All Creatures Great and Small

In the wee small hours of Thanksgiving morning, as the rain steadily fell, and my faithful hound dog looked at me with the face that practically begged not to have to go outside to pee (although she really, really had to go), I poured the day's first cup of coffee and fired up the laptop intending to spend at least the morning of November's final Thursday the way the Lords of Billable Time intended.  

As the coffee dripped down, I helped Sam overcome her "there is no way I am going out in this" issue. It turns out that she simply needed to know she was not alone in her endeavor.  So, I took off my socks, opened the back door, and went down the back steps onto the patio - and into the rain.  She almost seemed to grasp the import of my gesture.  Moments later, she stepped out onto the back porch.  Her first several steps down the stairs and onto the patio were tentative, to be sure.  But whether it was seeing me standing outside in the dark getting rained on too or the simple fact that she had held it for as long as she could, she then ambled off the patio, onto the grass, and peed.  Mission accomplished, she headed back up the stairs into the kitchen with me following.  I located the towel Margaret has set aside as Sam's and used it to dry her off.  Her bladder empty and her coat reasonably dry, she headed off to the living room for the first of her many Thanksgiving naps. 

I turned my attention back to the laptop.  

Instead of beginning the revenue-generating portion of the day, I thought for a moment or two of all the things for which I am thankful.  On the All Things Considered Celestial Scale of Life I have made out much better than I ever had any right to do.  I am, on my best day, a C+ human being at best. I count my blessings every day and appreciate them.  For an unrepentant asshole, I have much for which to be thankful. 

Among the things for which I am thankful is that while I am a man of few friends, which arrangement suits both me and the world at large exquisitely well, I have some simply extraordinary ones.  One such cat is Dave Lackland.  He and I became friends a lifetime ago at Wardlaw-Hartridge (apologies to the present regime but I am a hyphenate and NOT a + signer).  We had lost touch long ago but perhaps a decade or so we reconnected, for which I am eternally grateful.  I am even more grateful that once we did, the connection held.  Ten years further on up the road, the bond remains unbroken. 

Ours is an incredibly unbalanced friendship. By that I mean that Dave is (conservatively speaking) ten times the human being I could ever aspire to be, presuming I had such an aspiration.  I was reminded again Thursday morning of his inestimable humanity.  

He no longer writes it but, being ever hopeful I have bookmarked the link to it, Dave wrote a blog several years ago when he, the Missus, and then-baby Indy lived in the Florida Keys.  Its title? (Iguana) Dave's Dock.  In it, he chronicled his relationship with the iguanas whose own little piece of paradise abutted Dave's and, as you shall see when you read the essays in it, eventually became one with Dave's.  If you want a case study in a human being who just gets it, then read Dave's essays. They afford an insight into an exceptionally keen, sharp, and profoundly humane human being, whose understanding of not just our place in this world but the place of those species whose own worlds occupy it too, is simply extraordinary.  

Sitting alone in my kitchen before sunrise on Thursday morning, I spent twenty minutes or so reacquainting myself with the world of Dave's Dock.  Spoiler alert:  Not all the stories are happy ones. There are significantly more humans who remind me of me than there are who remind me of Dave and a disproportionately high number of the former live in the Keys (or did in the earlier part of this decade).  Yet, reading each of them restored my faith in humanity, because of the human who wrote them. 

Four decades ago, the Poet Laureate of the Jersey Shore exhorted us to, "Show a little faith, there's magic in the night."  As it turns out, magic is present at all times of day.  

All we need is a magician, or a really good friend, to show us. 

-AK 

The Power of Peace

It is both invaluable and priceless.  Strive for it, attain it, and then fight to maintain it like your life depends on it.   

 

It does.  It is an irreplaceable commodity. 

-AK 

Ryan for the Win...

Thanksgiving weekend in these parts - especially when the temperature is predicted to spend at least a portion of the day staring down at the fifty-degree mark - is traditionally when those of us who celebrate Christmas start decorating our homes.  For those of allergic to pine, it is the weekend when the Cal-a-dor Tree descends from its lofty perch in the garage and, thanks to the handy chart Rob made almost thirty years ago, takes its rightful spot in the living room just as Santa - and the workers at the artificial tree factory - intended. 

However, if you live on the same block as my daughter, son-in-law, and their three kids and today was the day you set aside to bound out of bed and up the ladder stringing lights from your home's every external orifice...hit the snooze button.  Roll over and go back to sleep.  There is nothing for you to do here. 

Ryan has won...

...which his wife properly recognized.  

It is pitch perfect.  Better than anything I would ever think of doing, even if I live to be 100, which I assure you no one (including Yours truly) has asked of Santa.   

Even Max's master would approve...

-AK 

   

In Good Hands

This past weekend I was one of a number of lawyers who spent time as a judge in the Rutgers University Scarlet Knight Mock Trial Invitational, in which teams of students from various colleges and universities competed.  

On Saturday morning, I was part of a two-judge panel for a First Round match between a team from Amherst College and a team comprised of students from several different schools.  Unknown to me, there is apparently a rule in Mock Trial tournaments that addresses what happens if, for whatever reason, one team is short a player or players for a particular round.  It turns out they recruit (or solicit volunteers) from another team or teams.  Saturday morning, one of the six-member teams who I watched compete had in fact become a team shortly before they clicked on the Zoom link to begin the trial. Their performance, as a group, was so solid and so strong that I had no idea they had been thrown together like a potluck dinner until they shared that bit of information post-round when the judges and the competitors get to speak and to ask and answer one another's questions. 

I should have mentioned that upfront, right?  This entire tournament was conducted virtually.  Not only were the judges, including Yours truly, in our own personal space participating from a location other than Rutgers, all the competitors were doing the same.  

Sunday morning, I returned to judge - this time as a a member of a three-judge panel - a Third Round match between a team from Brown University and a team from Duquesne University.  Again, consistently solid, strong work from the three members of each team who were their side's three attorneys and from the three members of each team who testified as their side's three witnesses.  Each team's anchor, the attorney who delivered each side's summation, was stunningly good.  

The twenty-four young folks whose acquaintance I was able to make briefly this past weekend all impressed me. They impressed me with how well they performed under pressure, including my "potluck dinner" sextet whose performance, as a group, was so solid and so strong that I neither knew nor suspected their origin story until they shared it post-round, which is when the judges and the competitors get to speak and to ask and answer one another's questions. 

More than that, they impressed me with their obvious commitment to take on something that is not easy to do, including but not limited to the 50% (approximately - remember I sought refuge in law school to avoid math) of the competitors who told me (by show of hands) that neither law school nor the practice of law is presently in their future. 

Each of these collegians certainly seemed to have a bright future.  Signing off at the completion of our post-match wrap-up on Sunday afternoon following the Third Round match, I could not help but smile at that thought, what it means for them, and what it could mean for us all. 

-AK 

Think of Del

Thanksgiving might have a 'new normal' feel for many Americans this year. Here, in the year of COVID-19, our ability to move around has been constricted, which might mean that this year - now at Thanksgiving and next month for Hanukkah or Christmas - we might not be able to be with all those we love and all those who love us most of all.  

Breathe deep.  

The feeling that has invaded the space many of us occupy this year, for what we sincerely hope is the first and only time in our lives, is a feeling that far too many people deal with every day, whether it is a day designated as a national holiday or simply an otherwise ordinary Thursday.  

We the people of these United States have fallen into the bad habit of rushing to judgment with those who do not look like us, talk like us, have the same political opinions as us, etc.  I mean not to sound like Pollyanna.  It is a bad habit we have always had.  These days, in the age of instant access to information everywhere, communication's ease has acted as an accelerant. We need to be careful so that we do not burn to the ground the very place we call home.  

For today, at least, think of everyone you might encounter in your day-to-day as Del Griffith. A person whose depth is substantially greater than his breadth, his girth, or his ability to irritate you...just by being himself. 

Just today, breathe deep.  Breathe deep and think of Del Griffith.  

Happy Thanksgiving.

-AK 

It's Damn Near as Deadly as Texans on Ice

 

The in-laws are waiting the games have begun 

The cell phone keeps ringing 'don't answer it hon'

The whole thing's arranged just to aggravate Dad

And it's amateur day on the old super slab

The kids are strapped down like a half load of pipe

All safe in their car seats they fuss and they gripe

Well you can't hardly blame 'em it must be a bitch

Counting the crosses off down in the ditch

This one's got flowers, this one's got a wreath

This one's got a name painted down underneath

Was the road all iced up, were they going too fast

Here's five in a circle left from the last holiday

Holiday

There's a three-trailer rig just a throwin' up spray
Not legal to run on this kind of a day
But god damn the smokies and the four wheelers too
Stay offa my bumpers or the same goes for you
There'll be none for him
He that wants it the most
As he hauls it on out to the Oregon coast
No turkey no gravy no Zinfandel wine
You just stay over right and we'll get along fine
He's missing the football, missing the fun
He'd play with the grandkids but he's off on a run
And some hat's on the radio singing his song
But it don't make a damn
He's in for a long holiday
Holiday

Now granny she's yelling
She's ready to eat
She's havin' conniptions
'Cause they won't take their seats
But she's got 'em all gathered now under one roof
With her camcorder loaded
She's gonna get proof
But do you have to wear that
Well I just don't see why
Please pass the potatoes
Aw eat shit and die
Did you hear about Ellen, she's leaving, you know
How 'bout those Packers, think it'll snow?
And the minute it's over they'll scatter like quail.

Off down the freeway in the teeth of a gale
Silent and shattered
And numb to the core
They count themselves lucky
They got through one more holiday
Holiday

The highway patrolman
He stands in the rain
He just lets it run down to soften the stain
Of the blood on his pant leg
From working that wreck
And he won't forget it
In time for the next holiday

Departing Chicago at 9:52
In clean desert camo all baggy and loose
Sits an Iowa Guardsman alone by the gate
The place sure looked different, in 1968.

When he traveled with mom, first time on a plane
To visit some kin, he's forgotten their names
But he remembers the soldiers, still in their teens
In their spit polished boots and their pressed army greens
With the creases so sharp, and their faces so smooth
But their eyes looked so heavy, he wondered how they could move
Now he's got that same look, like his insides are black
He's in his mid forties and he has to go back
And he can't even smoke while he waits for his plane
The uniform's different, but the mission remains
To do like they tell you, don't make a fuss
Why's not an issue, so don't think too much
You just do what you have to, shut up and drive
If you come apart later, well at least you're alive
You can get you some help, you can deal with it then
And life will be better, 'til it happens again

'Cause there's something inside us that won't let us be
In stalks through our days 'til it's too dark to see
And it's damn near as deadly as Texans on ice
Lord don't they beat all
Y'all have a nice holiday.

-"Holiday"

James McMurtry

I Fought The Law

 

"Change is the Law of Life" 

- John F. Kennedy

I would hate to miss the future.  

-AK 

No Bones About It

Just the other afternoon, a man whose acquaintance I have made through a web site he runs and who I have come to know through the occasional exchange of e-mails and other correspondence although I shall likely never meet face-to-face since he lives in Montana, shared something on his web site so beautiful and so poignant that it moved me. 

Stuart's web site, CU At the Game (For The Informed CU Fan), is usually CU Buffaloes-centric.  Friday afternoon, however, Stuart shared with the world a heartfelt, moving essay he entitled, "The Story of Tori".  I cannot commend it heartily enough to your attention.  

What he wrote resonated with me because it was less than three years ago, on March 3, 2018, Margaret and I had to put down Rosalita, our beloved Shetland Sheepdog.  I make no secret of the fact that I prefer the company of dogs to the company of humans.  I make no apology for it either.  I searched and found what I wrote the very next day.  It lacks Stuart's eloquence but it came for a similar place, which is the broken heart of a human who had been reduced to a blubbering heap by the death of his faithful canine companion. 

I called what I wrote - through tears if memory serves - on March 4, 2018: 

A Promise Kept   

The Missus and I bade farewell to our sweet, insane Rosalita yesterday. Shortly after the first of the year, her annual checkup with the vet revealed kidney failure.  We were told she might have less than a month or she might have as much as two years.  Upon being told that terrible news we made a promise to each other - and to Rosie - that we would do all we could for her to keep her well and to keep her comfortable but, also, we would not make her endure any undue suffering for our benefit. In other words, we would not be selfish. Margaret took her to the vet on Friday. Rosie had been struggling the past few days and when the vet ran some tests, our worst fears were confirmed. She was in fact failing badly. It was not fair to prolong her discomfort. 

Hers had been a good life these last ten and one-half years.  I hope it was anyway.  I know she added immeasurable joy and quality to mine and to ours. We would not and could not compromise its quality as she reached its end solely because saying goodbye to her would break our hearts. 

We kept our promise...

Rosalita 

...it was the very least we could do. 

And it broke our hearts.  As we knew it would. 

Sleep well, sweetheart. 

_________________________________________________________

Three weeks after saying goodbye to Rosie, we welcomed Sam into our home. She was only a ten-week-old puppy when we adopted her from Home For Good Dogs Rescue in Berkeley Heights.  We were told that she would grow to be "25-30 pounds".  She has in fact grown to be sixty-one pounds of hound dog hellfire and enthusiasm.  She did not take Rosie's place for the two - in every conceivable way - bear little resemblance to one another.  She has, however, done Rosie proud.  She has filled the void left in the hearts of Rosie's beloved humans by her death... 

Sam I Am - October 2020

...which role we hope Sam I Am has years and years left to perform. 

-AK 

 

A Testament to the Endurance of Ideas

Fifty-seven years ago today President John F. Kennedy was assassinated while his motorcade snaked its way through Dealey Plaza in Dallas, Texas.  He was scheduled to speak at a luncheon before the Dallas Citizens Council.  The speech, which he never gave, remains as relevant and timely today as it was on the date he intended to deliver it. 

Fifty-seven years ago.

On this very day.

We in this country, in this generation, are - 

by destiny rather than by choice - 

the watchmen on the walls of world freedom.

We ask therefore that 

we may be worthy of our power and responsibility,

that we may exercise our strength with wisdom and restraint,

and that we may achieve in our time and for all time

the ancient vision of "peace on earth, goodwill toward men."

That must always be our goal,

and the righteousness of our cause 

must underlie its strength. 

For as was written long ago:

'except the Lord keep the city, 

the watchmen waketh but in vain'...

This Nation's strength and security 

are not easily or cheaply obtained.

There are many kinds of strength

and no one kind will suffice...

Ignorance and misinformation can handicap the progress

of a city or company, but they can,

if allowed to prevail in foreign policy,

handicap this country's security. 

In a world of complex and continuing problems,

in a world of frustrations and irritations, 

America's leadership must be guided 

by the lights of learning and reason -

or else those who confuse rhetoric with reality

and the plausible with the possible

will gain the popular ascendancy 

with their seemingly swift and simple solutions

to every world problem. 

President John F. Kennedy

Speech (not given) to Dallas Citizens Council

November 22, 1963 

-AK 

Have Gavel, No Need To Travel

Very excited and honored that I shall spend my Saturday morning (and my Sunday morning) as a judge in this year's Scarlet Knight Mock Trial Invitational presented by the Rutgers University Mock Trial Association. 

Way back when, in February 2019, I was a judge at the Princeton Regional Tournament of the National Collegiate Mock Trial Championship and I had a blast of a day.  It was being given a B-12 IV, being in the presence of the teams of college kids working together to try their cases.  A lifetime ago, when I was an undergrad at CU-Boulder, I have no idea whether we had a Mock Trial Team.  Truthfully, if we had, I would not have cut the mustard and made its roster.  I devoted my free time back then (in addition to putting together a kick-ass intramural Ice Broomball Team) working hard to earn my varsity letter on the "Consumption of Alcohol Equal to My Body Weight" Team and the "How Many Sheep Must I Hallucinate That I'm Seeing Before I Know I've Ingested Too Many Shrooms" Team.  With respect to the latter, field research proved the number was six. 

But I digress. 

2020 being the buzzkill that it has been, the young men and women competing today and tomorrow shall try their cases virtually, via ZOOM.  Your Honor, sorry I mean Yours truly, shall be home in a quiet room making rulings via ZOOM.  I am sorry that I shall not have the chance to meet the students in-person.  Perhaps if I distinguish myself this year as a judge, I shall be invited back to do it again some other year.  Maybe even one in which strangers can gather safely without endangering one another with a single cough or sneeze. 

All rise!

Sammy Davis, Jr. - "Laugh In" 

-AK 

The Nikic of Time

 

It was thirteen days ago that a bespectacled young man made himself a bit of history. Chris Nikic is twenty-one.  He is a Special Olympics athlete.  He has Down's Syndrome.  On the evening of Saturday, November 7, 2020 (probably while my lazy bones were splayed across a chair in my living room watching the mighty Colorado Buffaloes upset UCLA in their season opener), he became the very first person EVER with Down's Syndrome to complete a full-distance IRONMAN Triathlon. 

Presuming you have ever driven a mile on a roadway in these United States, you have seen people touting their completion of an IRONMAN Triathlon.  

They are ubiquitous.   

I do not know if young Mr. Nikic owns a car.  If he does, he has earned the right to adorn his ride with his IRONMAN Triathlon decal.  Under the rules of the competition, he had seventeen hours in which to complete the 2.4 mile open-water swim, 112 mile bike ride, and 26.2 mile run.  He crossed the finish line of the third and final leg, the marathon, in 16 hours, 46 minutes, and 9 seconds.  A testament to his grit and determination and to that of his coach and guide, Dan Grieb, who was with him every stroke, pedal, and step of the way. 

How did this young man overcome the hardships of this event to attain his goal?  By doing the same damn thing he has done to overcome the hardships of his day-to-day to live his life.  He underwent open-heart surgery when he was five months old. His body was so weak and his balance so poor that he was not able to walk on his own until he was four years old.  His parents fed him baby food until he was six to keep him from choking.  And yet he persevered.  Each time life knocked him on his ass, which it certainly appeared to take a perverse delight in doing, he dusted himself off, picked himself up, put one foot in front of the other, and kept moving forward. 

Congratulations to an extraordinary young man on this history-making accomplishment and for being an example for people everywhere - even those of us who are likely to never make his acquaintance or to shake his hand. His indomitable will serves as a reminder of the old adage that life is neither fair nor unfair.  It simply it what it is and it is whatever you make of it.   

Well done, young man.  Thank you very much for the reminder. 

By any measure, Chris Nikic comes up big.  Very, very big. 

-AK 

At Times Like These, People Still Feel The Chill

Although I shall never be mistaken for one of the world's more benevolent souls, even I have causes that are near and dear to the charcoal briquette that plays the role of my heart (to limited acclaim I might add). One such cause is the annual Big Chill 5K at Rutgers University.  I owe a debt to my sister, Jill, for having introduced me to it, which she did way back when in 2008.  

Rutgers University's purpose in putting on the Big Chill 5K annually is to take care of those less fortunate in and around New Brunswick, including but not limited to children for whom Christmas might simply be another bleak day on the calendar.  For years, entry into the case was paid by donation of an unwrapped toy with an approximate value of $15.00, which toys were then wrapped and distributed to kids for whom the toy they received via the Big Chill was the only one Santa was leaving 'neath their tree.  

COVID-19 has forced the Big Chill 5K to morph into a virtual event this year.  Although participation in it this way will deprive you of (a) battling frostbite as you line up outside the College Avenue Gym in the wee small hours of a December Saturday morning; (b) running up George Street (emphasis on the word "up") to the 1-mile marker; and (c) seeing firsthand the incredible stack of toys from one baseline to another on the far side of the College Avenue Gym, your virtual participation will provide real benefits.

This year's edition of the Big Chill supports two charities:  Winter Wishes, an  annual holiday-themed event that provides over 400 New Brunswick pre-school children with gifts for the holiday season. The second is the Rutgers Food Security Fund, which provides food weekly to Rutgers students experiencing food insecurities. Your $20.00 registration fee enables you to complete your 5K at any time between December 12 and December 20 (including on a treadmill in a climate-controlled setting if you desire) and nets you a quite spiffy-looking RU winter hat.  All that for $20.00?  

Here is the link if you want to register. I already have.  C'mon, I was going to pass on a hat?  Did I mention it has a red and black pom-pom on top? Even though I suspect my globe-sized cranium will expose the lie that is "one size fits all", I am happy to accept the challenge. 

-AK  

 

Jersey Boys

You're my Chinatown baby

Sittin' on the front stoop

Crying out the crazy.

-"Chinatown"

Bleachers

I am fast approaching my "mid-fifties".  I have lived my entire life, which I know has a "much longer than mid-fifties" feel for those who regularly interact with me, in the State of Concrete Gardens.  I was born here. I live here.  I shall, in all likelihood, die here although on a date later than that most people I know are rooting for and/or have played in the pool.  

I am a Jersey boy. I have no desire to relocate to any other state.  I have no desire to pretend I am from elsewhere, such as New York City.  I love where I live.  Always have.  Is it expensive? Yes.  Is it overcrowded? Yes.  Is it paradise?  Not even f*ckin' close.  It is for me what it has always been.  It is home. 

We have the Shore.  Obviously, New Jersey is not the only state that has beaches.  Nevertheless, the Shore is very much a Jersey thing (and not because of that inane MTV show).  Unlike California, Florida, or Hawaii, we are not blessed with "endless summer".  We have fifteen or sixteen summer weekends annually.  That is all.  No more.  For me at least, the secret sauce in the Shore's appeal is not limited to those hot, humid beach weekends.  It is found in the "off-season" when the places that were packed from Memorial Day to Labor Day are now much less so (and a number of them are, in fact, closed) but the beach and the ocean are right where they have always been.  The Shore's beauty is not diminished by calendar page or temperature reading.  Recognizing and embracing that fact is very much a Jersey thing. 

 

While I have been an ardent fan of Bruce Springsteen's music since I was a very young child (thanks to my big brother, Bill), Bleachers is a band with whom I had zero familiarity until (I think) a couple or three years ago.  Jack Antonoff, who fronts the group and its principal creative force, is unabashedly a Jersey boy.  Just the other day, Bleachers dropped two singles from an album (I'm old so I still say album) scheduled for release in 2021.  For one of them, "Chinatown", he enlisted Mr. Springsteen's assistance.  It is, for me, 4:41 exceptionally well-spent...

...and not simply because of Mr. Antonoff's choice of t-shirt, which is inspired.  If you watch the video, you will see the shirt of which I speak and immediately know what I mean. I neither know nor care whether you shall appreciate his clothing choice as much as I do. 

It's a Jersey thing.

-AK 

 

Taking Cicero's Advice

The Missus returned from her Colorado adventure just the other day and in keeping with our plan, to keep safe those with whom I share my home and those with whom I share my workplace, her return prompted my temporary relocation to our little Paradise by the Sea.  

In between role-playing as a third wheel at Jill and Joe's, I have spent a considerable amount of time simply running and walking around Lake Como, Belmar, and Spring Lake, taking in the beauty of what I see around me and paying attention to Cicero's words of wisdom. 

This past Friday it rained (steadily and occasionally hard) most of the day.  The skies finally cleared shortly before 4 pm.  While I am an early-morning runner by habit, on Friday afternoon I became a "right-about-sundown" runner by necessity.  

September 11 Memorial - Spring Lake

Sundown - Friday, November 13, 2020

Beach - Spring Lake

Sundown - Friday, November 13, 2020

Saturday morning demonstrated yet again that weather has no memory.  The gunmetal gray skies of Friday afternoon had given way to a simply beautiful sunrise. 

September 11 Memorial - Spring Lake

Approx. 20 minutes before sunrise

Saturday, November 14, 2020 

Beach - Spring Lake 

Approx. 10 minutes before sunrise

Saturday, November 14, 2020

Beach - Spring Lake 

Approx. 10 minutes before sunrise

Saturday, November 14, 2020

My "action plan" for Saturday included going to Pat's to get my hair cut.  Unfortunately for me - and very fortunately for Pat - when I arrived at his barber shop at 7:15 am, five people were already waiting for him to open, which he does on Saturday at 7:30 am.  In the spirit of football season,  I called an audible and ran some other errands, which had me home and settled by mid-morning.  Other than watching Rutgers play at 1:00 pm and the now 2-0 Colorado Buffaloes play at 3:30 pm, my day was wide open.  

So I went for a walk. 

Being anti-social since birth, COVID-19 has simply reinforced many firmly-held personal beliefs regarding people and why it is best to avoid contact with, well, most of them.  Although it was a bit brisk (it is mid-November in Jersey after all), late Saturday morning the boards in Belmar were filled with people out running, walking, and enjoying the weather.  Fortunately, since I was wearing shorts and flip-flops, seeing all these folks on the boards, I called my second audible of the morning and traded the boards for the beach.  I ended up walking down by the waterline north from the 17th Avenue Beach to the Belmar Fishing Club at the Shark River Inlet and then returning to the 17th Avenue Beach the same way.  

Belmar Fishing Club Pier - Belmar

Late Morning - Saturday, November 14, 2020

Belmar Fishing Club Pier - Belmar

Late Morning - Saturday, November 14, 2020

Mussel Beach - Belmar

 Late Morning - Saturday, November 14, 2020

10th Avenue Beach - Belmar 

Late Morning - Saturday, November 14, 2020

Shameless Self-Promotion - Belmar

Late Morning - Saturday, November 14, 2020

Sunday morning, although the weather app on my phone informed me that with a wind out off the east/southeast at eight miles per hour, the "real feel" temperature when I left for my morning run just about sunrise was only 37 degrees, I was actually quite warm.  In fact,  I felt as if I had overdressed for the occasion.  Internal combustion issues notwithstanding, it was simply a beautiful morning. 

September 11 Memorial - Spring Lake

Sunrise - Sunday, November 15, 2020

September 11 Memorial - Spring Lake

Sunrise - Sunday, November 15, 2020

16th Avenue Beach - Belmar 

Approx. 15 minutes after sunrise

Sunday, November 15, 2020

16th Avenue Playground - Belmar 

Approx. 15 minutes after sunrise

Sunday, November 15, 2020

Shortly before noon on Sunday, I decided to go for another walk.  I headed up 17th Avenue to the boardwalk and the beach, took off my flip-flops and headed south.  The wind was whipping out of the south at, I believe, between 20 and 30 miles per hour.  It blew so hard in fact that it blew the blue skies under which I started my walk clear out of the jurisdiction and replaced them with skies of a decidedly gun-metal gray hue.  Although I had no clearly-defined destination in mind at journey's beginning, at some point, irrespective of the wind blowing in my face (or maybe because of it), I decided that I was going to walk the beach south to Sea Girt, which is a distance of roughly two and three-quarter miles.  

Am I ever glad that I did.  On my way south through Spring Lake, I passed the Essex and Sussex House.  In the early 1900's, the first of several fatal shark attacks that served as the inspiration for Peter Benchley's Jaws happened right off the beach in Spring Lake. The victim was a young man who worked at Essex and Sussex, which at that time was a hotel.  He decided to go for an ocean swim on his lunch break.  Spoiler alert:  He did not punch back in. 

A trip to Essex and Sussex House had been - until 2020 - a rite of Memorial Day weekend for me for the better part of a decade.  The finish line for the Spring Lake Five Mile Run is just south of Essex and Sussex House.  When I used to run longer distances on a regular basis, one of my regular running routes took me past it, coming on going, on my journey to the southern end of the Spring Lake boardwalk. Since I rarely - if ever - run five-plus miles these days, prior to Sunday afternoon I could not remember when I had last seen it. 

Essex & Sussex House - Spring Lake 

Sunday, November 15, 2020

Now I can. 

As I walked past the southern end of the Spring Lake boardwalk and continued on towards Sea Girt, I encountered what I presume the town fathers of Sea Girt have deployed on the beach as a deterrent, intended to keep riff-raff such as Yours truly, from feeling their sand 'tween my toes.  Their nefarious plot failed.  It did not stop me!  Truth be told, it was so big and so cool-looking it did slow me down...

Sea Girt Defense Driftwood

Sunday, November 15, 2020

Close-up look of Sea Girt's fearsome deterrent

Sunday, November 15, 2020

...if only to take a couple of pictures of it. 

One of the nicest things about walking by yourself on the beach - in addition to giving your mind plenty of space and time to wrap itself around the things about which you need it to wrap itself - is you can look like a cross between a psycho killer and something found floating near the Wreck of the Hesperus and no one gets close enough to you to criticize your appearance.

That which the cat dragged ashore - Sea Girt

Sunday, September 15, 2020 

As I trekked my way north to Belmar and, thereafter, home, the wind continued to howl.  However, it was now at my back.  It not only blew hard enough to carry my fat ass home but it blew hard enough to blow the gun-metal gray skies out and replace them with a new set of sun-soaked, bright blue skies.  Judging from the attendance at the gulls' afternoon meeting, I was not the only beach lover who welcomed the sun's return. 

Can you guess "the word"? - Spring Lake

Sunday, November 15, 2020

A visually stunning end to an unforgettable afternoon.

Homeward bound - Spring Lake

Sunday, November 15, 2020

As it happens, old Cicero was a pretty smart cat.  You can do much worse than follow his advice.  Trust me.  I know of which I speak. 

-AK 

 

 

She's A Total Blam-Blam

In a year in which the United States has elected its first female Vice-President (nice way to mark the 19th Amendment's Centennial, America), the Miami Marlins hired the eminently-qualified and universally well-regarded Kim Ng as their General Manager. She is the first female GM in MLB history. She is, in fact, the first female GM in any of the major, male North American professional sports leagues (MLB, NBA, NFL, or NHL).  

Not to be outdone, Midshipman 1st Class Sydney Barber shall command the Brigade of Midshipmen at the United States Naval Academy beginning in the Spring of 2021.  Sydney Barber is an African-American woman and shall be the first African-American woman to command the Brigade of Midshipmen. 

The sound you hear, in addition to glass ceiling shattering...

...is David Bowie counting in the band. 

-AK 

Oregon and the Exploding Whale

If you are not a reader of The New York Post, then you perhaps do not share my appreciation for stories found there (and perhaps nowhere else) and the headlines that announce them. 

By way of example, I did not know until I perused the Post's web site earlier this week that Thursday, November 12 was the 50th anniversary of an (the?)) "infamous Oregon whale explosion".   Truthfully, until I saw the headline I had no idea that exploding whales were a problem anywhere, including but not limited to the great state of Oregon. 

With all due respect to Cincinnati's most famous and well-respected newsman, Les Nessman, turkeys hitting the ground like bags of wet cement has nothing - NOTHING - on the fresh hell that Oregon TV newsman Paul Linnman and his cameraman, Doug Brazil, endured on a beach in Florence, Oregon a half-century ago (do yourself the great favor of watching the entire video and doing so with the sound on to enjoy Mr. Linnman's reporting).

You shall never hear "Thar she blows!" quite the same way ever again, right?

-AK 

Our Old LaSalle Ran Great...

Twenty-eight years ago, an incumbent President, a Republican, lost his bid for re-election.  His defeat in 1992 marked the end of an extraordinary career in public service, in terms of its length and of its breadth, for our nation's 41st President.  Until this year, it was the last time an incumbent President had lost his bid for re-election. 

On January 20, 1993, prior to leaving the White House to attend the inauguration of his victorious opponent, President George H.W. Bush composed a short letter that he left in the Oval Office for the its new occupant, Bill Clinton to read when he walked into the Oval Office for the first time as President of the United States.  

"The Letter" 

January 20, 1993

Those were the days.  Indeed they were. 

-AK 

  

Answering the Call Up

Proof perhaps of the old adage that someone's good luck is often another's misfortune, a few days ago the New York Yankees announced that beginning in 2021, their Double-A affiliate shall no longer be the Trenton Thunder.  The Bronx Bombers shall continue to have a Double-A affiliate that calls the Jersey side of the Hudson River home but, beginning in 2021, the affiliate shall be the Somerset Patriots. 

The Patriots, a charter member of the independent Atlantic League, have called Somerset Ballpark in Bridgewater, New Jersey home since the Atlantic League's inception in 1998.  In the past (almost) quarter century, I have made the ten-minute trip to Somerset Ballpark four times, one of which was to attend the Big Apple Circus with the Missus.  While the ballpark is beautiful and it is incredibly close to my home, nothing about independent minor league baseball ever really grabbed me. Rob and I went once when former Yankees Tim Raines and Pat Kelly were playing for the Pats in an effort to make the U.S. Olympic Baseball Team.  We also went once when Jose Canseco and his brother (Ozzie, I think) came to town as members of the Pats' Atlantic League rivals, the Newark Bears.  My only other trip to Somerset Ballpark was with Margaret and Joe when we attended a game as part of a fundraiser for a cancer charity. 

I do not know how long the marriage between Yankees and Patriots shall last, although one thinks at least until the parent franchise has wrung every makeable dollar out of jingoistic giveaway days and marketing campaigns.  I do know that having a Yankees affiliate playing practically next door will increase the likelihood of me taking in a game with a great frequency than the one game every eight year pace I have been straining to keep up since 1998.  

Unless they raise the ticket prices to ridiculous levels, it should not be too hard.  

-AK 

Dreamin' These Dreams For Free

This has been a decidedly difficult week for my favorite hound dog.  Sam I Am's favorite human has been out-of-state spending time with the Colorado branch of the family business.  While Sam has still had Joe Joe with whom to pal around, she has been less than excited by the "quality time" she and Yours truly (a/k/a "Tertiary Tim") have had together, time spent running together excepted of course. 

Truthfully, she is out of sorts because she while she does not know where Margaret is, she knows that she is not here with her.  In Sam's world, all that matters is being in the presence of those who love her and who she loves most of all.  

Next time I make fun of my dog for being not as smart as us humans, I will need to remind myself of how she has behaved all week.  Seems as if she understands what is important in this life just fine, thank you very much.

-AK