Help please, traveling friends

Once again I am back, seeking assistance from my favorite people.

It's cold in Mayberry. My barberette says there is no point to cold if you can't have snow, so with so much wisdom from the mouths of babes, I have decided to take matters into my own hands.

We're leaving, but not for long.

To celebrate our nuptuals I have booked room and board in Sanibel Island, Fla. from Jan 24-31.

We have never been there. Generally, we head to Key West, but Saniibel was muy cheaper and two days less driving.

So, is there anything to do there? Any don't misses? Any must avoids?

Thanks once again.
Toad

Short

My name is Toad, and I'm a lurker.

One site I lurk fairly regularly is Mossback Meadow, which I would describe as something like reading a small town newspaper, in a town you enjoy being in. Written by a woman who stops here periodically. She has a son who recently joined the Army and another child due in a couple of months. I cry reading many of her posts.

This story is for her.

I suspect all branches of the military have a similar practice. They may call it something different, but when I was in the Mo. Air Force National Guard, the most important status you could be was "Short".

Short was a nickname for a short timer. You were soon to be finished training, or about to be redeployed, or get out . You get the picture.

Back during the dark days of December 1970 and January 1971 I fought the battle of Lackland AFB in San Antonio Texas. Others called it basic training. After about 6 weeks they told us that if we could sew stripes on all our uniforms they would let us out the next day. Ever watch boys sew?

So they put us on a bus and chauffeured us to Keesler AFB in Biloxi Miss, to attend technical school. In typical Air Force fashion, we got there mid Friday evening, were shown to our rooms, and told to report at 9 am Monday. Not knowing anyone in town, and with a couple of friends from home in my unit, we tried to get the lay of the land. We found it in about 5 minutes. There were soda machines everywhere and they all sold beer, at a dime a can. Weather was better than we left too.

Monday morning was awful.

Whoever was in charge took roll and asked the new boys what class they were in. Once recorded, on a large bulletin board was written your name, class, expected graduation date, and short date. We hadn't a clue what short was, so they explained as such.

Every weekday, until you were short you were expected to show up at roll call and afterwards you were assigned some stupid clean up project, until noon. When you were short you were excused from this drivel. You became short when you had the same number of days left in class, that you originally had weeks.

In my case I would be short 20 days before the end of class.

Four days there and already I'm having trouble with my room mate. Poor kid's regular AF from upstate NY, homesick as hell and 10 weeks into a year long program, after which he could look forward to a year in Thule, Greenland.

Over and over he played the same gawd awful Joni Mitchell album, then cried himself to sleep. Knowing I was out in 20 weeks did not endear me to him. But I was young and figured I could live with it.

So we did our grunt work, had lunch and went to class.. Next day same thing, except. Towards the end of class the instructor, said, "Gents, I've got news for you. In its infinite wisdom the AF sees no need for you to learn the last 2/3 of the material presented, so you will be out of here in 3 weeks... 21 days". On our second day we were SHORT.

No more getting up early. No more floor polishing, window washing, trash hauling. We were kings. God, were we hated. You would have thought we invented stink. Never again did morning roll include us.

Just to prove that good things happen to idiots, in 3 weeks I was sent to do battle at Jefferson Barracks, in suburban St. Louis, which is the oldest military base west of the Mississippi River. After a couple of days bothering people they had enough of us and sent us home. Told us to come back the second weekend of every month, for another 5 1/2 years.

Only problem was and it wasn't discovered until very much later, with our very little active duty time, we were not eligible for most of the GI benefits, and me a Viet Nam era veteran. (which I would never disgrace the honorable men and women who were there, by admitting.)



Toad

Mrs. T's Anniversary

Today is Mrs. T's wedding anniversary.


We were married on a unseasonably warm January Saturday 9 years ago, surrounded by friends and family, in a little Lutheran Lite church (UCC) about 15 miles from Mayberry.


Just to tempt the weather gods, our reception was held at Hunter's Hollow, a very small community 25 miles in the opposite direction from Mayberry.


Picture a V. Mayberry is at the bottom, the church at the top to your right, the reception at the top to your left. The only way to get from the church to the reception is through Mayberry. We were late for both events.

I remember the day before the ceremony having a tremendous sense of happiness. It hasn't left.

Toad

Daniel Craig on Charlie Rose

Did anyone happen to see Daniel Craig on Charlie Rose last night?

I apologize for the quality of the photo, but I hope you will understand.

Take a good look at the suit and tie. I doubt Mr. Craig buys off the rack or much vintage. is this one of those deplorable Brooks Brothers creations, or even less likely did he find a tailor who would sell his soul to recreate a 50's Mad Man suit?

Daniel is a very good looking guy, but he had to feel like a dunce putting this on.


Toad

An Editorial Rant

So I am wondering.

My generation has seen the death of good manners, respect for our common institutions and our children's self esteem. Its allowed Sodom and Gomorrah pass for esteemed travel destinations, and sluttishness, both male and female to become not only accepted, but lionized in the public entertainments. All this without outrage or shame. I weep for our future.

Like the natives selling Manhattan, we've traded our nations security and well being to Walmart in exchange of toys and trinkets, in an effort to enrich China and save a quarter on a tube of hair gel. Frankly, I don't understand, and probably never will.

So now we are in hot water. Times are tough throughout this country. You know how I know?

I went to the bank yesterday, and the tellers looked like adults at work and not ragamuffins. I couldn't let this pass unnoticed so I asked the boy in charge what was up. He said that as of January 2, and a large infusion of Federal largess, the bank was to be run as a business, and therefore business dress was required of everyone. Alleluia.

I for one am sick of professionals showing up at work looking like they would rather be on a golf course. In fact, Mrs. T and I abruptly left an appointment with an attorney last summer when he showed up in shorts. Didn't seem like a serious person to me, and he was outraged when I told him so.

So now its no longer business as usual. Professions of all sorts are going to jump through hoops to demonstrate their value. I hope more follow our banks' example.

End of rant, my last for a long while. Thank you for your forebearance.

Toad

The Book of Obituaries

Ever read the Obits?

It's not as macabre as you might think. The worst part is that most of them are dry as dirt and are anything but interesting. I have always found them fascinating though.

Several years ago, I found a book which opened my eyes to just how much fun a newspaper Obit could be. It was "The Daily Telegraph Book of Obituaries, A celebration of Eccentric lives." Let me give you an example written upon the death of one Ian Board. "Board was an heroic smoker and drinker-until recently he would breakfast on brandy and he once consumed a bottle of creme de menthe at a sitting-and if his drinking destroyed his youthful good looks it also shaped and nourished his magnificent nose".

Or Denisa Lady Newborough, who has died at 79, was many things: wire-walker, nightclub girl, nude dancer and airpilot. She only refused to be two things- a whore and a spy-"and there were attempts to make me both," she once wrote. Ever read that in an American paper?


While I am neither recommending nor encouraging excess, wouldn't you love to be immortalized by someone who told the truth. This whole book is a praise to the stereotypical eccentric Brit.

Other editions celebrate the lives of war heroes, politicians, criminals and churchmen. You can find many of them at Alibris

Where all this was leading is this. British Obituaries are a much different breed of cat than you will find in America. They are funny. erudite, and mostly good natured fun in a way that no American would ever consider. While I cannot speak to the reputation or character of either of these, I hope they are not the English language versions of Pravda, I recommend that you take a periodic look at these.





Obituaries - Telegraph






Obituaries Times Online




You won't have a clue who the deceased are, but somehow it just doesn't matter.



Toad

Your house

I suppose that most of our homes are design compromises. A little bit yours, a little bit mine and some of ours. It probably depends on age, resources and how long you have been together to settle the mixture.

Some of his pieces set your teeth on edge, but take pride of place. You rid your home of them at the same psychic cost as throwing out his threadbare favorite sweater.

What if, one morning after brunch, he puts the paper down, looks lovingly into your eyes and says, "Darling, I've been wrong. My taste evaporated when I found you. I want to live in the world you create for us. Design our home however you see best, with my full support and nary a word of discouragement or complaint from me".

He is a gentleman, and he keeps his word! Always.

So what do you do? Light the fireplace with his grandmother's sideboard for kindling? Keep in mind you haven't won the lottery.

This was brought about by the lovely Hollister Hovey's blog, and the February House Beautiful view of Mrs. Blandings' and the Hovey's living rooms. I know my bride would quickly get the shakes at Hollisters. I'd just be settling in. We each loved Mrs. B's.

Unfortunately taste cannot be taught, but design certainly can be, and done well comfort and harmony result. For now, neither of us is giving in. That makes it all the more fun.

Toad

Ponder on this

Have you ever stopped to consider that the population density of Alaska is only 1.2 persons per square mile greater than that of the moon?

Pre Christmas Cook book search

First, thanks to all who offered their favorite cook book suggestions. I looked at all of them I could find and made decisions based upon a very discriminating criteria which I failed to mention in advance.

Cookbooks are somewhat like good porn, you know the one when you see it. So the book has to grab you visually. That is the problem with most church or Junior League cookbooks. They may have great recipes, but they do not visually grab your attention.

They need to be readable with adult eyes. If I have to search for my readers to cook broccoli, I'm not likely to open that book. Might make good bed time reading, but its not one I'd work with.

With these humble criteria I chose Martha's recommendation and brought home, Patricia Wells' Vegetable Harvest. It seems to have the right mix of things you'd actually do, with things you might enjoy eating.

Also, Vegetables Every Day by Jack Bishop. I do not know Jack from the Beanstalk, but his genre appears to be Italian, and there are a number of Italian influences in his recipes.

Those who know me have been shaking their heads for a while now. I have mentioned in the past that for a fat man I am a choosy eater. I'd almost rather eat feathers than my veggies, but Mrs T claims to want me around for a while, so like it or not I am going to be served ample servings of greens and yellows and reds, and whites.

So my cook book choices are somewhat self serving, if not for me whom?

Toad

Too much?

Gang, I ask semi-seriously, is this too much?

As a fat man, I do not especially care for the vast expanse of shirt which shows beneath an open sport coat. So I make some effort to camouflage it by wearing a vest or sweater vest under a coat. I find the change of texture or color a workable stylistic tic. So picture this sweater under a corduroy or brown tweed sport coat.

In the first photo, Ralph copied the young Prince's sweater then cut the arms off.

While I am half a foot taller, 100 pounds heavier and 30 years older than the lad in the picture, I wonder would it work? Would you encourage such a choice for wear around your castle? The auction ends tomorrow. Comments welcome, I can take it.

Toad

Doubt?

I was dragged off to the movies Friday afternoon.

The usual drill around here is that we take turns selecting movies, but anyone can veto, depending upon who it is. This was not my turn.

For whatever reason, I tend to select the chick flix and my hard headed bride goes for the more serious stuff. Today's choice was Doubt starring Meryl Streep,and a number of actors you have never seen of or heard of before.

Set in a Catholic school in the mid '60's school principal Meryl believes a priest is taking undue advantage with a young boy in the school. I kept waiting for"this kind of certainty comes but once in a lifetime", but I was disappointed.

It would probably make a great 3 actor play, but as a movie it's eminently missable.

Toad

Book Report Day!!!!!

This is not only a test, but further proof that history is written by the winners.


Think back to your American or World History classes. Ignore the Ericson family, who beat Columbus by about 500 years.

Columbus arrived in the new world in 1492, never once setting foot on North or South America. The English settled near Jamestown in May 1607 and were surprisingly met by English speaking natives. Brits hit Plymouth Rock in 1620. What happened in the Americas in the ensuing 100+ years between Columbus and Plymouth Rock? Were the Americas ignored until a Pilgrim said let's find someone to persecute, just as we have been persecuted?

No indeed, and give yourself one point for every time that Columbus returned, if you remember that he returned and 2 points if you know how many times he returned.


This is where the names you heard in History class come into play, but you have no idea who they are or what they did. De Leon, Cortes, Coronado any of this ringing a bell?

These are the Spanish conquistadors who either alone, in Cortes's case or with large parties in Coronado's were the first Europeans to explore what is now the US.

Cortes, virtually alone, left what is now Sarasota, Florida in 1528 and spent 8 years exploring most of the south through Ga, SC over hill and dale through Mississippi and La, across Texas and across Mexico to the Pacific.

Coronado and his party explored much of present day New Mexico, Arizona, Texas , Oklahoma and Kansas in 1540. Explored the Grand Canyon in 1541, and returned to Mexico in 1542.

The first English explorations didn't begin until 1584.


I have been reading A Voyage Long and Strange, rediscovering the new world by Tony Horwitz. I found it on Book TV, and it's one of those books that make ya say wow, I didn't know that. When I think of Spanish Exploration, my mind immediately jumps to Latin and South America. It's hard for me to put Wichita Kansas and conquistadors in the same thought, but so it is.

A great read, especially if you know as little of the American west as I do.

Have a great weekend.

Toad

Toad's Fantasy Garage

I used to be a car guy. The piles of junk I have owned over the years makes me weep to contemplate. Some I truly miss, especially the '65 Alfa GT. Some I couldn't get rid of quickly enough.

Still, I have a fantasy garage. The garage is mostly filled with cars that I would love to have, but have very little desire to own. My Range Rover County is an example. I'd love the yard sculpture, but the aggravation would drive me insane. Others are cars I would enjoy having, but really how much is too much.

Not that I am yet willing to consider a rice burner. I am still repulsed by the notion of approaching a stop light and finding 6 other cars exactly like mine waiting for me. I'd sooner walk. However, there is something to be said for a car that is as reliable as your kitchen stove. Maybe when I am younger.

So, the other day I was paying my annual property tax bill on my two cars, Camilla whom you have met, and my daily driver, an 1989 Mercedes 190 E Sedan. I hope the Benz will see me out, because as cars go, I kinda like it. Anyway the tax on the two cars is $46, so I can barely afford to be rid of them.

But still. I have always, maybe even in the womb, had a thing for luxury station wagons. It was a market niche that did not exist until recently. In my era if you wanted a wagon you got a Country Squire, and my dad was way too cool for a station wagon. I remember asking why Cadillac did not make a wagon and was told no one wanted a luxury kid hauler. I did. So what if I was 10.

So over the weekend I see one of the cars of my dreams for sale. An 80's Benz Diesel wagon. Maybe has 250,000 miles on it. Still smells like new. All for only $1000.

If ever you are in want of a little sport, try and talk Mrs. T into the practicality of owning a 20+ year old station wagon with a quarter million miles on the clock. If that's not sport enough try doing it the day you write the check for the property tax on the house.

For now it goes into the fantasy garage, next to the Rover, on the wall opposite the 1965 Ferrari 330 GT, which I would love to have in the barn, but have no desire to own.

Toad

What would you do for your pet?

From News of the Weird
To the Dogs

" A British surgeon will spend about $370,000 to equip her luxury home in Gloustershire with a state-of-the-art, three room suite for her two Great Danes, including cameras so that she can monitor them via the Internet while she is away" December 29, 2008

We have been blessed by my daughter and her husband electing to spend Kwanzaa with Mrs. T and I. We do not see enough of them and Mrs T loves to tussle with SIL's conceits, all in good humor and love of course, but still, she can't help herself.

SIL loves his two dogs. Dog 1 is daughter's 9 year old Golden Retriever. We learned the leash tied to Ted the Wonderdog's collar trick on this guy when he was just a pup. Dog 2 is SIL's foxhound. Two sweeter, friendlier, better behaved dogs you will never find.

These two pups understand that in their house SIL is the boss, then maybe my daughter, unless one of the dogs wants to be #2 that day. Everyone seems to be OK with that so who am I to suggest otherwise? Could be worse.

So this fall Dog 1 caught sick. Their vet suggested the dog might improve if many dollars transferred from their checking account to the vets. The money transferred, the dog got better, all are happy. Except Mrs T.

Mrs T immediately challenged the perceived wisdom of this plan. It was her strongly held belief, and one that Ted took an active interest in, that somewhere around 11% of the transferred funds Ted was a dead man. Or in her words, "it's a dog!"

So let's pretend for a moment that money is not an issue. Where do you draw the line with your pets? Does Spot get a better deal than Grandma? Just wondering.

Toad

check your TIVO

I hope it not just a local presentation, or another TIVO joke, but according to our TIVO, scheduled on PBS Wednesday evening is a replaying of the classic 1967 airing of Mark Twain Tonight, starring Hal Holbrook.

{In my defense, the PBS website has never heard of Twain, and plans on airing local boy Kevin Kline in Cyrano.}

I clearly remember the first airing. Holbrook was a young man then, but immediately you accepted him as a 70 year old Samuel Clemons. It caused me to read all of Twains books. Take up cigars too if memory serves. My favorite book is Letters From Earth.

If you haven't read it, try it, especially if you have a bit of flexibility in your religion. God knows Twain's did.

If I am wrong, just remember I was thinking about you.
Toad

Waterford/Wedgewood/Royal Dalton?

My first thought when hearing the news that Waterford, Wedgewood and Royal Dalton filed for bankruptcy protection in Ireland was what's this gonna cost me?

Infrequently, I react to bad news in the negative, and this was one of those times.

Apparently, the three companies were purchased by two rich brothers who overpaid and saddled the company with too much debt (sound familiar?). The slow down in the economy slowed worldwide sales and it became impossible to meet the debt service. Now they seek someone richer and smarter to buy them out. In the mean time, the combined company is continuing daily operations. (Much relief)

I was temporarily overcome with the notion that I would immediately have to take in a lifetime supply of glassware for not only my own household, but those of all my descendants, born or planned.

Since I won't have to, at least immediately, I am willing to write the bankruptcy judge extolling the virtues of the petitioners products, especially as vessels for Redbreast Irish Whiskey. In fact I may invite him over to personally observe how magnificently a Waterford goblet refracts the amber liquid and background fireplace. As long as he had come that far, it would be inhospitable of me to not at least offer a wee dram, so he could tell for himself. May change the course of history.

Toad

Candlebulbs

She made me work.

"Why don't you start in the dining room", she purred. "Count the silverware, count the glassware." Mostly boring stuff. Putting away the Candlebulbs is the saddest part of all.

Candlebulbs are one of my favorite house decorates. We drag them out for Christmas and one or two other occasions during the year and then tend to forget about them. Let me explain.

Candlebulbs are glass, screw in, candle holders. They live in the chandelier. You remove the light bulbs from your chandelier, and screw the candlebulb into the light bulb sockets. Once inserted, light the candles. While I am not an electrician, I'm told the glass candleholder acts as an insulator should you accidentally hit the light switch while the candlebulbs are in place.

For those who love candle light in dining rooms, nothing is cooler than a candle burning chandelier.

So why don't we use it more often? It's because of the candles. They are becoming difficult to find, and must be made of exotic stuff since they are becoming unreasonably costly, for what they are.

Anyone know any candle crafters? We are a couple of years from needing more.


Toad

I'm sorry

As Oppie says when you know better you'll do better, and so it is with me.

I had no idea I was promoting Noddas on my own blog, let alone captchas. I feel like an ass, especially after posting about them. I believe I have now gotten rid of them. If not let me know. I can change most everything, but the author and whatever comes out of his keyboard.

How else can I enhance your visit?

From small beginnings, a great year follows.

Toad

A youthful memory

Late Wednesday afternoon, the FED Ex man showed up with my semi annual Brook Brothers shirt delivery. Each year BB has their shirts on sale for 1/2 off the day after Christmas. With my additional 15% off its quite a deal. Mrs. T asked what was in the box, and somehow it carried me back to my wasted youth. I told her this story. She knew the principal characters from a different context, and is available to confirm some of the particulars.

Growing up, a good friend's father was a federal judge. To ease his life, he made a great effort to minimize the choices he had to make on a day to day basis. To get him out of the house faster in the morning, he always and only wore BB navy blue suits, white shirts and one from his selection of two or three ties. Black socks, black shoes. Six days a week, every week.

His four sons each took up the law, and eventually they formed a law practice together, with the understanding that there would always be an office for dad when he retired. Dad came sooner than expected and all went well until one day the oldest son showed up at the office in a pink BB button down collared shirt. The man was 35 years old.

Oldest boy got a dressing down that day that would make a Marine drill Sergeant proud. "Gentlemen of the law do not wear pink shirts", the old man is quoted as saying.

When son got home he tossed his shirt in the trash in front of his bride and children, explaining to all his day at the office. Rising to the occasion his adored bride called her father in law. In the Judge's eye, the sun and moon rose in her orbit, the woman could do no wrong.

"Papa" she said, "that was NO pink shirt. It was light red. I know because I bought it."

Within a week, the Judge had one too. Even wore it to the office once. On a Saturday.

Toad

Renovation Therapy's Auction

While I am recovering today, stop by our dear friend at Renovation Therapy RENOVATION THERAPY formerly I Love Upstate and participate in her on line auction. It's for a great cause.

Toad