bob Ready, decided to resurrect the B-17 from the ice and snow and restore it to honor the crew and their accomplishments. Recovered in 1995, the plane was disassembled and brought back to America. Restoration was begun in 2000 by an all volunteer crew to complete the restoration. Originally for display at the Blue Ash Airport in Cincinnati, Ohio, when that airport was closed, the aircraft was offered up to the WWII Museum who gladly appropriately hung it in the Boeing sponsored pavilion in 2012.

Server and sandwich

Certainly not enough time to see it all, we did have time to take in the American Sector Restaurant and Soda Shop. Chef John Besh created an expansive restaurant which recalled the Hollywood USO canteens during the 40's. Lots of photos of Hollywood icons like Bob Hope, Fred Astaire, Bette Davis, and John Garfield as well as the servicemen and women who frequented the USO canteens set up around the world. I had the Cobb Salad and Dianna had the best Monte Cristo sandwich I've had the pleasure of tasting. She also scored one of the cool kid lunch boxes you can get with a kid meal or buy separately.

As we sadly left the Museum, came the first crisis of our trip.....the missing pillow. Apparently, in our preparations to leave the hotel, somebody....well Dianna.....left her multi-million dollar special ISO-COOL pillow which she must have to sleep. I think there were only five made in the entire world so they're very rare and special...or so I'm told. Thus as I plugged in the coordinates for the embarkation dock (yeah, I know it was only like two blocks away but the technology screams out to be used), Dianna pierced the morning mist with the dreaded words, “ Did you grab my pillow when we left the room?” With that “deer in the headlights” look all husbands display at stressful times like this, I responded, “What pillow?.” My wife has had 39 years to reflect on the fact I hate to back track while traveling. It goes against every fiber of my being to think we may lose precious seconds, feet, virtual inches toward our goal (thus the over-dependence on things like GPS). Let's face it...life is a race and I hate coming in second (although...in retrospect...an outsider looking in might surmise that has been the story of my life). Yet, mustering up all my will I said, “Ok, lets go get it.” Then came the typical wife response....ok, all together guys, “No...it's ok, I don't need it, I'll be ok.”

I must point out that uttering those words too has been a constant throughout our 39 years of marriage. Now, all of us guys have been trained from birth to be on guard against this situation and we have braced ourselves to do the following: Above all else gentlemen.... know this is a test! Like a weapon failure drill you must respond confidently, quickly and correctly the first time so you can clear that stovepipe and return fire.

Small muscle memory took over and years of practiced skill forced the words from my mouth, before I knew it, I was saying, “No...we can go back and get it.” A brightness washed over her face (I discretely scratched a husband “point” into the dash) as she pulled out her cellphone (really not much of a reach....she's constantly photographing everything that moves and some that don't) and dialed up the hotel. As we climbed back over the Crescent City Connection bridge a third time, we both rejoiced as the desk clerk reported on speaker phone that housekeeping had retrieved the pillow from the room and it would be waiting at the front desk on our return. Doing my best Paul Walker imitation (Fast and Furious 6...yeah, that one), drifting in sideways, blue tire smoke bursting from our sidewalls, Dianna lept from the car before we had come to a complete halt, ran in and retrieved her beloved pillow. The universe was whole again, now....we could start our adventure.

Back over the bridge with our ship the Carnival Dream idling at dockside below us, we entered the part of cruising I dread the most...check-in. Of course, not our first rodeo (had to say that because we live in Texas) so we have a program like many other hard-core cruisers. With practiced aplomb, with passports, picture ID (yeah,weird, they don't consider a passport as picture ID...who knew?) and boarding passes in hand, we navigate the Disney-style chicane to disgorge all our vital statistics and entire financial history to the smiling 20-something female agent and face all those tough questions like, “Have you had a major illness recently or feel sick today?” Or the ever-entertaining, “Did you pack your own luggage or has anyone asked you to bring anything on for them?”  Good lord, I think we can all guess what the answers to those might be.

Lido (Pool) Deck Nighttime Movies

But once clear of the metal detectors (currently being a security professional with walk-thru metal detector experience....there were several folks who “beeped” **four or more stars**  see Ciea WTMD who nobody stopped, walked back through or wanded), and leaving behind the gentle hum of the Smith-Heimanns x-ray machine, we strutted our way onto the gangway and the brightly colored drink-of-the-day. Once our bags made it to the room and Dianna unloaded their entire cargo into the closets and drawers (can you hear the beeps of the forklifts in the background? I, on the other hand, always prepared for a Titanic event or terrorist take-over...hey, I've seen all the movies...live out of my bag) the party could truly begin.

My Colonoscopy Journal

As my wife (or just about anyone else I know will tell you) I hate doctors. I classify them as a necessary evil on society. A blood sucking bunch who generally thrive off the misfortunes of others (or is that attorneys.... but I digress) to have us help pay off those ridiculous student loans they took out in their youth. So when I tell you I have been blowing off a colonoscopy for 10 years....you can understand my apprehension whenever the subject comes up.

Hey, I've read all the literature. Yes, I know it's important, I know the incidence of colon cancer is high and a real killer of men and women when left undiagnosed. But I, like many folks apparently, have an innate distrust of anyone that suggests introducing anything to traverse my Who-Who. As my doctor rattles on about the advances in the medical procedure, the minor inconvenience of drinking the colonoscopy cool aid and having your insides violently ejected from your inner being, my eyes roll back and I have flash-backs of the movie "Fantastic Voyage (1966)" and visions of Rachel Welch making a wrong turn and exiting out my butt instead of the eye. Ain't happening!

My wife, on the other hand, has always been quite the cheer leader for the medical community and I have gotten the speech and disagreeable stares about once a year when the question comes up about getting it done. I have always dodged and weaved the discussion by reassuring her I will contact my medicine man and get an appointment. We have this unwritten code that she asks, I nod my head in a serious manner and that's the end of it for the next 365 days.

Then a peculiar thing happened. A co-worker of mine (one of those damn rule followers who just turned 50) was extolling the virtues of this colonoscopy God who had done the procedure on him the day before and had nothing but great things to say about the experience. He was now on a crusade to get everyone he knew to get a colonoscopy from this guy. When he learned I had yet to have the "C" experience, he picked up his phone and called the office and handed it to me to make an appointment. I am usually not that spontaneous but not wanting to appear scared (he did double-dare me which meant I had to respond....right?), I made the appointment.

The strange part was they didn't ask for an office visit prior to the procedure. I have been brought up to believe that all doctors wanted that first "get to know ya" visit to collect copious amounts of personal and medical histories to transmit to whatever secret Government office they report to and pad their bill. These folks asked several pertinent medical questions over the phone, got my medical plan information and gave me dates to choose from. It seems that, unless there is some serious underlying medical problem, they don't need to see you. Cool.

A few days later, I got a package from the doctors office with a prescription to fill and detailed instructions on how to prepare for the procedure. I had to get something called Supprep(I love their website)and the day before I had to mix a 6 ounce bottle with 16 oz of water and drink one at  5 pm, chase them down with two more 16 oz glasses of water over the next two hours. I needed to do it again at 9 pm. The whole time not eating anything only drinking clear fluids (including soda and broth). Sounded easy.

Mind you I had heard all the horror stories of drinking gallons of bad tasting gunk but this stuff didn't taste like anything and had a little after taste I compared to the after taste of a cherry Fizzies(anybody remember those?). I downed the two glasses of water immediately and waited for a reaction. I didn't have long to wait. I took the time (because thats what I do) to read the two page information brochure which has this very medical explanation of what happens next and I quote,(big word alert!)" 12.2 Pharmacodynamics: The osmotic effect of the unabsorbed ions, when ingested with a large volume of water, produces a copious watery diarrhea." That was an understatement.

Exactly one hour later, I was quietly reading and got this distinctive urge to go to the bathroom. I assumed the position and indeed produced a copious watery mass that I can only describe as a "double flusher" if you know what I mean. For a moment I contemplated the possibility that something unintentional might exit as well. Quickly as it happened...it was over. Taking the second dose at 9 had the same but a lesser reaction. I felt good enough and confident enough to go to bed and slept through the night.

The next morning, I made breakfast for Dianna and strangely didn't feel hungry at all. We drove to an out-patient surgical center and checked in. Promptly at the appointed hour, I went to the pre-op room and disrobed into my gown, that really cool open back number. Besides I'm really not that into plaid. I thought the cap was a nice touch too. Dianna joined me and proceeded to photograph my situation and update Facebook as she always does(but forgetting to mention WHY I was there...lots of inquiries followed).

We then met the anesthesiologist. Yes..thankfully they were going to knock me out. My guy walked up and after introducing himself proclaimed, "I am going to be your best friend today." I had to agree. He said he was going to introduce something into my IV he whimsically referred to as, "Jackson Juice" (a little thing called Propofol)which would cause me to fall asleep and not awaken until it was all over. Dianna and I said our goodbyes and the sleep doctor and nurse wheeled me into the operating room.

As they plugged me into various devices a young man entered the room. At first I thought he was lost and I was about to direct him to the waiting room to find his mom when he introduced himself as Dr. Agha the colonoscopy God and icon of the Institute for Digestive Health I had contracted with. He gave me a brief explanation of what he was about to do and asked if I had any questions. With my usual aplomb (and inappropriate sense of humor) I asked if he had an opportunity to clean the probe off from the last procedure. Without missing a beat...he said he had. I asked if he had to do that little "X marks the spot" Sharpie thing surgeons do to insure they're in the right place. Again, he quickly said that, in this case, it wasn't necessary (as many of my friends can atest to)I'm really starting to like this guy.

I was placed on my side and the sleep doctor said I should just breath deeply about six times to relax. I distinctly recall breathing in an out once, twice, three and , "Hey Nick, we're all done." I looked up at the clock and realized I had completely lost track of the last 45 minutes.

Back at recovery, Dr. Agha reported a textbook procedure. He had photos of my inner workings and gave me a quick guide to the colon and intestines. I noticed some of the pictures were bright and some looked rather dark. The good doctor smiled and explained he first traverses the entire colon with light then (and yes, he actually seemed excited to report, almost giddy really), "I turn on my "polyp scope" and look for polyps on the way out...see...here's one" like he was holding up a prize Bass. He also proudly remarked I had done an outstanding job on flushing myself which made his job easy. I asked if I could get a sticker or something to that effect (don't laugh, Dianna reported that they sent another guy home because he hadn't done it right). Again....without missing a beat he said they were out of stickers. Damn it!

Back into my clothes we were back in the parking lot two hours later. On the way home, thinking now of food, we agreed to get Cowboy Chicken take-out (I, of course, got the grilled chicken salad and Dianna got the cut up whole rotisserie chicken, twice baked potato and sweet potato casserole, lots of leftovers for lunches) for my much anticipated convalescence.

The Grandson

So there we were dead asleep at 2 AM when our lives changed forever. No we didn't hit the Lotto (although that would have been pretty cool) but we did get the call our daughter was in labor with our first grandchild. Well...... I should say I got a call after missing two texts from them. Seems my last iPhone update set my "Do not disturb" setting to "on" which muted everything except calls from my "Favorites" phone category between 12 AM and 5 AM. Who knew?

Baby's Coming Code

I rarely get calls at that hour so fearing the worst (son in jail, somebody in a wreck, or the cancellation of NCIS or General Hospital) I grabbed my phone and answered.

I was rewarded with the voice of my dear daughter who, rather calmly, told me she was in labor and they were at the hospital. My wife was now sitting upright in the darkness taking this all in. When I hung up she sprang up and headed for the bathroom to dress. I said she had just gotten there and it might be hours before anything significant might occur. She turned and returned to bed briefly before stating it was now impossible for her to go back to sleep so we were going. There was a, "You don't have to go....I can go and call you when things get going." I have been married for quite some time and I know a trap when I see one. You know, like when they ask," Does this make me look fat?". I'm sure this was a test of some kind and I wasn't falling for it. I did what any man in my position would do, well the smart ones anyway. Got up, got ready to go and off we went into the cold dark night.

The trip to Centennial Hospital was thankfully uneventful. Recall we were just coming out of the throws of a major ice storm event and although it was still below freezing (aka "butt cold"), the roads had a chance to thaw enough to make the roads passable.

After reaching her room and exchanging some pleasantries (really...what kind of chit-chat can you conduct when some one is having contractions every two minutes) we left her to further gestate. We then returned to the darkness of the "Family Waiting Room" and proceeded to watch Jim Belushi in Animal House and then the live broadcast of Nelson Mandella's funeral which turned out to being covered by EVERY network on cable. Not the waiting room kind of entertainment to while away the hours with.

Well 2 AM became 6 AM and the garage door just wouldn't budge. The contractions subsided but with her water broken she wasn't going home so new Dad Rob let us know they were in a holding pattern until things progressed. With Rob camped out bedside, we decided to split up and head home. I had to go to their Savannah community home to retrieve their dogs and get them to our house for safe keeping. Dianna was heading home to get back online and get some mortgage loan work done (damn that Internet ball and chain).

Roads out west toward Denton were still a little dicey as I made my way in the darkness that is US 380. It was rather surreal in that the darkened landscape was broken with the staccato of bright flashing emergency lights flickering off various cars and trucks akimbo in the bar ditches alongside the road, victims of the evil black ice that formed in what my dashboard temp gauge said was 17 degrees.

Buffy

Peanut

I was able to navigate my way to their house and after corralling Peanut and blind Buffy (kind of sounds like the name of a jazz act) I slipped and slid my way back to our Frisco hostel. Of course, now with four crazed dogs (Peanut, Buffy, Marley and Jenna) confined to the interior of our first floor, it was bedlam and I could see Dianna was not getting much work done tending to Peanut and Buffy. Both seemed to be unusually high-maintenance compounded by Buffy's blindness skittering around bumping into our unfamiliar abode was nerve racking for the similarly anxious future grandmother. So my reaction was.... to abandon her to the chaos (I know....bad husband). In my defense, I did need to get Buffy's medication I had forgotten earlier and to make a rocket run to the Cracker Barrel Restaurant in Denton at US 380 and the I-35.  Somebody had to do it.

Ok....for those of you who don't know, I was not there for the weekday special (Monday - Friday: Grilled Chicken Country House Salad with choice of baked potato or cup of soup...yeah, I checked). But they do have a selection of pretty well made rocking chairs for sale in the store. You see, when Nicole was born we had a rocking chair I had given Dianna as a gift several years before. It came in handy during those 2 o'clock feedings I did when I got home from my 6 PM to 2 AM Patrol days which allowed Dianna to sleep through the night in those early days (I know....what a great guy). The decision had been made (well...Dianna decided) to get Nicole a rocker when she had her baby. Due to the uncertainty of her delivery date (I believe the last time we had a definitive answer was "sometime in December") we had procrastinated and not gotten out to the restaurant to pick one up.

With the sands of the hourglass slipping away...it became imperative we acquire one before Nicole returned home so since I had to drive halfway there to pick up Buffy's meds, it seemed to be an efficient use of my time so I made the round trip and got the chair too.....and conveniently extend my time away from the menagerie which had become our home.


That done, I arrived just in time to learn the situation had changed and the decision had been made for Nicole to have a c-section to end her now 14 hour labor. This delivery was a replay of Dianna's labor back on that incredibly hot 4th of July in 1984 with Nicole. She too was heading into her 16th hour of labor when the OB gave her two options, continue to labor and have Nicole sometime in August or do the c-section and be done with it. She practically tore the pen from the doctor's pocket protector to sign the consent form with the promise of immediate pain meds to stop the contraction pain.

So we headed back to the hospital to see her prepped and wheeled out to the delivery room. It turned out to be a short wait. She left around 6:35 PM and they wheeled the baby out around 20 minutes later. We followed the pediatric nurse to the post delivery room where Rob got to help weigh and measure the little dude where we learned Rob Jr was 8 pounds, 7 oz and 19.2 inches long.

We watched her poke, prod, stretch and medicate the little man with a practiced hand. It looked like she had done this before, no wasted movement. When she was done, we learned Nicole had already made it back to the room and was taking visitors. All in one hour. Amazing.

Baby was quickly reunited with new mom for the first breast feeding and the rest is history. I can assure you there were many photos and videos documenting every yawn and wince baby Rob produced. I think I got a case of repetitive motion syndrome just snapping away on my iPhone. And it's just his first day of life.

So now we begin a new phase of our lives as new grandparents to our grandson Robert Xavier Orbe (pronounced Orbee)Jr.

Freeze of 2013

The winter residence Friday Morning

Here we are the first full weekend of December embracing the 72nd commemoration of Pearl Harbor Day and we're stuck at home. For those of you who missed it (like you Southern Californians), we encountered an unusual weather event for Texas. A massive cold front rolled out of the northwest (those darn Canadians) and met enough moisture to rain then turning to sleet which stuck with accumulations of several inches in some spots. Overnight temperatures dipped down to the teens making all those ice crystals meld together into a giant sheet of ice with all the downed power lines and slippery highway chaos that goes along with it.

Nicole's dog Peanut discovering snow

Now it does freeze from time to time in Texas but it's a rare moment when ice storms blanket such a large area and virtually shut down most of North Texas.  Luckily (if you want to call it that) it was a well established fact early in the week and many businesses and schools had already decided to close prior to anybody having to suffer the roadways. The downside was that we were forced to remain cooped up in our Frisco winter residence for the duration.

For Dianna this was a mixed blessing. Her new job means her office is our home. She works remotely over the Internet (thanks Mr. Gore) so she doesn't have to drive the treacherous roads but it does mean she has no excuse not to work because of the weather. My job at the Courthouse was cut off based on the local school district deciding to close Friday morning. We were now landlocked with only our wits and the food we had in the house (and the copious amounts of alcohol) to help us survive. I wonder how it would have gone if the power hadn't stayed on.

This caused quite a stir with the dogs in that they are primarily outside dogs and are clearly confused by having to remain indoors. However the confusion disappears when it's time to go out for potty breaks. They clearly have a need until the door opens. Jenna (the white Lab mix) is a bit more heartier than her brother Marley (chocolate Lab) and runs out to the slip-n-slide that our backyard has become. Marley feels nature calling and reluctantly makes a dash out onto the frosty ground to do his business and dash back to the back door and the inner warmth it provides. Marley is all southern dog....no Yankee in that K-9 what-so-ever.

And there is our new found discovery about Marley's flatulence. Being an outside dog, we had not realized our dog has been struggling intestinally. This didn't become evident until the afternoon of the first day. I always feed them their main meal early in the morning before work and give them a half bowl when I get home. On normal days we bring them in at bedtime. Once they started staying in full time, we began to notice a periodic release of toxic gas that would permeate the room and drive us out. This became so regular an occurrence, we instituted a regular regimen of sending Marley outside at the slightest eye contact he made with either one of us. He would be lying there quietly when, without warning, a sharp odor would rise up, a kind of brain-freeze would occur as it enters your sinuses.  I feared the heater might kick-on and ignite something. Beside smoke and carbon monoxide detectors...I think someone needs to develop an animal methane detector. Forget about your cow flatulence...this could be the answer to the whole Greenhouse Gas dilemma Al.

Thus we are now contending with the fact Dianna and I are housebound and can't get away from each other. This has been born out when we both are occupying the kitchen. Some of you may know our kitchen is enormous. The center island is big enough to launch small airplanes. So imagine both of us tottering around this cavernous chamber and unable to avoid each other. The common interception point is the Keurig coffee machine. I seem to always be underfoot as she throws another K-cup into the device. More complication was added when I chose to expand the dogs horizons by opening up their normal range of master bedroom and living room to include the kitchen. They could be dead asleep but when they hear us move into the kitchen they are up and roaming right behind us, virtual shadows. They quickly get underfoot while Dianna is trying to pour a new glass of wine or make some coffee. It may be they just love us very much and want to be apart of our wandering but I'm just as sure they are hoping we'll take pity on their predicament and hand them a Scooby snack.

Now, Dianna and I have not been arguing or giving those dart like stares yet but that could be coming. See I decided to utilize my time in catching up on some baking and food preparation while Dianna worked and then settled down into some serious TiVo watching. You see this weather event coincided with a holiday tradition Dianna has had for years (since the invention of the VCR/DVR). My wife will record legions of Hallmark channel holiday movies starting at Thanksgiving all the way to New Years. You know those sappy holiday love stories where boy meets girl, girl (or boy in this politically correct world) gets dumped by boy and they miraculously meet again years later and rekindle their love and live happily ever after. Then there's the inevitable Santa crisis where he's unavailable and some mortal or elf takes over and makes Christmas happen. Lots of cute little kids with sad faces then bright smiles all around when they discover (again) that Santa is real and the world is a better place for it.

My M.O. for this is to sit and kibitz. I will point out the obvious flaws in the story line or scientific impossibilities which make Dianna roll her eyes and suggest I go write something for my blog or shovel the driveway....guess which one I picked. Hey....I'm a paid professional observer and I report what I see.

So I decided to do some baking and be responsible for preparing our meals (and try to stay out of her way). I whipped up one of my world famous Key Lime Pies to assuage her cabin fever as well as preparing lunches and dinners for my bride and I. So with a little help from the Food Channel and online, with the assorted ingredients from pantry and fridge, I made some tantalizing concoctions which have kept up our morale and energy up. Well, there was that first tragic attempt to make a scratch pie crust for a pecan pie filling we had on hand. It's really not too bad if you heat it up....hopefully the power will keep the microwave functioning.

As I write this it's still below freezing. So, as we look toward a new week we have to ask ourselves...will the ice break and life return to normal or will we run out of food and be relegated to just drinking our way through the rest of our imprisonment? Only time and our supply of vittles will tell.

Going Home

As Thomas Wolfe said, "...you can't go home again"  (or more poignantly, "you're always 17 in your home town", thanks Cross Canadian Ragweed 2002).  Well, of course you can.... but its always fraught with trepidation. When you've spent most of your life in one place, when you leave, you subliminally (with a very critical eye) always make silent comparisons with those new places like it matters or somehow your prior home will label you disloyal.

I recently returned home for a short visit with my Mom, Delia. It was her birthday and I needed to visit. It must be noted that I have been a bad son in that this will have been the only visit to her La Mesa home this year. Every year I promise her I will come often enough to relieve my conscious but something always comes up like work or other minor crisis that, in hind sight, really shouldn't have kept me from going but it helps me sleep at night to think I tried. There's got to be some Freudian theory to explain it (hopefully nothing involving cross-dressing) but there is some kind of block about visiting.

Seeing her is always a pleasure and even our phone calls (no....I don't call her enough either) are always fun when she describes in her broken English (Mom's originally from Mexico) her visits to church (devout Catholic with a capitol 'D'), her trials and tribulations with her sisters Mom's been labeled a "hoarder" because she likes to save sentimental stuff), as well as their little getaway trips together (recently to Solvaang, chocolate capitol of California where they got in trouble for being too loud after hours at the motel....those crazy septuagenarians).

As if to salve my tender emotions, I was able to work two things into my brief trip. It was the Veteran's Day weekend and one of my former co-workers at the San Diego District Attorney's Office was available for lunch. They were told to go home at noon to start their weekend early and Diane was able to meet me at one of our favorite places, Adams Ave. Grill . She had the Pot Roast and I had the Salmon Wrap sans tortilla. 

Each meal comes with dessert (chocolate cake...can't beat that with a  stick). We had a little over an hour to get current.  Her, step Dad passed away, no new man but new dog. Me, new job, first grandchild on the way, recent home improvements. It is always good to see Diane, she has this crazy infectious laugh that rises up from her diminutive center and has the ability to stop conversations across the room.

The second was my sister who was also able to drop down from Irvine. We spent a day together recalling old times, current events, looking at old pictures and generally cutting up. Beatrice and I have this innate ability of immediately connecting at our infrequent meetings (in the almost thirty years they've lived in Irvine, I have only been to their house twice..yeah, I know, bad brother too). But it seems like we immediately take up where we left off.

Of course, when I visit Mom, we have to go places to eat. She's 78 and her arthritic hips keep her from getting out much. She has a penchant for really bad Mexican food (she thinks Jack in the Box has great tacos...remember she's from Mexico) and seafood. So, on arrival, I took her for dinner at Red Lobster. I had the Tilapia and she had the coconut shrimp.

The following morning, she requested Mimi's Cafe in Mission Valley. A favorite breakfast place for her and Dad. After ordering, she remarked, "like father like son" (well, actually it came out, "you just like'a yur father"), he too was a pancake guy. The special was pumpkin pancakes with an apple compote drizzled (more accurately "poured") over the top. She had the Countryside Two-Egg Breakfast.

Sister arrived around brunch and we shared some homemade Tamales (the beef with salsa was awesome). My sister determined we needed to take a ride and Mom asked if we could cruise Del Mar. She wanted to scope out how to get there for a future foray with her sisters.

She also wanted to stop at Mt. Soledad for that panoramic view of La Jolla Shores but when we got there, there was a Veterans Day event going on at the summit and there was no parking so we just drove round and left. Some of you may be familiar with the on-going controversy over the monument and cross at the top of the mountain. Things have really settled down since the memorial was taken over by the Mt. Soledad Memorial Association. 

On the way back, we discovered that Chick-Fil-A (huge in Texas....relatively new to Southern California) had planted a restaurant in my old home town Santee (no...I didn't drive by my old house....that too is just too hard to do). Mom had never been and asked for a chicken sandwich. I had a salad but sister and Mom had their chicken salad sandwiches which Mom gave her approval and vowed to go back when she craved fast-food chicken.

This brings me back 'round to my feelings about visiting. It's just....well it's just depressing to be there. Don't get me wrong, I love Texas and all that comes with it.....but we left the fun and sun capitol of the world where all my favorite hangouts reside, people I grew up with, worked with and memories around every street corner. And the ocean. I really felt I was immune and didn't think it was a big thing until I came on this trip. Let me elaborate.

The night before I left, Dianna had sent me off with a wish to have me coat myself with the smell of the ocean so she could smell it when I arrived home. Dianna is a native San Diegan, born in La Jolla and spent most of her life within a short drive of the beach. She grew up in Linda Vista and I in Serra Mesa where, when the wind was right....you could smell the salt air penetrating the coastal plains and canyons that surrounded us. And, while we're on the subject...Mountains. To be fair, Texas does have a few high points like Guadalupe Peak (8,749 ft) and Bush Mt. (8,631 ft...no relation the either president)....but that's it. Yeah, yeah...there is Palo Duro Canyon and the like but the place is pretty flat the result of being a former ocean floor. If you're driving you can see where you're going to be three hours from now. San Diego geography varies from sea level to 6,140 feet (Palomar Mountain). All in the same County! But.... I digress.

To grant her wish, I decided to make a beach run on the way back to  the airport and get her some sand she could run her fingers through from the beach at the foot of the Ocean Beach Pier. As I knelt down to shovel a handful  of sand into a sandwich baggy (yes...people were watching me), I had a moment of regret that I was no longer a member of that part of the world and was acting like the classic tourist bringing home an obnoxious road-trip gift for a loved one. Like going to Florida and buying a stupid seashell you realize you could have picked up at the beach for free. I then returned, looking forlorn, bulging sandwich bag in hand, to my trusty Kia rental car for the trip back to the airport, the check-in and the ever-appealing security screening at the old Lindberg Terminal 2.

Typing away in the Gate 2 cafe sipping my Sweet Tea (yes, Texas has left it's mark on me) hearing, "Do I have to take off my shoes?" for the 800th time, I searched for answers of my own. Once boarded, I sought out a center seat over the wing (statistically the safest spot) and the fact I never got better than Zone C on Southwest. The flight attendant actually suggested that the letter C refers to the word "Center Seat" because if you're in that boarding group...all that's left are the center seats. He was right.

As I wended my way east, the quickly darkening skies driven by the time change added to my funk. I wondered aloud to my now snoring seat mates whether I would ever be able to let go of my old home and be content with where I am today. The answer struck me almost immediately. Home is where family is. Let's face it, we are the sum of what we've done, who we've met and where we've been so I will always be connected to those places and people. We are inseparable. And that's fine with me.