Danmancle's Blog

So I agreed to come out of retirement to help a work friend by going to a job site for an agreed upon 5 weeks (beginning Feb. 10). No problem seeing as how the project was very close to our daughter’s home with two of our grandkids. Such a cool gig that my wife decided to join me to be able to do fun things with the kids (and go into Manhattan).

Fast forward 4 1/2 weeks.

Turns out that the project is located in New Rochelle, New York, and my last day on site was the day the governor of NY imposed a 1mile radius containment area due to the spreading coronavirus. The job was within the containment radius. I joked (tongue in cheek) that the company might as well have sent me to work at Chernobyl in the 80’s.

After driving home to NC my wife and I decided to cancel our upcoming trips and visits to other family members based on the probability that I may have been contacted by someone in NY with the virus and she in turn. To be extra cautious we agreed to self-quarantine ourselves the suggested two weeks in order to not pass along any bug.

So the big question is how long can we stay quarantined without driving each other nutso.  To be determined; to be continued.

So I’m not sure which is the most annoying consequence of having spinal surgery at almost 70 years of age- the back pain (to be expected), the 23 hours a day of either sitting or lying down, or the totally caught me by surprise added surgery bonus of being required to wear a catheter. I guess “wear” is not quite the appropriate word. It’s not like choosing a scarf or proper seasonal clothing – “so should I wear the blue polo shirt today or the catheter?” NO – it’s a bowling ball with a garden hose obviously put where a bowling ball and garden hose don’t normally reside.

Apparently, the surgical anesthesia puts the bladder into some sort of shock. The poor thing is scared and traumatized, and refuses to relax and return to normal. Until it does, I am forced to use the catheter. It has been nearly 3 weeks so far and I have been unable to talk it down from the ledge. This unintended consequence may also be an indication that the bladder was at the point of inefficiency and the surgery gave the bladder a chance to yell “see, I told you so- help me, help me”.  Evidently, I am just along for the ride. Well, me, the bowling ball and garden hose.

It has also hindered the scheduled rehab program.  Constantly being tethered with the catheter has created limited mobility. “Hey why don’t you come over for a couple hours and watch a ball game or movie while you recover”?  “Sure” I say – “can I bring over my bag of pee with me?”  Kinda limits the boundaries of recovery.  I go back to the Urologist tomorrow to try again.  So, it will be the end of my new companions or the beginning of a much longer-term relationship.  It would be nice to be able to concentrate on my back – which is why I actually had the surgery.

“A father holds his daughter’s hand for a short while, but he holds her heart forever.” – author Unknown

Running lines preparing for my next little acting gig as Romeo’s father in Romeo and Juliet, I was struck by how current my heartbreaking lines would prove. In the final act Romeo’s dad utters the very painful and very personal words, “O thou untaught! what manners is in this? To press before thy father to a grave?” modern translation – It’s not right EVER for a child to die before a parent. As a parent and grandparent, the thought is abhorrent.

Last month, the abhorrent became part and parcel of the reality presented to two of my friends. One of my dear friends from college informed me that his oldest granddaughter was in ICU and had been for two weeks. She seemingly had a bad cold that was disguising an autoimmune disease that put her into seizures, induced coma, fevers and all sorts of trauma. I was in his wedding, went to his oldest daughter’s wedding.  We both have daughters and granddaughters and compared notes over the years. His pain was real. His daughter’s pain was immeasurable while dealing with the unknown for Her daughter. After more than two weeks in ICU, the fevers broke, the diagnosis gave some hope for the future. She will be at risk for future episodes. They went through hell with fear, doubts, false promises and sleepless days and nights.

Another friend is one I mention often as one of my golf buddies. He also has daughters. We also compared notes. Last month one of his daughters also spent two weeks in ICU. Her long term illness created complications to her heart and internal organs. He also had sleepless nights, fear, doubts, trauma as he painfully watched her slip away. She did not make it. She will not have future hopes. Neither will he. A father lost a child. A child’s age or cause of death is of no consequence relative to the heartbreaking grief, and long suffering of a parent who loses a child. It’s not right. It’s never right.

It won’t be just lines in a play when our performances take place. It will be personal. I will not be lamenting for Romeo when I say my lines, but rather for Holly and her father, my friend.

The letters ICU should never be vocalized by a parent for a child unless preceded by the other words “peek a boo”. NEVER.

As I had written in a previous blog, I was afforded an opportunity to “act” in a Shakespeare play. I was given the part of Adam in As You Like It. I was also given the part of Hymen for the first week’s run, until the real actor was able to take over. My first and foremost character was a no brainer. Adam was a very old man anywhere from 80 to 97 years old. Perfect! I fit the bill. Let the fun begin.

I knew nothing about the acting craft – but would learn soon, and fast, if I ever wanted to do this again. Everyone was given their script containing the amended final version of the play. The Director said “whatever this paper reads – that’s what you say!” The Director is God! The stage manager is little god!  Side note- our stage manager was also our prompter. This person deserves sainthood. As prompter she had to be present for every second of every scene and be ready to respond the moment an actor shouted out “line”. She never got a break during rehearsals. She was like a cat with nine lives.

The systematic plan for rehearsals as I saw it goes like this: everyone gets a script, everyone reads the script out loud as their character comes in to play. This is done repeatedly for days. The next phase: you act out your part of the scene while reading your script but adding character mannerisms to the part. The next phase: you act out your part of the scene with no script in your hand but can ask for assistance from the prompter. The next phase: no script, no prompter, and you die alone on stage and wish you had never auditioned.

With rehearsals completed, we started having real performances with actual live audiences. Being new, I had no point of reference for this. Everyone had their “warm up routines”. I just stared into space wondering what on earth I had gotten into. I thought I had it down, no problems. Early performances were for a handful of sympathetic patrons and all went fairly routinely. “I could get used to this stuff.” I said to myself – easy peasy! BUT…

On the day of the big public performance, when the largest crowd of the run would be present-and my friends were coming and my family was coming and my grandchildren were coming…it happened…I choked, I froze, I lost it, I bit the big one…you get the picture!

My first real line, in the first act, in the first scene, of my first play I am supposed to put my hand on Orlando’s shoulder in the midst of a violent fight between him and his estranged brother Oliver and say ”Sweet Masters be patient, for your father’s remembrance be at accord”. 11 words – that’s all. Just 11 simple words. Everyone over 5 can recite the Pledge of Allegiance in school – that’s 31 words! We all can sing the 12 days of Christmas – it’s a Lot of words. It takes 11 words for most people to order their usual drink at Starbucks every morning.

But what I Actually said was…”uh…your brother’s membrance…please”. OMG what just happened? Don’t worry I thought, nobody knows the actual lines – EXCEPT the Director who is God, the stage manager who is little god, every single actor in the play or anyone who ever heard of the play, the prop person, every person who knows Shakespeare, and of course Shakespeare himself who was rolling in his grave!

But then came the actor’s miracle. Orlando, who sensed my impending demise(actually he saw the tears running down my cheeks, my lips quivering, the fear in my eyes and the pee running down my leg) and immediately, without skipping a beat, went to the next line as if everything was just fine – The show must go on!

I couldn’t remember 11 flippin words. Some of the actors had a gazillion words and some had to play multiple characters with different dialects and still remember a bazillion words. The Duchess was also Phebe. The wrestler was also the Duke. The other “white beard” was Le Beau, Corin AND was a musician. Little god had to mange scenes and become Jaques de Boys at the end. Rosalind was a girl and a boy! Jacques also had to sing. Celia had to be beautiful as a princess and an Alien(a). The wrestler’s beautiful assistant had to be Dennis, a lord and a valet as well as understudy for others! Oliver had to be really evil and then become a hero which is very hard to do wearing shiny girly blouses – but he succeeded! Silvius had to be love struck and clueless – nailed it! The poor Touchstone had to act off of three different actors playing William and all three did completely different versions! That was No fool! He was an absolute pro. Audrey had to act while carrying a goat – now that is dedication!

All the actors were selflessly dedicated to their craft. I could tell how much pride they all took in their performances. I was surprised and in awe of how they stayed in character everywhere they went while in proximity of the staging grounds. Orlando (the actor known as) would be talking to me as we walked through the woods between scenes and at first I had no idea what he was talking about but then awkwardly realized that he was talking as if we were having a discussion as our characters. I heard him having a long conversation with another actor “off camera” as it were and they were discussing obscure items in the forest and Orlando’s relationship with Rosalind – when no one else was around! My favorite example of such dedication to character was a comment made by Phebe while we were sitting around between scenes as she made a lengthy and well done,perfectly clever comment about another actor’s character BUT as Phebe in character complete with attitude and dialect.

These young (for the most part) adult actors accepted me into the fold, gave me guidance where needed, answers when asked, and boatloads of patience to me and my character. I must have made a great impression on my granddaughter. We drove by the library at Christmas and her mother said “that’s where Grandpa had his play”. My granddaughter looked at me (as I eagerly awaited a wonderful critique and praise) and said, “Yeah OK – where is your walking stick Grandpa – can I play with it”?

And yet, the craziest things happened during rehearsal. There was one time when… sorry – to be continued….–

I cried today. Twice. It’s not that I don’t cry. I am one of those people who cries at the drop of a hat – at movies, tv shows, Hallmark cards –I cry a lot. I am the father that cries at his daughter’s first steps, probably realizing that she is now vertical And mobile – I don’t have a chance!

But today was different. I went to visit my old workplace to have lunch with former coworkers and friends. When I entered the lobby I immediately started a conversation with a friend I knew over the years of working together. We shared a commonality of having gone to high school in the same area in a State several hundred miles away. Her parents still live in the city I grew up in so I always inquire of them first thing in our conversation. Just as I began to joke about her dad having to shovel snow soon- she gently said “my dad died suddenly last week”. I was absolutely stunned, not only by my horrible blunder but by the very fact that this friend had to bury her father just days earlier. I simply began to cry uncontrollably. It just washed over me and I cried. She immediately came up to me and hugged me and quietly kept telling me “it’s ok, it’s ok, you didn’t know”. We never know!

Later in the day I got a call from my mom in Florida. She said she was worried about Hugh, her husband. Technically Hugh is my stepdad but as they got married 18 years ago and he is 95 we kinda let that title ease on by. Mom said that Hugh’s best friend for decades had just called to tell Hugh “goodbye”. Hugh’s friend has struggled with poor health for many years and has been on dialysis 3 times a week. He called to say he was tired of it all, had stopped his treatments and was giving up. He said his doctor told him he would last about one week, so he was calling to tell his best friend goodbye. Mom said that Hugh didn’t say anything, but went out to the porch and sat down and has been silent. I cried. I cried for Hugh as he was losing his best friend. At 95 there aren’t any friends left to share things with anymore. This was going to be very hard for him and my mom.

Carl Sandburg said “Life is like an onion; you peel it off one layer at a time, and sometimes you weep.”

As I have often stated, my blog is for my grandchildren to read some day to learn about their grandpa. Hopefully they have learned that it is ok to cry. Sometimes it is the only thing to do.

Wow, I am a retired 68 year old grandpa and for absolutely no good reason I decided to become an “actor”. Apparently dementia has started to settle in. I made a decision to audition for a Shakespeare production. Yes, this is an actual professional theater group. The lead actors get paid and the amateurs get a T-shirt (I hope). So I figured I could do this – I have done public speaking, I love Shakespeare Theater, and I have the confidence to pull this off – or so I thought!
I chose, as was suggested, to prepare a short monologue to present at my audition. I decided to present the opening monologue from Richard III. How hard can it be? So I practiced day and night. I would add a line or two every day until I was able to do the required amount for my star presentation. I would recite to the couch and Grandfather clock in the living room. The clock smiled and rewarded me with chimes. The couch had no opinion but never criticized. This was coming along nicely. I could get up to three times without stopping or without error. Feeling good about my progress, I moved the recital to the outside deck. I would present my speech to the birds and squirrels in the back yard. After a few days, they began to show their appreciation. The birds would say “good job Dan, we’re counting on you”. The squirrels would stop and say “bravo good man, you’ve got this”. At least that’s what I thought they were saying. Things were looking good. There was just one more hurdle – I needed to test my monologue in front of my harshest, most honest critic and #1 fan – Peg. After a brief stumble at the beginning followed by much cursing (note to self not to do same at actual audition), I righted the ship and received accolades from my loving audience of one. Even the clock chimed in. I was now ready.
On the day of the audition Peg and I arrived precisely at the time they would start the process. I was second in line. People were beginning to arrive and filling out forms. I was starting to get nervous, I mean really nervous. I had never memorized lines before. Hell, I need to make a written list for more than 3 items when I go to the grocery store. I have never auditioned for anything in 68 years. Unless I count my proposal to Peg – and that was just as scary. A voice came from near the entrance to the official audition room. “Dan; Dan Manross? – you are next”. Peg had to stay outside with the potential actors gathering in groups so the last morsel of my moral support was now taken from me.
I entered into the audition room and started pacing. I asked if I could use the bathroom. There was no escape window. I came out and went back to pacing. Apparently I was really making a big circle in the room because I heard my name called and noticed someone had been following in my footsteps like following bread crumbs through the forest. The director said – “Dan, he just wants to say hello and shake your hand” (It was the Director’s husband simply being cordial). And then he left the room. Now it was just me, the Director and assistant director (who is also the lead actor)! I had no place to hide, and they were just smiling and staring at me. I felt like an old fangless cobra being watched by two mongooses.
“Whenever you are ready” came the Director’s voice. That was the cue apparently to start. Nothing else was said – just smiles and stares. Where are my birds, where are my squirrels? I thought I saw some through the window that maybe followed me for support – no chance – these were mocking birds! So I had no choice, I started my monologue…
I know there were words coming out of my mouth, my lips were moving. It was like I was the teacher in the Charlie Brown cartoons and all the Director heard was “Mwa, Mwa, Mwa…”. After I had said about one line I saw the assistant director twitch his head and start writing things down on a pad. “Hey buddy, can’t you see that I am talking here” is what my mind was saying. What was he writing? What did I do? What didn’t I do? Did I talk too fast, too slow, too high pitched, please don’t keep writing. Panic would be a mild description. If I pee my pants would they notice? Why is he writing? Then it happened…
I froze! I stopped talking mid sentence. I had forgotten the next word. That was just not possible – I was saying these lines in my sleep. Nothing I had imagined was as bad as this was becoming. I looked up and they were still smiling and staring. I was the proverbial deer in the headlights! After what seemed like hours passing by (probably 2 seconds) I got back on track and continued my monologue – by now drenched with invisible tears. I stumbled once again somewhere along the line but by then I was defeated, I just wanted to hear the final word of the monologue cross my lips. Then it was finally over – I assumed my new burgeoning career was also over. The Director said something like “that was fine, we have all made those kinds of mistakes along the way, now let’s have you read with the lead actor”.
I was asked to read lines from the actual play as the character I was auditioning for along with the character in the play who I would be acting with, who turned out to be the man with the notepad who had just watched me fall apart. So we read a few paragraphs together (no memorizing needed, so I thought) – well, I read, but apparently he knows every line for every character. So we finished and I was starting to feel a partial piece of dignity returning when the Director said “ok then, I see you can read, but now let’s try it again only with some feeling and emotion shall we?”. Can I use the bathroom again? Why can’t Peg barge in and save me? They were staring and smiling again. So I read the scenes again with all the emotion I could muster with peed pants and a broken soul. THEN, the Director said “I’d like to see you do one more thing – I want you to show me how you can lie down”. There is a scene in the play where the old man is weary and hungry and decides to halt the journey and just lie down and doesn’t wish to go any further. I said “you want me to just lie down”? “Yes” said the director so I pretended to be weary and worn out (did not take much pretending at this point) and just mumbled a few ad lib things and laid down on the floor.
I got up and they talked for a minute and were very nice to me and the Director said “that was very good – when you lied down – that was good”. So I committed to humiliating myself for a chance at a new adventure- the start of my “acting” career and the best thing I could do was lie down. The Director said I would be notified after all the auditions were completed next week.
As Richard the III so finely put it… “and that so lamely and unfashionable that dogs bark at me as I halt by…” I can never face the birds and squirrels again – well, maybe lying down.

P.S. – I got the call – I got the part.

I have 7 keys on my key ring and I know what 3 of them are supposed to be used for. It’s not like I am the junior high janitor with 237 keys dangling from a chain but it’s crazy not knowing why a key is in my possession. I have a drawer with several more keys and have no idea what they are for either. I even have a key hook plaque by the door with keys that I don’t know why I put there. They Must be important – they are right by the door.

I have a box in the shed with even more keys and again – no idea. The crazier part is I keep them because I just know that someday I will come across something that is locked and I will be able to say Aha – I have a key – now if I can only figure out which one. I know I have a key to my mom’s house in Florida but usually we fly there so I have no reason to bring my keys – so the key is on a hook at home with the car fob serving no useful purpose. My children have not given me a key to their houses (not so subtle hint, Dad) so I can’t confuse those. I have old job site keys that I should throw away but I can’t remember which ones they are! They say that we are heading to a day when everything is unlocked by facial recognition – that scares me – some days I don’t even recognize myself.

It all reminds me of Mister Jingeling from my childhood. This character would only be known to those of us children in the 50s and 60s who lived in the Cleveland, Ohio area. Mister Jingeling was almost more popular than Santa was to us kids. I can’t remember what I did yesterday but I can still sing the Mister Jingeling song. “Mister Jingeling/How you ting-a-ling/Keeper of the keys/Don’t you dare be late/For you have a date/On Halle’s seventh floor”. (I know it doesn’t even rhyme.)  I remember my mom and I taking a bus to downtown to go to Halle’s Department store during the Christmas season. Every kid knew that Mister Jingeling had a large key ring with all the keys to the Santa workshop. He was the Keeper of The Keys for Santa. He would unlock the door to Santa’s workshop for kids to visit Santa. He was assisted by the Play Lady and would appear on the Captain Penny show between Thanksgiving and Christmas. If you went to the seventh floor of Halle’s Mister Jingeling would give you a large cardboard key. If you put it under your pillow on Christmas Eve it would help you fall asleep and give you good dreams about Santa. In other cities you would probably get metal medallions or ornamental keepsakes or at least a popcorn ball– we got a piece of cardboard!

There are other images of “key keepers”. You often see guys on motorcycles with heavy key chains with lots of keys – I guess it keeps them weighed down on the bike. School janitors always had a big bunch of keys and inevitably they knew exactly what each key was good for without hesitation. Unlike me who has to try every key until I find the one that works. Store managers always seem to have a big pile of keys – hey, as long as they have one for the bathroom! Saint Peter is called the keeper of the keys to the Kingdom. I’m sure when I am standing before the pearly gates he first will ask me if I am supposed to be there (hopefully heavenly humor) and then mumble to himself something like “I know one of these keys must be the one, maybe I left it on the hook by the boat shed – wait here”. “Hey” I would say “you could try one of mine”.

One of the benefits of getting old is the “fun” things you get for free. As a retiree on Medicare you get to attend the Silver Sneakers exercise classes at the YMCA as part of your health benefits as a means to keep health and wellness a priority. There are various classes and instructors to fit schedule and degree of difficulty to which you want to attain.

My first attempt was telling. I assumed I was too young and fit to attend with all these “old” people. Some are in their eighties for Pete’s sake! So I settled in and chose the much heavier hand weights since I will show them how it’s done! Turns out these folk really know how to do this stuff! My class instructor was just an old lady I thought. It turns out she is retired military and used to be a drill instructor- holy crap. I was cramping in 10 minutes – how do these geriatrics do this for 45 minutes? I didn’t know my body could squat like that. (Actually it can’t) I haven’t done some of these exercises since soccer camp in college! How do they keep those weights moving without putting them down? I need to change my hand weights please (I heard a ninety year old in the back yell “wuss”). What? You want me to jog while holding my weights and keeping count? Oh wait!? I have to put the ball around my waist and alternate through my legs while jogging?

One redeeming aspect of this class besides it being good for me is that it is done to some really cool music. It makes the time pass better and the pain less noticeable. Besides, exercising to oldies has its reward. Most in the classes know all the words of the Motown sets, the Four Seasons, Beatles, Righteous Bros, Michael Jackson etc. One old dude and I find ourselves singing along with no fear of embarrassment.

It reminds me of my college days when my good friend Jeff and I would quite often double date which usually required dinner somewhere cheap. Jeff and I would sometimes spontaneously break out into a duo of the Righteous Bros hit we grew up with, You’ve Lost That Lovin Feeling! The problem was Jeff and I had a bit of ham in us so we would stand up in our booth, stand on the seats and most likely even got up on a table once belting out the song in front of our dates and the whole restaurant. The diners usually just smiled (it was a simpler time) – they had probably seen this act before – besides he was the handsome dude who could really sing, but I held my own. I was more Robin to his Batman. By now our dates just took it in stride and rolled their eyes – they had seen this stuff before and all was well, in fact Jeff would eventually marry his date. So that was in ’68 / ’69 and now I am 68 and Jeff is 69. Life moves way too fast.

So now at every Silver Sneakers class when I do attend, I look forward to not only moving my ass for a change, but singing along to a lot of memories. Music has a way of putting us into space and time moments like nothing else can. I’m sure someday our grandchildren will break out into smiles or groans when they are 50 and suddenly hear a chorus of “Let It Go” from Frozen or “You’re Welcome” from Moana pop up on a music device unexpectedly. Right now I just have to figure out if I can pull out of this squat without hurting more than just my pride. And don’t get me started about the deep water aerobics class – I’ve seen mermaids cry!

One of the many joys of grandparenting is the happiness that comes from having family join together at Christmas. Mind you, it can be a royal pain in the ass logistically and mentally at times but the fact that family members actually want to come together at a time of typical stress is actually comforting.

Ever since Peg and I have been together, our joined family of three daughters seemed willing and happy to come “home” at Christmas. Even though one daughter had already graduated from college and the other two were students, we managed to be able to gather together. The pure wonder and mystery of it all is that it continued as they married and brought their spouses home, and now with combined 5 grandchildren we still all manage to come together at our home for Christmas. Even as we all live, and have lived hundreds of miles apart, the old house (now 91 years old) still calls them back.

We know that this will not last forever and at some point each family will begin their own Christmas tradition. However, each year together has brought more and more memories – especially with little ones enjoying the house and tradition.

This year we had all 13 family members staying together on Christmas night. That is a lot of towels, diapers, toilet paper, meals, spills, cheerios, goldfish crackers, crayons, barbie doll parts, laughter, tears, cartoons, disney movies, and one tv football game squeezed in between several viewings of Moana, Lion King, Trolls, and Octonauts. It’s interesting over the years to see the changes in kids’ joys from my generation’s favorite Rudolph, and Frosty to the current Olaf and Elf on a Shelf (that damn Elf).

Gates at the top and bottom of the stairs kept the littlest ones from venturing into trouble but alllowed the adventurest “flying dragon boy” to show his gate climbing skills with glee and usual parental shrugs. The grandkids demonstrated their prowess as princesses, light saber experts, flying dragons, wizards and just plain wiggly, huggable, lovable grandchildren. There are lots of visual memories such as the little ones taking turns sitting at the kitchen island counter eating their breakfast or taking shifts at the “kiddie table” for meals, or taking turns in the swivel/rocker/recliner to see how much it can spin, or seeing how many can fit around the old den coffee table and color at the same time. Who knew that a toy dinasour or a Harry Potter book could elicit squeals of delight. The looks of wonder as they would count the stockings on the mantel and finally see the one with their name . The stack of shoes near the entrance doors usually brought a smile (and another memory). Having lived in New York (every grand child but one was born in the same Upper West Side hospital in Manhattan), riding the subways, walking in Manhattan and Brooklyn, you learn to never wear your shoes in the house.

It will take weeks to finally finish putting everything and every room back together. So far I have swept up 2,837 pieces of glitter from a new Princess Anna dress that Santa brought to one of the granddaughters. Yes, it was ingenious of her parents to have her put the dress on at the grandparents house so all the glitter would be gone for the trip home! It took a week for me to find my missing tennis shoe (found it in a clothes hamper under a pile of towels!). We momentarily despaired thinking we had lost a favorite ornament from the tree – then discovered it at the curb still hanging to a limb where the tree had been dumped awaiting the city to remove! We have loaded 21 plastic storage boxes of Christmas ornaments and decorations to go to the attic awaiting the next year’s gathering. There are always the items that someone leaves behind that need to be sent on or kept in a safe place to be taken next trip, but we always make sure that the little ones’ sleeping buddies are always accounted for – that would be nightmarish – literally!

I would gladly sweep up ten times the glitter and pack dozens more storage boxes to see the absolute joy again of a wish to Santa being fulfilled by a gleeful, adoring grandchild’s face and the smiles of happiness from a parent knowing they got it right! Seeing our family gather like this every year – we know we got it right!

How many of us have referred to the Bucket List as part of our wants for birthdays and now the Christmas season?  People usually have fairly lofty agendas for their Bucket Lists when young. We all want to fly to exotic places around the world and maybe see the Seven Wonders of the World. When I was younger I had a few items of interest, mostly as a sports fan. I wanted to attend all the “majors” in tennis and golf as well as the World series and the Super Bowl. That should take a while! Of course, as a born and raised Cleveland Browns fan, the Super Bowl was more than a bucket list item – it was a fantasy.  I did however attend a day at the Masters, and a day at the US Open (tennis) thus making a couple check marks off the list.

One of my more reasonable Bucket list items took place last week while Peg and I were in NY City. We went to see the Rockettes at Radio City Music Hall while checking out the lights and tree. Peg graciously accompanied me to see the show. When I was twelve I would see the Rockettes on TV and say “wow look at those legs”. Now that I am older, more mature and Peg and I are social ballroom dancers, I look at the Rockettes and say “wow look at those legs.”  It was a fantastic show by the way.

As we grow older our wishes and dreams sometimes become much more realistic and supported by common sense, even though we tease about a trip to visit all the places we see on our favorite PBS shows. I would say now that my bucket list destinations would be anywhere I am with Peg beside me. We are reasonably healthy, quite happy and enjoy so many things together. Our Bucket lists can literally be a bucket of sand on the beach, or a bucket full of water washing windows – it is all good.

As far as seeing the Seven Wonders of the World – I have already seen five of them – they call me Grandpa.