Ghosts Appear and Fade Away

For years, I’ve been wanting to make my way back to Chicago for a visit, primarily to reunite with the Japanese Giants Guys — the right dishonorable Bill Gudmundson and Ed Godziszewski — both of whom were among my closest friends when I lived in the Windy City in the 1980s, as well as several other wonderful folks in the area. As far back as 2018, Ms. B. and I had tried to plan a trip northward, but finding the time off from work, particularly with other obligations we had, never allowed for it. Finally, in early 2020, we had things squared away and were all set to go in the spring. And then... WHAM! Here comes COVID-19. And in 2021, our long-planned trip to Europe took priority over everything else. Thus, we had to postpone Chicago yet again.

But now... at long last... we’re on our way. Chicago... by way of Nashville, TN.

Some months ago, Ms. B. discovered that Colin Hay, of Men at Work fame, was scheduled to play at City Winery in Nashville in early May, and since both our birthdays are in early May — and both of us love his music — taking in his show struck us both as a mighty fine mutual birthday experience. And thus did the plan come together.

Sunday, May 1, 2022 — GSO to CLT to BNA

Long before the ass-crack of dawn, we were up and at ’em for a 7:15 a.m. flight out of Greensboro. We connected in Charlotte after the briefest of layovers — one of those run-through-the-airport-at-top-speed-or-miss-your-fucking-flight kind of layovers. I feel almost bad for plowing into at least one person as we made haste from one end of the airport to the other; I might even feel some honest-to-goodness bad if the person in question hadn't been one of a row of slow-creeping numpties taking up the entire width of the corridor. We made it onto the aircraft with moments to spare — we were literally the last passengers to board the plane. We were worried our luggage wouldn’t make it on board, but once we arrived in Nashville... happily... our bags showed up on the baggage claim carousel. Literally, the last bags unloaded from the plane.

From BNA, we took a cab to the city center and checked our bags into a luggage drop, since we couldn’t check into our lodgings until 4:00 p.m. We'd had no food — or coffee! — on either of our flights, so we immediately sought breakfast, which we found at a lovely place called Frothy Monkey. Our vittles proved delicious: eggs over medium, taters, bacon, toast, a Bloody Mary, and most of a pot of delicious coffee (as black as midnight on a moonless night). Happily, in downtown Nashville, there are geocaches aplenty, and so, after breaking the fast, we wandered and geocached. As afternoon approached, we walked up to the big farmer’s market near the Capitol grounds, just north of city center, where some of us cached and some of us shopped. One guess as to who did what. 

At last, after a brief stop at the nearby Publix to snag a few staples, we wandered back into the city center, grabbed our bags, and checked into our AirBnB, an industrial-style, reasonably comfortable place called Sonder-Dovetail on Church Street. After freshening up and relaxing for a time, we decided to seek dinner, which we found at an establishment called Puckett’s. I killed some better-than-tolerable beef brisket and Ms. B. demolished a pulled pork sandwich. This might have been followed by bit more geocaching. According to our phones' health apps, we walked just over nine miles today.

I had come to Nashville a couple of times for World Horror Con — way back in 1991 and 1992, I believe — but my memories of the city are hazy, at best. It is safe to say the first day of this travel venture proved pleasant.

"It's wine... wrapped in plastic!"

Monday, May 2, 2022 — Who Can It Be Now?

Window washers viewed from our window.
Not a job for which I'd be well-suited

Whose birthday is it? Surely, not mine. But wait....

Ms. B. and I slept in for a bit this morning because we could. We had picked up some light breakfast fixins at Publix, so we braced ourselves on coffee and yogurt before hitting the streets (which, given our heavier-than-usual diets since leaving home, was just the ticket). More geocaches (yep!) and shopping (yep!) awaited us in the very touristy Broadway area, so we added some additional mileage to the soles of our feet (which eventually began to bother Ms. B., for she is old and frail). There's a big-ass place called Assembly Food Hall with tons of restaurants and bars, so we stopped a little spot called Smokin' Chikin for lunch. Relatively light fare (except for the french fries) and reasonably satisfying. Then... wine time! There's a large wine bar/restaurant on the upper floor of the Assembly building called Sixty Vines, and between Ms. B. and I, we checked out a good half dozen of said vines. Our sommelier was knowledgeable, attentive, and a great conversationalist, so we give Sixty Vines high marks.

We returned to Sonder-Dovetail for a while to mellow a bit before heading to City Winery, about a mile south, for dinner and the Colin Hay show. We hung out on their terrace for a while, where I tried a couple of Jalapeno margaritas, the peppers in which turned out to be hotter than your average jalapeno, so I was happy.

City Winery is a lovely venue, with dinner tables set up in a relatively small auditorium. Once inside, we ordered big honking burgers for dinner, and these were delicious. Again with the french fries! (I am now thoroughly potatoed out.) Our table was the closest possible to the stage, so our seats were fantastic. We got to watch Colin Hay go at it from a distance of fifteen feet, with lovely lighting and an excellent, very clear sound system. Hay is 68 years old and still in fuckin' top form — his vocals sounded better than ever, he told many engaging anecdotes, and he played a few Men at Work favorites as well as many newer compositions. The show went nearly a full two hours, and the experience was a joy. The crowd clearly loved every minute of it.

Adding an unexpected and very enjoyable twist to the experience was my running into a familiar face in the crowd — a fellow geocacher who goes by the moniker MonkeyBrad. Brad is a Facebook friend, and for quite some time, his mug was literally the face of geocaching.com. His image was ubiquitous on the Geocaching site and in advertisements. Some time ago, he had purchased a copy of West Virginia: Lair of the Mothman — which I had autographed — for his son. I knew he lived in the Nashville area, but I had absolutely no expectation of running into him, especially at a non-geocaching-related event. We did get to have a couple of brief but pleasant conversations. So, Day Two in Nashville ended on an altogether satisfying note. Which, I suppose, is proper for a birthday I'm not really claiming.

By the time we hoofed it back to Sonder-Dovetail, we had put another seven-plus miles on our achy-breaky feetz.

View of downtown Nashville from pedestrian bridge over the Cumberland River

Old dude and Ms. B. sampling the fare at Sixty Vines in Assembly Food Hall

A delicious if junior-size jalapeno martini at City Winery

Tuesday, May 3, 2022 — Hurry Up and Wait

Our flight to Chicago was scheduled to leave at 10:45 a.m., and since we wanted to make sure we had plenty of time to get to the airport (during the morning rush hour), Ms. B. and I rose with the dawn. We had scheduled an Uber ride for 7:45 a.m., and our driver arrived right on time. Morning traffic did slow the ride, but we made it to BNA without undue delay. Naturally, about the time we arrived, a text notified me that our flight was delayed by 45 minutes. Well, at least we'd have plenty of time to get through security, have a leisurely breakfast, go pee, and such. About midway through breakfast at some airport restaurant, I received a text that the flight was now moved up to 11:00 a.m. Still plenty of time, so we didn’t rush to the gate. Once we did wander over that way, we discovered the incoming flight hadn’t even arrived yet. It didn't pull into the gate until after our “updated” departure time. So, not only was the altered flight time wrong, take-off was well over an hour late.

From there, our flight took a little over an hour to reach ORD. Lots of turbulence, but that’s not at all unusual for Chicagoland. The worst of it was being forced to listen to a boisterous know-it-all run his useless mouth at top volume for the entire flight, never once pausing to take a breath. He, I suspect, might have been responsible for the turbulence. We had reserved a car, and getting to the rental area required a long walk and a train ride. And once we got there... lord a’mighty... the place was almost empty except for our check-in counter, where a passel of very angry-looking people were gathered. It took a while to get things squared away at the desk, and we were told it would be twenty minutes or so before a car was ready for us. One livid, elderly woman demanded to talk to a manager because she’d been told twenty minutes but had been waiting for over an hour. This did not bode well. However, sure enough, twenty minutes later, the nice folks at the desk called us over, and... what do you know... they had a car for us. Getting to it required another fairly hefty trek, but at least things went more smoothly for us than they clearly had for most of those other folks there (I suspect they had not reserved their cars in advance).

We headed out of O’Hare into the afternoon traffic jam on I-90... wow, just like old times! Half an hour later, we arrived at our AirBnB, about three miles from the airport. It was the upper floor of a typical Chicago bungalow, with two comfortable bedrooms, a bath, and small kitchen. The only thing missing was a living room or other common area, but for the price we paid, one could scarcely complain. Once settled in, Ms. B. and I headed over to friend Bill’s place, just over a mile away. What a joy to see him again — and old friend Bob Scism was also here! After hanging out for a bit, we set out for Morton Grove, a few miles up the road, to have dinner at Pequod’s Pizza, which had been one of our favorite pizza restaurants way back in the old days. Here, we met friends Ed; his wife, Mariko; and Mike Paul. Another joyful reunion! And the pizza at Pequod’s was still as delicious as ever — unique even for Chicago, and certainly beyond compare of anything we have back home.

And there was a geocache on premises. Hell, yeah! Fortunately, for me, I snagged it quickly while we were waiting on the pizza.

Mike presented me with a copy of an old drawing (on a restaurant placemat!) of King Ghidorah that Bill and I had collaborated on sometime back in the 1980s. He had kept it on hand for all these years, and seeing that again brought back a flood of great memories. All in all, we had a wonderful little reunion in one of our favorite places ever. There are still more gatherings yet to come this week.

After another brief hangout at Bill’s place, Ms. B. and I made a supply run at the nearest supermarket and returned to our place. It was a long... LONG day, much of it spent in transit (or waiting for transit), but what a payoff at the end. A long-awaited homecoming, such as it was.

Pequods — the best anywhere

King Ghidorah, drawn on a placemat at Nancy's Pizza, by Bill Gudmundson and me, circa 1984

A ravenous bunch: Ms B, old dude, Bob Scism, Mike Paul, Ed Godziszewski, Mariko Godziszewski

Wednesday, May 4, 2022 — Our Shadowed Past

Hiding in the corner at Café Touché...

Ms. B. and I had a fairly early lunch date, out in Elk Grove Village, with old friend Bob Issel and somewhat newer friend Jeff Kenny. Our Shadowed Past — a collection of Dark Shadows memories — was Bob’s original project, but he, Jeff, and I became the creative team that put it all together back in the fall of 2021. We met at Sweet Baby Ray’s BBQ, enjoyed tasty lunches, and hung out yakking for a long while. Bob and I have a considerable shared history in our respective Dark Shadows–related creative journeys. As with all my Chicago friends, it’s been too long since our paths have crossed. Jeff brings in new talent and perspective to the table, so it was a treat to meet him for the first time.

After we parted ways, I headed after a few nearby geocaches. Then Ms. B. and I hit the road toward the city proper, figuring we could partake of a drink or two prior to heading back to our lodgings. We found a lovely little neighborhood bar called Café Touché, which fit the bill nicely. Wine for Ms. B., a gin martini for me. After that, we returned to our home away from home to refresh ourselves and make Ms. B. more presentable. Then it was back over to friend Bill’s abode, where we met his lovely and charming wife Gari for the first time. Bill hauled us to dinner at Kalbi Korean Restaurant, where we met old friend Alex Wald, another good friend I probably last saw before the turn of the century. Dinner was fantastic — our courses were brought to the table, where we roasted them over a flaming hot grill in the center of the table. I’ve had plenty of Korean food, but never in this presumably authentic fashion.

The creative team behind Our Shadowed Past: Old Dude, Bob Issel, Jeff Kenny

Dinner at Chicago Kalbi Korean Restaurant

Thursday, May 5, 2022 — Chicago de Mayo

In front of the apartment building where
Bill & I lived, many years ago

Ms. B. and I didn’t avail ourselves to any Mexican treats today, but treats aplenty we did find. This morning, we met Bill at his abode and then had a delicious brunch at his favorite coffee shop — Perkolator, on Irving Park. From there, Ms. B. and I drove down to Logan Square, where Bill and I lived back in the 1980s. There was a cache just down the street — or should have been — but after a thorough search, I am confident it’s missing. Sad!

After roaming Logan Square for a little while, we headed downtown, for what turned out to be a consistently drizzly day of walking around the northern end of the Loop. Ms. B. wanted to check out a paper store to pick up some of the papers she uses for her arts and crafts, so while she did that, I hunted a nearby cache — again, sadly, unsuccessfully. Apparently, many Chicagoland caches have gone missing and aren’t being maintained, which is pretty disappointing. But I did find a handful of particularly nice hides as well, so that made me smile real big.

Eventually, we wandered into Harry Caray’s Bar on Kinzie Street, which, in all the time I’ve spent in Chicago, I had never visited. A most pleasant experience indeed. Martinis for me, vino for the lady. I never realized the building was once owned by Frank Nitti, Al Capone’s number one man back in the bad old days. From the bar area, there’s a “secret” stairway down to his old vault room, which has been turned into a mini-museum. Kinda fun, I will say.

Again, out into the rain for a handful of caches, and another wine bar stop — a happy little place called Good Funk, but where we actually found some bad funk (wine, that is). Happily, our top-notch server gave us a couple of tastes for us to see what we liked because, in her words, “some of this stuff smells like it came from the barnyard.” No exaggeration. We did end up with some really good wine, though.

From Good Funk, a walk along the river to an establishment called The Smith, which we sort of randomly selected for dinner. Not even a little bit inexpensive, but the food was incredible. I had spicy roasted duck wings, and Ms. B. went with Spaghetti Bolognese, which was red-wine braised chicken ragu, parmesan, and basil. I sampled some of hers and was literally stunned by how delicious it was. I hate to say it, but it rivaled or surpassed most of the Bolognese that we had while in Italy. Yeah, it was that good.

By the time were were finished, it was getting late, so we made our way back to the car and headed to our home away from home. This little venture into the Loop was, to me, invigorating, certainly among of the most satisfying times we’ve had on this trip. The crowd downtown was actually the smallest I’ve probably ever encountered there. Traffic wasn’t bad, we had no delays getting in and out of any place we visited, and parking was quick, easy, and not all that expensive. Once back at our AirBnB, we decided to watch a movie, so we went with U.S. Marshalls, which neither Brugger nor I had seen for many a year. It was, as I recalled, quite entertaining.

And now... one more full day in Chicago before heading back home.

A mighty drizzly day in the city

At Harry Caray's Bar

Down by the lazy river

There was supposed to be a cache at the Homeless Jesus bench, but he wouldn't give it up.

Friday, May 6, 2022 — Sushi Station, Mitsuwa, and More

Old dude, Old Mr. Bill in The Library

I’m glad our day of hoofing it around the Loop was yesterday and not today because today it rained real water. Not that phony stuff that came down yesterday. Happily, for the most part today, we had roofs over our heads.

Once up and going, Ms. B. and I drove out for a couple of caches and then over to Bill’s place. We piled into Bill’s car, picked up Gari, and headed out to the suburbs, to Sushi Station, a lovely little Japanese restaurant in Arlington Heights. After a most enjoyable lunch, we trucked the short distance over to Mitsuwa, a large Asian market (back when I lived here, it was called Yaohan). Here, we browsed the bookstore and shopped for groceries — mostly for our evening dinner at Bill’s Kitchen. Once done, we hit the road for our return to Bill’s, only to be stopped by a parked train blocking the road. So... alternate route! Anyway, once back, we hung out, drank some wine, and made googly eyes at Bill’s impressive library. Sometime prior to dinner, longtime friends Jeff Osier and his wife, Cathy Van Patten, arrived, and — again — coming to Chicago brings us to yet another happy reunion.

Mr. Bill and Gari set up the fixings for okono miyaki, savory Japanese pancakes, which we prepared as we desired and grilled at the table. I haven't had okono miyaki since visiting Bill on some previous trip — probably in 2007, when I was here for a G-Fest (the last one I ever attended, I do believe).

Afterward, Ms. B. and I returned to our AirBnB and started getting things together for our departure on Saturday. This trip to Chicago meant a lot to me; it’s been in the works for many years now, and I hope there won’t be so many years before our next visit here. Truly, I still have more good friends here than anywhere else in the world, and even after such a long time, when we’re back together, all those years just kind of melt away.

Okono miyaki in the works

Bill and Gari preparing to attack

A Late White Christmas

Morning snow in Midland

It wouldn’t be Christmas without spending time with Kimberly’s parents, but at the best of times, traveling over the holidays is an exercise in madness and fury. So, for several years running, we’ve avoided the rush by celebrating with her folks later in January. Michigan weather can always be dicey this time of year, but so far, we’ve managed to make it there and back again without getting stuck somewhere in transit. This year, the pandemic added yet another complication, but our mutual consensus was that we should go forth, continuing to take all possible precautions. We’ve all been vaccinated and boosted, we have avoided other gatherings for the past several days, and we have KN-95 masks, for whatever extra protection they might offer. Fortunately, we were able to get a flight into Saginaw (MSB), which is considerably closer than Flint, our typical port of entry to Michigan (Saginaw is usually more expensive, but this time we found a decent flight deal).

Unfortunately, our regular house-and-cat sitter had come down with COVID, which we took as no good omen. Fortunately, we were able to engage a close and highly experienced friend to take on the task. Thus reassured, we began the next chapter in our ongoing series of Mad Midland Adventures.

Pilot, what the hell, man?

Friday, January 14, 2022

We had a 5:10 p.m. flight out of PTI, so Brugger and I both worked until three o’clock and then left for the airport. There, at one of the terminal taverns, I found a damned good Bloody Mary (my customary traveling spirit), which properly set the mood for the journey. Our flight to Chicago O’Hare took somewhat longer than usual, given a strong headwind and fairly serious snowfall in Chicagoland. But it was when we landed that I wondered whether our pilot was drunk or simply lost. Because of my longtime affinity for aviation, I’m pretty familiar with ORD, not to mention aviation protocol in general. Our taxi to the terminal from Runway 9R took 30+ minutes, due to our route from Point A to Point B extending to Point ZZZ before circling back on itself (see my GPS track log on the left). Fuck a duck, man! The main problem at this point was that I had to pee. All kinds of badly. It took every ounce of effort in this body to hold back the tide, but at last, we were freed. (Thankfully, we were sitting near the front of the plane, so we were able to disembark quickly).

With an hour and a half before our flight to Saginaw, we took the opportunity to grab supper (and another Damned Bloody Mary for me) at Chili’s (burgers and fries; not necessarily the greatest but reasonably satisfying). The flight to Saginaw took a mere 40 minutes — but due to the precipitation and frigid temperatures, the plane had to be de-iced prior to take-off. This is usually not a lengthy process, and getting to the de-icing bay didn’t take too long; but, for whatever reason, once de-iced, there we sat — for a long time (considerably longer than the duration of the flight itself). To my dismay, it was damned hot in that plane. And yes — you guessed it — after that much time, I had to pee again, so as soon as we landed and that cabin door opened, I fucking bolted.

In the terminal, we found Del & Fern waiting for us (they had arrived at the airport a little early, so their wait for us had been a long one). Happily, from MSB it’s only a 15-minute drive back to Casa di Brugger. A steady snow was coming down, with about 4 inches of accumulation, but the roads, as is typical in Michigan, remained relatively clear. So, once finally ensconced in Kimberly’s family home, we promptly crashed and burned for the night.

Saturday, January 15, 2022

Brugger enjoying hot coffee inside a warm car while old man ventures into the frigid cemetery on an
ultimately ill-fated geocache hunt

The first full day of any Midland trip is when we make the traditional provision run to Meijer. And so it was today. While Meijer, like just about every retail store, is currently shy of a lot of items, in general, we were able to find decent stocks of the staples we were after. Whenever we’re here, it’s my pleasure to provide at least a dinner or two for the family, and this time around, I’ve put Bolognese (a.k.a. Ragu) on tomorrow’s dinner menu. Kimberly brought some Paccheri pasta she picked up on our trip to Italy, which I hope will be a good match for the sauce.

This afternoon, Ms. B. decided she would accompany me on a coffee/geocaching outing, despite a little snow still falling and temperatures in the very low teens. Me, I cared not a whit about the temperature; it’s geocaching. Caching in the snow can be invigorating, though oftentimes one is limited to finding “winter-friendly” caches (meaning they’re placed so they’re not likely to be buried by ice and snow). Today, after stopping for coffee at Live Oak Coffeehouse, I found mostly a bunch of readily accessible park & grab hides, though I did have good fortune seeking a few for which snow and ice augmented their natural camouflage. The sole cache I failed to locate was in a cemetery — much to my chagrin, since I love cemetery hides. I think I even found its hiding place, but a heavy coating of ice rendered it inaccessible. I expect I’ll be able to verify whether my suspicion is correct on some future cache hunt when the weather is more cooperative.

While we were out, we noticed a massive dark cloud that stretched from horizon to horizon. We realized this was not just a cloud but a sizable emission from the Dow Chemical complex a few miles to the south. Unsure whether this might be a normal issue from a smokestack or some dire accident, Brugger decided to drive us down to Overlook Park, which occupies relatively high ground and offers a panoramic view of the Dow plant. Sure enough, we soon discovered that the massive cloud was, in fact, just a big old belch from a row of smokestacks. Fortuitously, I managed to snag a couple of more caches at the park.

Once back at Casa di Brugger, we enjoyed a fairly light dinner, drank a little wine, and spent a typically pleasant evening with the folks in the basement in front of the TV. A pleasing end to a pleasing day.

Big old belch from smokestacks at Dow, seen from Overlook Park. The massive plume went all the way
across the sky to the far horizon, which was darkly spectacular.

Sunday, January 16, 2022

Back home in NC, everyone is bracing for Winter Storm Izzy, which promises to dump considerable snow and ice on the southeast. For the cats’ sakes, we’re seriously hoping the power doesn’t go out at home for an extended period. After last week’s fallen tree debacle next door, we’re also hoping our place escapes any similar issue. At best, travel is going to be impossible for a day or so. Here in Midland, there’s no significant snow in the forecast, but last night about midnight, the thermometer read a brisk 0℉, and it was the same when I woke up this morning. I had initially considered getting in some early geocaching, but I suspect I’m going to wait until this afternoon, when the temperature is supposed to reach a balmy 29℉.

Noonish, I began prep on the Bolognese Paccheri for our midday dinner. It’s semi-authentic Italian, in that I use all the traditional ingredients but customize it a bit by adding mushrooms, green olives, and hot chili pepper. We had been shamefully remiss in our wine purchases on yesterday, for we had neglected to pick up Italian wine (I blame Brugger). In its place, I used a decent Zinfandel, which worked quite well. Having never cooked Paccheri previously, I wasn’t sure how long it would take to come out properly al dente; for our four servings, eighteen minutes, it turned out. It was, in fact, just right. And no one attempted to axe murder the chef, so I must consider this dinner a grand success.

Bolognese and Paccheri, cooking and almost ready

Plated, with fruit side and wine

Kimberly’s cousin Jeannie came by during the afternoon and brought us a beautiful, handmade gift for our wedding this past year. A delightful lady she is, and we quite enjoyed spending time with her. Kimberly and I then ran a few necessary errands, which took us to the Midland Mall, which put us close to a couple of geocaches. Afterward, despite the temperature of 15℉, we navigated to them and I slogged out into the cold, snowy woods (a good twenty feet or so) to make the finds. I tell you, caching in this kind of environment is certainly different from typical caching back home, and despite the discomfort, it’s all kinds of enjoyable.

For the evening, the customary gathering of the family in the family room. It’s a mighty fine place to be.

Monday, January 17, 2022

Tis a tad brisk.

From the intel we’ve so far received, it sounds like, back home, Winter Storm Izzy spared us its worst. We’re definitely hoping this is, in fact, the case.

Here, it was a comfy 22℉ this morning — perfect for heading out for a nice, long geocaching ride in the snow on the bicycle. Okay, not really, not for the bike, but fine for borrowing the family vehicle and going after some winter-friendly caches. I headed out into one of the few remaining areas of Midland I haven’t cached out and picked up an even ten, mostly of the park-&-grab variety. One in particular proved to be singularly impressive — one of the most deceptive hides I’ve ever seen. I’ve seen other caches similar to this one, but this one was the best. I’ll not identify the specific cache, but I will divulge that it was video camera attached to a large sign in front of a business. The hint on the cache web page was a few lines from The Police’s “Every Breath You Take,” so I when I discovered the camera — bolted in place with a real electrical connector — I knew I must have found the cache. Still, it looked so authentic I couldn’t bring myself to mess with it. Since the business was open and the cache page indicated they were aware of the hide, I decided to go in and ask the proprietor if he knew about the geocache on the property. He did indeed, so when I asked whether I had actually found the cache, he laughed and assured me that I had. He clearly appreciated that I made the effort to check first. I would have felt horrible — and been liable for damage — had I fucked with something I ought not have.

I gave this one an easy favorite point. And such are the joys of geocaching.

Come dinnertime, Ms. B. and I ordered Japanese — spicy tempura shrimp and a spicy crab roll for me — from Maru, which we had visited some time ago, pre-pandemic, and rightly enjoyed. It was pretty good. After that, the family settled in and watched a number of episodes of M*A*S*H, as Ms. B. had brought along a few DVDs from our full set. That, and a nice red blend occupied us until bedtime.

Nemesis

Tuesday, January 18, 2022

I woke up this morning after anything but the best sleep ever, my brain preoccupied with all kinds of worries, some valid, some needlessly exaggerated. The Rogue Brain at Night syndrome, or something such. Once fortified with a breakfast of egg, sausage, mixed fruit, and a shit-ton of coffee, out I went to look for a cache I had failed to find on a previous trip — which the cache owner swears is in place. It’s supposed to be an ammo can in a triple-trunk tree along a little-used road at the edge of town. Well, there is only one triple-trunk tree that I’ve managed to spot anywhere near the posted coordinates. It’s a great big one that matches the descriptions from both cache page and previous finders’ logs, and there is most assuredly no ammo can — or any other container — in or around this tree. A query to the CO indicates I must be looking in the wrong place. Somehow, I never thought I was that blind, and, to be honest, I still don’t. Nemesis, this cache is.

On a positive note, once I gave up on Nemesis in frustration, I noticed a new cache on the map not too far away. So, I made my way over to it — little more than a mile — and managed to snag the first-to-find. It’s kind of nice to log an FTF when I’m somewhere away from home. And from there, I found one other cache before heading back to Casa di Brugger for a much-needed refill of the hot coffee.

The folks and Ms. B. headed out on a shopping trip for the afternoon, so I watched Godzilla Raids Again for good measure and made some forward progress on my newest Ameri-Scares series novel, Georgia: The Haunting of Tate’s Mill. It’s been more or less on hold for too long a while as I’ve been working diligently on a couple of other new, exciting projects, one of which I’ll be posting about in the very near future. Stay tuned!

Our traditional evening gathering in the family room rounded out another pleasant day at Casa di Brugger.

Wednesday, January 19, 2022

Pour les bon moments

It was one year ago today that my brother, Alan (a.k.a. Phred), passed away from leukemia. Hard to fathom such a rush of time; it was just the other day, really. In some ways, emotionally, today feels like a rocky ride; in others, it’s easier now to remember the better times, much as it is with Mom’s memory. Here’s my tribute blog that I wrote shortly after he died: The Universe Takes a Good One, January 19, 2021

This morning, I went on my customary early geocaching outing — which started out frigid, for that wind was bitter. Fortunately, it died down after a relatively short while, and then 30℉ felt all nice and comfy again. Caching-wise, things didn’t start on a very promising note, as the first couple I hunted appeared to be missing. But once I headed farther north on some of the secondary roads, my fortune improved. I think I snagged thirteen total, and a couple of them were challenging. One was a magnetic nano on a light pole — about 18 feet up — whose retrieval and replacement required some creative improvisation. Another was one I had hunted while bicycling on a previous trip here, but it’s in a metal sheath around a power pole, too high to reach without something to boost you. The bike didn’t work for that purpose, but the car did. So I was able to turn that DNF frownie into a nice big smiley.

The family went out for their typical afternoon shopping excursion, while I got some writing done. Promo writing. My favorite kind of writing — not! Mercy, I hate promo writing. Kinda gotta do it, but I hates it.

Come dinnertime, Ms. B. and I wended our way to Whine!, which has long been one of our favorite Midland destinations for food and spirits. On this trip, we really haven’t been out for dinner and such, figuring the less exposure to the world in general the better. Unfortunately, it seems like, no matter where you go anymore, masks are a thing of the past. On the good side, while there were a fair number of patrons at Whine!, they had tables spaced out very well, and the air circulation seemed quite good. In the past, I’ve been fond of the martinis at Whine! — dirty gin — so I stuck with that tonight. It was excellent indeed. Ms. B. went for a Smith & Hook Cab Sauv, which I would call decent, if utilitarian. (There is not so much as a whiff of snoot going on here, is there?). She ordered Hurricane Shrimp — excellent! — and I decided to stick to a theme and have the Bolognese on Pappardelle pasta. And you know what? It was the best Bolognese I’ve had this side of Italy. Possibly better than mine, maybe as good as friend Beth’s. I mean, shit, it were dingy dang good! Compliments to the chef at Whine!, to be sure.

A final night with the family in the family room, and we could hardly have asked for a better time of it.

L: Ms. B. and wine at Whine! — something you never, ever, EVER see; R: Old dude oblivious to the threat of
wine barrels toppling on his unprotected head

Thursday, January 20, 2022

Chicago just out of O’Hare, on our way back south

The quilt Kim’s cousin Jeannie made for us

For the final day of our trip, we opted to stay in and spend the better part of the day with the family (the sub-freezing temperatures outside had nothing — nothing, I tell you — to do with this decision). I have much, much writing to do, so a little down time this morning to make some forward progress turned out to be a good thing.

Every trip to visit the folks in Midland is memorable, as this one has been. It was a bit more mellow, with fewer outings in public, since hardly anyone in the area appears to acknowledge there’s still a pretty ugly disease roaming the wild. Daily, I see reports of more and more friends coming down with COVID-19 — mostly mild cases of Omicron, fortunately. I feel certain that both Brugger and I — like virtually everyone — will end up with it, since at this point it seems pretty much inescapable unless one completely shelters in place, and I don’t think any of us are willing to go that far. But we do intend to continue taking every sensible precaution for ourselves and others. To quote friend Patrick, who is currently suffering a bout of COVID: “Fuck literally every human being whose decision tree made this more likely, and thank you so much to everyone involved in creating the things that make it more likely that my case is mild.” Hear, hear.

Au revoir, for now. Oh, and here is a little preview of coming attractions:

Art by Daniele Serra

Decompression

Skyhawk63 (a.k.a. Tom) preps the boat for a day on Belews Lake

Last week proved a not-so-easy one, as I had to focus on taking care of several estate matters — both for my mom’s and my brother’s — as well as putting in considerable time on the home improvement front. So I took Friday off and joined geocaching mates Rhodorooter (a.k.a. Dave), Old Robgso (a.k.a. Old Rob), and Skyhawk63 (a.k.a. Tom) for a day of boat caching on Belews Lake, a few miles northwest of here. Tom needed to do maintenance on several of his lake caches, so he had offered to take the rest of us out there to claim them. We had hot, if otherwise agreeable weather, and the caching couldn’t have been much more fun. My favorite — “The Lonely Bison in a Tree” — was, in fact, a bison tube in a tree. The tree was too spindly to climb, too stout to bend down to retrieve the cache, so the answer was to use a ladder to get up there and grab. I happily performed the necessary deed, and I didn’t even fall down go boom.

Three of the four old farts on our boat outing: Old Rodan, Old Rhodorooter, Old Rob

Speeding toward the Duke Energy power plant on Belews Lake

After the trip, I went forth to the old homestead in Martinsville, with more estate business to handle. I had not been looking forward to it, but I concluded the matter (I hope) without undue complication (I hope), so on that count, at least, I am satisfied (I hope).

Saturday morning, I hastened back home to Greensboro, where I quickly fed cats and then headed over to Brugger’s place. We then made tracks for the Nelsons’ place in Kernersville, for they had plotted an outing to Roaring River Vineyards and Jones von Drehle Vineyards over near Elkin. At Roaring River, we had a lovely lunch on the deck, which overlooked the Roaring River (why, yes it did). The wine there is so-so, though we did take notice of a couple of the reds. North Carolina vineyards tend to do better at whites than reds, but here, the reverse was true. Having completed our task at Roaring River, we mounted up and moved on to Jones von Drehle. I had not previously heard of this winery, but they apparently have big hopes, for they are doing some extensive upgrading to the property, including constructing a sizable amphitheater for live music shows. The wines here had a little more going for them than Roaring River’s, particularly their Cab Sauv and a blend of Cab Sauv and Norton. Make no mistake — in no way could we claim anything but an enjoyable time at both vineyards, and I would not mind revisiting either or both in the not-too-distant future.

On the way home, Ms. B. and I made a few late-night stops on the outskirts of Kernersville to pick up some recently published caches. I was too late to snag the first-to-find honors, but that really made no never mind; it was nice just to grab a few quick caches at the end of the evening.

The view from the deck at Roaring River Vineyard & Winery

The Wild Bunch in the vineyards at Jones von Drehle: Old feller, Ms. B., Beth, Terry 

This morning, a smaller-than-usual group Socially Distant No-Dead-Weight Irregulars — Old Rob (a.k.a. Old Rob) and Old Diefenbaker (a.k.a. Scott) — joined me for a Chapel Hill geocaching outing. A few newer hides in the Carolina North Woods, which we have frequently roamed and cached, awaited our attention, and we managed to snag all those we hunted. We put in a reasonably rugged five miles, which tired us old folks out something fierce. So we hunted down and killed lunch at The Spotted Dog in Carrboro, which has long been one of our favorite eating/drinking establishments in the area. Scott and I both enjoyed spicy bloody marys (a bit heavy on horseradish!) and we worried a couple of big honking turkey burgers absolutely to death. Thus exhausted, we quitted Orange County and returned home, where I fell over and went bOoM.

How ugly! Old Rodan, Old Diefenbaker, Old Rob

Turkey burger too big even for big mouth!

Lastly — and sadly — I must report the passing of my old friend, Lars Ullberg, who had been one of our regular gang in my Chicago days of the 1980s. I had no idea he’d been having health problems, but apparently so. As of yesterday, he was expected to undergo some rehab, only to be given the news he would no longer be able to walk. Then, this morning, I learned he had passed away during the night. While it was nothing like our face-to-face good times from all those years ago, we interacted regularly on Facebook, and it was always a pleasure when he posted on my timeline. His last post to me was just a couple of days ago. I’ve seen so many friends and loved ones pass away in recent days, I begin to understand the depression my mom was feeling before dementia robbed her of her memories, good, bad, or otherwise. Just last week, at Pleasant Hill, I found an envelope of obituaries she had collected. It was like an encyclopedia of every adult I had known  — and felt close to — since my childhood. Almost without exception, Mom’s closest friends had preceded her in death. I reckon every living soul has this to deal with in some fashion, some sooner, some later. I figure I’m facing this aspect of life — and where it’s headed — as healthily as I can.

Regrets, I’ve had a few. But then again, too few to mention....

A Completely Random Chicago Story

For about half of the 1980s, I lived in Chicago, and on the whole, I really loved it. The traffic could be hell and the winters were frigid, but it was rarely dull. Before getting married and moving to Des Plaines, a northwestern suburb, I shared an apartment with my friend Bill Gudmundson in Logan Square, on the near northwest side of the city, in an aging, three-flat building on Kedzie Avenue. One night — or I should say morning, as it was about 3:00 AM — I woke from a sound sleep to serious hollering from somewhere outside. I went to the window and saw, pretty far down Kedzie, a white dude in a tuxedo stomping up the road in the direction of my apartment. He was yelling at the top of his lungs, "You all eat shit! Every last one of you! You all eat shit! This would never have happened to me in Cleveland! You all eat shit!"

I didn't quite know what to make of this, and in my neighborhood, a lone Caucasian dude issuing insults at an insensitive volume might find his troubles compounded. So, after a bit, I yelled out the window, "Hey! Shut the hell up!"

"Hey, you eat shit!" came the response.

The dude kept walking and hollering, and after a while, he wandered out of sight and out of earshot. I went on back to bed.

I've always kind of hoped he made it back to Cleveland and that it proved to be a happier place. As for me, I ate no shit but gave folks aplenty.