January 6, 2021

Do not be mistaken, the attack on the United States Capital on January 6, 2021 was a greater threat to our Democracy than the attack on 9/11. While the loss of life in this recent attack was fortunately much less, the impacts and ramifications are disturbingly different. After 9/11 we United as a nation. Our allies rallied to our side. We were shocked, saddened, and resilient as one.

Wednesday's attack has turned over a rock to reveal the frightening divisions that we have. We are a now a laughingstock across the world, and no longer that "shining city on a hill." Our neighbors, lawmakers and even pastors have raised voices and arms against our Democracy. They have proven that they do not believe in a nation for all, but only for them and what they believe. They believe that only their rights matter, and that sacred symbols of American pride and democracy can be thoughtlessly desecrated.

For those who have tried to maintain a middle ground, or want to respect both sides, this should be a moment of deep introspection. You should be thinking of not just what you want America to look like, but who you are as a person.

Consider this: after 9/11, we were United in our support of our intelligence agencies and law enforcement to find, arrest and prosecute anyone who participated or in any way supported the terrorists. We wanted them arrested, tried, and imprisoned for attacking the country we love.

We enthusiastically supported the creation of the Department of Homeland Security, and most supported the Patriot Act to help search for those who would attack us from without and within. We were bloodthirsty and determined to find those who threatened our Democracy. It was easy then, because they did not look, or sound just like us.

Now we are looking at similar investigations, although those connected with 9/11 were very secretive, the unstable geniuses who desecrated the halls of our nation's Capital proudly posted videos and photos on social media. These people will be extremely easy to track, and so will their known associates.

Beyond those that participated in this recent attack (those who entered restricted space, broke doors and windows and pushed back at police lines; those who entered the Capital Building to do damage, kidnap, injure or just stroll around), there are those who encouraged and enabled them.

Where is the line in participating in a violent insurrection and only encouraging the behavior with "moral" support? Is it only foolish, or is it illegal and dangerous to be spouting unproven conspiracy theories and blaming others for the attack? I am not sure how the law will look at it. I am not sure where First Amendment rights to free speech ends and Sedition and insurrection begins. I know that after 9/11 we would have been clear on our assessment. I will be curious to see how our hypocrisy fuels our response now.

Will we feel different because they are white and American? Because they say they are Patriots? Is it okay because they say they are on the side of “God?” (don't forget, that is what the Terrorists on 9/11 said too)

I would suggest that you be careful who you are friends with. Be careful what you post. Be careful what you let other people post on your pages. I do not know how far these investigations will lead. If this were 9/11, we would want anyone who helped or even sympathized with the attackers punished to the furthest extent of the law. At least I did. And I feel the same today about what happened on January 6, 2021.

Pleading ignorance is not an excuse for sedition or other acts of criminality. Being upset with the outcome of the election is not an excuse. Those who are crying now, losing their jobs, and being arrested for what they did on January 6, can say they are sorry and made a mistake, but that doesn’t work when someone robs a bank, steals a car or sells drugs, so it doesn’t work when you attack our Democracy. Stupid is not a defense.

Lives in the Balance

Like a lot of people around the world, I’ve been following the story of the soccer team and coach trapped in the cave in Thailand.    In a time when we seem to be bombarded by bad news daily, the completed rescue of these young men so far away makes the Earth seem a little smaller and a little brighter today.   The heroism and fortitude of the rescuers has been amazing and inspiring.    I am in awe of their bravery.

Now that the team is out of the cave and recovering in the hospital, I can’t help but wonder how they got to such a dangerous place.   I’m always curious about the decisions that are made when bad things happen.  

Anyone that knows me can tell you that I’m not the most “adventurous” guy around.   I’m definitely a worse case scenario thinker.   It kind of drives my family crazy.    I don’t like risks or taking chances, especially when lives are at stake.    I am sure I miss out on a lot of fun because of this, and I’m sure that my girls have too, but I am my mother’s child.   I’m a worrier.

The story I hear about this 25-year-old assistant coach and his young soccer team is that they went exploring the cave after a game.   Apparently, there was a sign at the entrance of the cave that warned of potential flash floods.   That means that either the leader read the sign and ignored the danger, or he was oblivious to the sign and walked past it without reading.

This also means that he was either not fully aware of the cave and its dangers (meaning he had not done any prior research or had any general knowledge of it), or he knew all this and ignored it, therefore endangering not only himself, but his young team, who followed him.   He apparently did not check the weather or knew it was monsoon season.    He was completely unprepared for potential problems and did not have proper supplies or food to sustain them in case of problems.     He (and those that followed him) blindly and stubbornly entered the cave and kept going deeper and deeper until they realized they had reached a point of no return.  

Hundreds of people aided in the search and rescue, with dozens of workers and divers risking their lives in the flooded cave system to find and extract the team.   One diver lost his life in the effort.

I can’t help but see the blatant parallels in the leadership, lack of skills and general knowledge with our current national situation.      There was no sense of the great responsibility required.    Lives were at stake, yet the most dangerous path was chosen.   The unbelievable arrogance of saying, “follow me, I know what I’m doing,” despite knowing very little.

At what point, I wonder, did the young team begin to question his leadership?   Did they ever?  Even when they were trapped miles deep in total darkness with waters rising that could soon choke out their lives…did they ever say, “why did we follow you here?” 

Fortunately, they have lived to see the sun again, but only because of the sacrifice of others.    I hope they learn from their mistake, and so does the world; that following someone who doesn’t know what they are doing, and leads without the best interests of those following, is not only foolish, but very dangerous.

Livermush

I’ve come across some odd menu items as I’ve travelled to different areas of the country.   I find it interesting that each region has specific local delicacies that those folks consider staples, while the rest of us might not consider eating them at all.    This weekend I was in the Highlands of North Carolina, just outside of Boone, and as I looked at the breakfast menu of a local diner, I came across a selection I had never seen before.    Along with other breakfast meat options, such as “bacon,” “sausage,” “ham” and “steak,” was a listing for “Livermush.”

For those not aware (like me), I have learned that “livermush” is made up of pig liver, cornmeal, sage, black pepper, and apparently anything left from the pig after all the good stuff is taken.   This is pureed into a “mush” and formed into a loaf, where it is then refrigerated until it “congeals.”   When the “meat” is needed, a slice is carved off the loaf, then fried and served for breakfast, or possibly on a sandwich.  

Not to offend those raised on “livermush,” but whether separate or combined, the words, “liver,” “mush,” and “congeal” are not in the least bit appetizing to me.    

Now, anyone who looks at me can tell that I am not a stickler for healthy food options.   I’ll choose hot wings over a salad any day of the week.   However, I do have my limits, and “livermush” is over the ridge and out of viewing distance of the line I won’t cross.    That being said, I did eat Spam when I was a kid.   In fact, I have very pleasant memories of Mom frying Spam to a golden brown, covering it with a slice of Velveeta cheese (which would probably do wonders for a slab of “livermush”) and serving it up for summer lunch.    Unlike many meals Mom fixed that I have attempted to recreate as an adult, I have not attempted the “fried Spam and Velveeta sandwich.”   I just don’t think I would have her magic touch.

Spam is probably a first cousin to “livermush,” as is the northern relative “Scrapple,” which I have also not sampled.   Scrapple has similar content, and it can be argued whether the choice of the word “Scrap” in its name is better than “liver” or “mush.”    I am on the fence.

I remember when I was a kid and Dad bought some hogs to have prepared for hams, bacon, sausage, etc.     After they were slaughtered and processed, he came home from the butcher with a box of hog heads.   This was fascinating to me at the time, and I watched with morbid curiosity as he boiled them and worked to remove the meat.   He chopped up what needed to be chopped after it came off the bone and added various spices and vinegar to make what he called “souse,” but which is also known by the more unappetizing name “head cheese.”   He talked about having watched his Dad make it and I’m sure at the time I thought, “someday, I’ll teach my children how to do this.”   One bite of the finished product was all I needed to swear off on “souse” for the rest of my life, and therefore end the dream of sharing the making of “head cheese” with my kids.   I know they are grateful.

I must admit, however, that I have come across a local “delicacy” that is so unappealing to me that I would choose “Livermush,” or “Scrapple,” or probably even “head cheese” rather than partake.    When I visited Rochester, New York with a co-worker several years back, the locals insisted that we try what is lovingly known to them as a “garbage plate.”     In appearance, it actually does look like the plate used to scrape all the leftovers together to transfer to the trash. 

Built on a base of macaroni salad, home fries and baked beans (one on top of the other); meats are chosen to add layers, including hamburgers, fish, ham, chicken tenders, red hot dogs or white hot dogs, and then topped with mustard, onions and hot chili sauce.   If you say to yourself (as I did initially), that you like some of those things separately, so it might not be so bad, then you will probably find yourself unprepared (as I was) for the nauseating visual of the garbage plate that they proudly present to you.

I poked at it with my fork for a while before giving up and deciding that my “garbage plate” needed to go home to the garbage.   My co-worker was braver and had a “when in Rome” attitude that pushed him to persevere and taste the full “Rochester Garbage Plate” experience.    He spent most of his evening in his hotel room sick, and soon after converted to a Vegan life-style that he continues to this day.   

I guess we all have our food eccentricities.    When I married Connie, she was shocked to learn that I grew up eating Chili mixed with spaghetti noodles.    I’m sure this was a poor family way of making the food go further, but I’ve also been a strong believer that adding pasta (or cheese) to almost anything makes it better (unless it’s a “garbage plate,” which is a concept that cannot be saved).  

I can’t help but wonder what kind of things we eat now that will be strange to my grandchildren and great grandchildren.  In the meantime, I’ll stay on the lookout for local delicacies, and if they don’t have the words “liver,” “mush” or “garbage” in the name, I might even give them a try.

Further reading, for those with strong stomachs:

 Livermush

 Scrapple

Head Cheese

Garbage Plate

Mother's Day 2016

I’m not sure that my daughters fully appreciate what a truly wonderful mother they have.   I know that they love her and they appreciate her as much as they can at this moment in time, but like all of us until we have children of our own, I don’t think they really get it.   They don’t see the tears or hear the prayers or know how much she simply wants them to be happy.  They don’t grasp the sacrifices she makes, or the pain she feels when they hurt, or the depth of her love for them.    As they were once a part of her body as she carried and protected them to birth, she continues to try to protect them as she carries them in her heart.   There is no greater bond.

This weekend as we celebrate Mother’s Day, two of our girls are not only leaving the nest, but leaving the state.   Shelby and Ashlyn are moving to Asheville, North Carolina and our emotions are battling.    We are happy for them, and proud.   We know they will do well and are excited for their new adventure,  but we are also worried and a more than a little bit sad.  

For once, I think I am less worried than Connie.   I think it’s because I see so much of her in my girls.   Smart, independent and beautiful.   She has given them the best of herself, like a good mother does.   They are well prepared for life and being on their own because of the things she’s taught them and the example she has set.   

This weekend won’t be easy, but it’s a tribute to my incredible wife and mother to my children that we are all bound together by such a strong love for each other.   No matter where they go or what they do, I hope my children will remember that...and to call their Mom.

4am

It’s 4am and I’m sitting next to my dying father’s bed.   The nurse has just given him another shot of morphine, but it will be at least fifteen or twenty minutes until it starts granting him any comfort.    Until then he will be restless and his eyes will open and stare away at things I cannot see.  

He can receive morphine every four hours to make him comfortable, but at this stage he’s only getting about 3 hours of benefit.   The last forty five minutes or so the effect has been lost and he gives weak moans and is in noticeable pain.   Then it takes a while to kick in again after a new dose.    It’s a long hour.

Dad would have been 87 in November, and for most of that time, he’s been one of the strongest men I have ever known.   At five foot eight and slight build, most people would underestimate his strength, but those who worked with him knew that my Dad was primarily muscle and iron will.  He worked hard his entire life, even after retirement when he dedicated his life to taking care of my sister and my Mom.  

That was his prayer, he often said, that God would let him live long enough to take care of them until they didn’t need him anymore.   His prayers were answered and he’s now lived three years beyond when we lost them both in that painful late summer of 2012.    He cared for them selflessly and tirelessly, and now he is simply tired.

His health has been deteriorating slowly since their passing.   Congestive heart failure, renal failure, lung problems, lymphoma.    He’s dealt with it all in good faith and good spirits.      He attended church every Sunday that his health would allow (and many that I’m sure most of us would have stayed home).   He sang a solo in church just a few weeks ago.  He couldn’t play his guitar anymore, and he had to sit down to sing, but it was a blessing to all who heard him.     

It’s 4:30am and Dad is talking.   I can’t understand because his voice is so weak and he can barely push air out from his lips.   I lean in close to his face and ask him to repeat what he said but his eyes are closed again.    Whatever he needed to tell me is now gone.   I’ll never hear it.

There is nothing I can do and there is nothing more frustrating.    

It’s 5am and I know my Dad is dying.    He knows too, because despite his failing body and the effect of the morphine, his mind is strong.    He knew what it meant when the doctor said they were discontinuing the dialysis treatment.   He knew what it meant when they said they were going to give him morphine to help keep him comfortable.  

He told me just yesterday (when his voice was a little stronger and I could lean in with my good ear), that he was ready to go, but he hated to leave us.    I told him, “Dad, you’re not leaving us.   Mom didn’t leave us when she passed.   She’s still with me every day…and you’ll be with us every day too.   The things you taught us will always be in our hearts.”   He looked at me and nodded in acknowledgement.   I kissed him on the forehead and told him, “I love you Dad.”   He whispered back, “I know, love you too.” 

As his breathing patterns changed throughout the night and into the morning, I could feel him slipping away.   He was becoming less a part of this world and more a part of the next.   He couldn’t swallow so I began to wipe his mouth with a wet sponge and dribble drops of water into his mouth from the end of a straw.  These little things were as much for me to feel like I was doing something…ANYTHING…other that just standing there feeling so helpless.  

Just before Noon, as my brother Wayne stroked his forehead and I held his hand, Dad took his last breath.   I thought it would be easier, since I knew he was dying, but it was that same low punch in the stomach that I felt when I got that late night call that Mom had died.   The air in my lungs compressed and I was hit with the reality that the man who had been there for me my entire life was gone. 

It’s 4am the next day and I’m laying alone in the house that was once filled with the laughter and love of my family.   Mom and Dad moved here in 1960 and it was and always will be home.   I get up and wander through the dim light of the rooms and see my brothers and sister rushing past, still flush with youth and hope.   I see Dad in his chair and Mom at the stove cooking dinner.   I see my life here and it was a good one.  I will be forever grateful.

In the light of the morning, as I carried some things to the car, I could see some of the small cracks appearing in the foundation.   In the months that the house has been uninhabited, the porch has taken on a few loose boards, and the roof has become in need of some repair.     Mom’s garden is getting overtaken by weeds.   Dad’s fence needs cleaning out. 

I make mental note that we’ll have to come back soon and take care of all these things.   It’s strange that at the moment, they seem both unimportant but also extremely important.   As I back out of the driveway I can’t help but think that the house seems much smaller now, and kind of sad, almost as if the house is grieving too.    It will miss the smell of Mom's cooking and Dad watching over it from his chair on the front porch.    So will I.



Dad...a life in pictures

Orlando Vacation pt 2

Vacation planning is tricky.   I had given the girls the choice of spending more time at Disney or a longer stay at Universal.   Because of money, we couldn’t do multiple days at both theme parks, so they had to make the choice.   I just wanted them to be happy.   That was and is always my ultimate goal.   

Of course, we’re talking about three very unique individuals (four if you count their mother), so finding a satisfying balance was not easy.   I’m still not sure that we found it, but at some point during the week I completely lost the ability to care.   There was no way that all four could be perfectly happy all the time.    I had to let that pipe dream go.   I had to search for the moments of joy in one face (while the others looked on with a mix of boredom or frustration that we weren’t doing what they wanted to be doing).   If all this makes them sound incredibly self-centered and lacking in compassion for their fellow family members, then I’ve succeeded in getting my point across.    

Just kidding.     (Not really)    No, of course I’m kidding.    They are not like that (all the time).

The decision was made to go to Disney’s Magic Kingdom for one day and then three days at Universal Studio and Islands of Adventure.    As the girls have gotten older, the big rides at Universal have gained more appeal.    Universal also has Harry Potter.   Never underestimate the power of the Boy who lived.

After experiencing Disney on Sunday, we had planned three days at Universal, culminating with Universal’s Halloween Horror Nights on Wednesday night.   We were hoping that the lines would be less at Universal than we experienced at Disney on Sunday, but they were still fairly long.    Apparently the entire world has read the guides that suggest going to Orlando in the off-season because eighty percent of the people were International.    Huge families ranging from grandparents on motorized scooters to children in strollers and babies breastfeeding roamed the parks in genial packs that could only communicate with us in smiles or friendly nods.    It was a fascinating smorgasbord of languages passing by at any given time, almost always speaking much faster and more animated than our slow, American drawl.  

That first morning at Universal we made our way to the back of the park, shed a little tear for the missing Amity Island section and the loss of the Jaws ride, to stand on the cobbled streets of Harry Potter’s London, gaze upon Kings Cross, the three decker bus, and find our way into Diagon Alley.    For Ashlyn, the semi-obsessive Potter fan, this was Nirvana.   For the rest of us, it was simply amazingly awesome.  

Better than just walking onto the set of the movies, we were dropped into an alternate Potter reality.  We were constantly struck by the detail and artistry on display.   Dark and spooky and magical all at once; overseen by Gringott’s Dragon that occasionally belched out fire so intense you could feel the heat 40 feet below.   

Shelby and Ashlyn got in the long line to ride “Escape from Gringott’s” while Connie, Taylor and I explored the side streets and dark alleys nearby.   We got the famous “butterbeer” that is in no way beer, but a syrupy sweet butterscotch concoction that I’m glad I tried but will never feel the desire to try again. 

 

Once back together we got in the long line to ride the Hogwarts Express from Kings Cross station and platform 9 ¾ to Hogsmeade and the other half of the Harry Potter experience.    They have gone out of their way to make you feel a part of the book and movie.   It’s incredibly immersive and (with apologies to Disney) magical.

At Hogsmeade we had a nice lunch at the “Three Broomsticks” restaurant.   I had heard from a friend that the Fish and Chips were good, but they were actually exceptionally good.  The design of a rustic tavern added to the appeal and you could almost imagine Hagrid, Ron or Hermione walking through at any moment.

Hogsmeade was designed with the cozy appeal of a Christmas card, where despite the Orlando heat; snow graced each roof and smoke drifted from chimneys.   Somehow, just seeing the fake snow made the heat slightly more bearable.   

Once we finally slipped out of Potter world, we stepped into the tropical jungle of Jurassic Park and then on to the streets of the Marvel Hero section.    From ride to ride we wandered, each girl stating a preference for one ride over another, but generally getting along.   Connie and I found an air conditioned bar to sit while they did the big Marvel rides (Hulk, Spiderman, and Dr Doom).    It was a nice break.

Fun as the day was, I was enormously grateful that the Universal parks closed at the reasonable hour of 7pm.   Unaccustomed to the heat or the walking, I was pretty tired.   It’s a shame what office work and a sedentary lifestyle will do to you.   My shin splints had shin splints.

The girls had wanted to spend an evening at our hotel pool, and it was a great night for that.    There was a café and a Pizza Hut poolside, so we enjoyed some pizza and a beautiful sunset.   A perfect end to a pretty nice day.

The next day we were back at Universal early, trying to catch anything we didn’t see the day before because of our Potter mania.  Connie rode many of the rides with the girls and they all agreed that the Harry Potter rides were the best they had ever ridden.   Repeatedly I was told how much I would love them, but they also were pretty sure that the motion would make me sick.   

It’s a bit of a cruel joke that someone who loves movies as much as I do can’t ride most of the movie rides, but if I had any moment of feeling sorry for myself at the park, I was immediately grounded back into reality by one of the numerous children being pushed in wheelchairs throughout the park.   Their faces had no room for self-pity.   Their eyes were wide with wonder at what they could see and not bitterness at what they couldn’t do.    They live their life on the terms they’ve been dealt.   It’s really not a big deal that I can’t ride a few rides at a theme park while on vacation.  

 

That afternoon clouds started to roll in ahead of the forecasted rain.   We slipped out of the park and walked over to Jimmy Buffet’s Margaritaville restaurant for an early dinner.   I won’t say how much I ate, but I’m pretty sure I blew out my flip flop and lost my shaker of salt.  

That night, we crashed hard.   As the rain poured outside, sleep took us one by one.   Each drifting off to dreams of dragons and wizards, princesses and heroes.   I was last to go, after watching them sleep for a while.   I was so tired that night that if I did dream, I’m sure I dreamed about sleeping. 

Orlando Vacation pt 1

We just returned from our third family trip to Orlando and I am sure it will take me a while to recover.   It certainly was not a bad experience, but I definitely returned home far more exhausted than when I left.   I don’t know what the original purpose of a “vacation” was supposed to be, but I don’t think it left you ready to return to work so you could get some rest.

It was 656 miles from our door in Oak Ridge to the hotel in Orlando.   Our plan was to leave at 4am, and since everyone was excited about the adventure ahead of us, we were actually packed and in the car, pulling out of the driveway at 3:59!     Somehow, the girls slept for 90% of the 12 hour trip; only waking for a Cracker Barrel breakfast stop and a few rest area pee breaks.   It was a quiet drive but tiring. 

That evening we went to the Florida Mall because there aren’t enough places to shop in Tennessee and we needed to walk a few miles under fluorescent lights for no reason.  

Sunday morning we were parking in Disney’s Magic Kingdom parking lot (which I’m pretty sure is bigger than our town) by 8:30am so we could get in the park when it opened at nine.   The line at the ticket booth should have been a clue for what the day would be like.   Then the line to get on the monorail should have confirmed it.     My hopes for minimal crowds because it was fall and the “off-season” were being slowly crushed in the shoulder to shoulder sardine can search for Disney magic. 

Shelby had a plan for attacking the park, and I was more than happy to give up control.   It’s kind of exhausting to be in control of everyone’s happiness.   Planning a trip and trying to satisfy everyone is like wrapping your arms around two dozen helium balloons and trying to keep any from flying away.    I told her to lead and I’d gleefully follow.   We hurried to the back of the park to experience “Splash Mountain.”    Since lines for it get longer through the day, it was wise to get there early.   

Let me pause here to give a brief explanation:   I love theme parks.   I love the logistics.  I love the design and structure of rides.   However, in general, I do not ride them.   I have battled severe motion sickness for my entire life, so even the use of Dramamine doesn’t always ensure my ability to ride anything that spins, drops, loops or shakes.   It’s a risk I’ve learned not to take, because I don’t want my illness to affect everyone else’s good time.   I enjoy the park through their experience.     I am also the designated “bag” holder, which is a very important role…(seriously).

Fortunately, I’m a major “people watcher,” and there is always a consistent and entertaining flow of people to watch at a theme park (Dollywood wins the prize in this field, but any theme park has its virtues). 

When they got off of Splash Mountain, all laughing and wet and happy, I gave them their bags and we quickly followed Shelby to the next target on her agenda.    I don’t actually remember the next hour because they were a blur of running from one end of the park to the other, finding attractions that were showing up on her Iphone App as having shorter lines.   I did ride the Haunted Mansion, because even little kids and people with weak stomachs can handle that one.  That and Pirates of the Caribbean are the only two rides I planned to ride that day.   They are my speed.

 By 10:30am Shelby realized that the crowds were so thick that any real planning was pointless.   Everything was busy.    The good rides had lines of at least an hour and usually 90 minutes.   Even the lines to lesser attractions were lengthy. 

I know this is hard to believe, but I became a bit surly.   I’m not a crowd person, and I don’t like lines.    Magic Kingdom is the oldest of the Orlando theme parks and it shows in the way traffic flow is designed.   I am sure it was inconceivable for Walt Disney and his architects at the time to imagine the incredible number of attendee’s flowing through their gates and walking their narrow paths in 2014.    They didn’t foresee double-wide strollers and oblivious people on their smart phones rudely stopping in a high traffic area to do a selfie.   

It is a beautiful place…a magical place…it actually brought a tear to my lovely wife’s eye as she walked in.    It is immaculately clean and staffed with consistently friendly, considerate employees.    Without a doubt, it is one of the best managed places I have ever been.  

But by 3:30 that afternoon, I kinda hated it.

Originally I thought the park was closing by 6pm…7pm at the latest.    But no…Disney does everything better than anyone else…so their day lasts until 1am!    While this is certainly a bargain for a family that has just paid out over $500 for five one day tickets, all I could think of as the hot afternoon drug on was how tired I was getting…and how bad my feet were hurting from that hard concrete…and how long those stupid lines were.   

Rather than walking around aimlessly from long line we didn’t want to wait in to another long line we didn’t want wait in, we decided to start going to attractions that were not as attractive anymore.   Despite the girls having said that morning that they didn’t want to do “Hall of Presidents” (because it was “boring”), they did not put up a fight when we said we could be out of the heat and in air conditioning for about 30 minutes.   I think I fell asleep for a few minutes during the Presidential roll call and robot head nod.  I’m pretty sure we all did.

After that we tried to do the Pirates of the Caribbean ride (one of the few rides I can do), but it had shivered its timbers somehow and was not available.   In desperation, we did “Country Bears.”    For nostalgia purposes, I hope they never get rid of Country Bears.  It is one of the original Magic Kingdom attractions.    Everyone should see it once out of sheer respect.   This was the third time in my lifetime.   It made me want to go hunting.

Despite their ages, the girls still get excited about seeing the Disney Princesses and characters.   They each have their favorites.   Shelby loves Belle.   Taylor loves Ariel.   Ashlyn loves Peter Pan.    We couldn’t hook up with Belle, but they did get their picture with Gaston (and in the tradition of good girls liking bad boys, they decided he was good looking enough to overlook his dark heart).   We also saw Ariel and Peter Pan, along with Donald Duck, Goofy and some others.    I loved watching their excitement as they stood next to a person pretending to be an animated character.   THAT is the real magic of Disney.   

As darkness fell across the park and cooler air replaced the oppressive heat, I found myself bearing the crowds slightly better.  The lines relaxed a little and the girls did Space Mountain while Connie and I waited on a welcoming bench. 

We tried one last time to ride Pirates of the Caribbean but it was still broken.   While the girls waited in another line Connie and I rode the steamboat around Tom Sawyer Island.   Away from the crowds and most of the noise, with the dark water beneath us and the lights of the park all around, it was my favorite part of the day.

Around 10 o’clock the crowd gathered for the Disney celebration light show and then the fireworks.   Like everything else they do, Disney excels at spectacle and despite my exhaustion and frustration; I looked up at the castle and the sky like a little kid.   Awed and amazed at the magic of imagery and music.   It was a great end to the day.

Yes, the end…because Bless their hearts…the girls said we didn’t have to stay until closing.   I think they were tired too, but maybe they just took pity on their old Dad.    Disney had given us a good long day.    Worth the money despite many rides unridden and many princesses unseen.     That night, after collapsing into bed and falling asleep instantly, I was haunted by dreams of strollers blocking me at every turn.   There was no escape.