A Good Time At 7000 Feet

My family is small.  Two daughters and their husbands, a grandson, a brother, his wife and son, two first cousins and a second cousin comprise the entire posse.  My late wife's family is, by most measures, a considerable collection of brothers, sisters, aunts, uncles, nieces, nephews and cousins numerous enough to require name tags to keep things straight.  It's a jolly clan in spite of political and geographical differences.  They genuinely care for each other and it works.  Luckily the Buckinghams continue to consider me a part of the clan and include me in their family celebrations,  for which I am grateful.  

This past week three of my nephews hosted a celebration of life for their parents at Sylvan Lake Lodge in the Black Hills of South Dakota and most of the family made it.  It was an unforgettable few days of laughter, great food, water sports, hiking and sightseeing in one of America's best locations.  If you haven't been, put it on your list of places to see before it's too late.  At least see Mount Rushmore.  It will make you proud to be an American.

Here are a few pictures...

George and the boys.

Getting around in the Black Hills is often interesting.

Fun at Sylvan Lake

Daughter, Katie, and her family

These guys like me because I gave each their first illegal drink.

Have you noticed how much younger pilots are these days?

Buckingham, party of thirty, your table is ready.

Raise The Drawbridge! Just Say NO To Hollywood North...

Hard to beat this.

Uh oh, there goes another one.
Cars with California plates have begun circling the neighborhood and it's getting a little scary.  Denizens of the once Golden State, apparently weary of insane taxes and the endless frustration of one party liberal lunatic rule, are in the process of discovering North Idaho and Coeur D' Alene in particular.  They have checkbooks at the ready and aren't afraid to use them.  TMZ has taken to calling our little slice of paradise "Hollywood North" because of all the celebrity ex-pats who've discovered the area.  Kanye and Kim anyone?

When I fled San Diego county four years ago for the shores of Lake Coeur D' Alene I thought it would be years before others discovered this dandy hideout but, according to the latest statistics, I now live in the fastest growing county in the fastest growing state in the union.  Crap!  Houses and condos all around me are selling at an amazing rate and price doesn't seem to matter.  All the gold in California gives every impression of no longer being in a vault in Beverly Hills in somebody else's name but northbound in a great big hurry.

So long peace and quiet.

Just last week two of my nearest neighbors sold their home to a couple from Santa Monica and yesterday my next-door neighbor, Cool Rick, a successful local real estate tycoon called to let me know that he just sold his place for a crazy amount of money and said he had several out of town jaspers ready to buy mine should I care to cash in.  It's not often you get the chance to double your money in four years.  Maybe it's worth thinking about?  I wonder what the market is like in Alaska?  I do have to live somewhere and could maybe get used to wearing a parka in June while dining on smoked moose and whale blubber.  Texas has some appeal, the only drawback being that it's full of Texans. The Black Hills of South Dakota are beautiful and still relatively undiscovered.  Deadwood has gambling too!  North Dakota?  Twenty million acres of cow toilet has little appeal.  Back to Florida?  Nah, it's full to overflowing with New Yorkers and assorted East Coasters looking to dodge ridiculous state tax bites.

What is a retired dilettante to do?!  Californians are on the way to Idaho towing their lifestyle behind them.  The 'hood could soon be gnarly.  I wonder if they know about our winters, or the bears?  We do have bears...and they're HUNGRY.  Bring cash and food.

Cool Rick: "I got their cash and I'm NOT going to Disney World!"

Bloody Mary? Bloody Crime!

A bloody crime!

Nothing exceeds like excess and there is excessive mischief going on in the world of adult beverages.  With stealth and a persistent effort to top each other, bartenders nationwide have taken to turning the most dependable and heretofore delightful eyeopener, the Bloody Mary, and created something very close to brunch at Caesar's Palace.  Whole chickens, hamburgers, skewers of shrimp,  assorted vegetables and scotched eggs are being jammed into perfectly good and, until now,  wonderfully simple tomato juice and vodka combinations.  These $50 and $60 abominations sport cutesy names like: Monster Mary and Chubby Mary.  Spot on monikers but lousy cocktails!

Where's the dog?

Why do some people feel it necessary to mess with perfection?  A Bloody Mary should be easy enough for shaky hands recovering from the previous night's debauch to prepare with ease.  As a public service this blog is ready to demonstrate proper Bloody Mary making simple enough for even the most intellectually challenged of us to master.  Don't mess this up!

All American Bloody Mary!

cocktail prep

If you have chicken, hamburgers, shrimp and other foods carefully prepared, put them on a plate and give them to the dog.  All you'll need for a perfect Bloody Mary is booze and some form of tomato.
For this demonstration I found myself without tomato juice and found that it really didn't matter.  A couple of tomatoes or maybe a splash of ketchup should do the trick.

Any vodka, tequila or gin will suffice as your basic cocktail building block. (NEVER RUM!)  A couple of ice cubes will give the drink a bit of a chill but always beware of using too much ice as it can promote choking.  Fewer ice cubes also promotes safer drinking and walking as the beverage will have a "see through" patina to it.  (Safety first!)

I hope you have been taking good notes as the weekend is here and it's time to put on your party pants.  If you've followed my directions correctly, you have the perfect tall and frosty Bloody Mary containing all the essentials of sloth, envy, greed and delusions of grandeur needed for the perfect weekend drink.  I give you, the"See Through Mary".

Cheers! See you in re-hab!

All Those Young Faces...

 I went in search of nostalgia when I made my way from my house to the local 4th of July  parade on Wednesday.  Coeur D' Alene, Idaho, my home for the past four years, now sports a population topping fifty-thousand but is still a small town in many ways.  We all know our neighbors, say "good morning" to people we meet on an early walk, pitch in to support local charities, all essential  elements of small town life .  In many ways it's reminiscent of the tiny Midwestern towns I called home in the 1950's and 60's.  

The parade route was packed with young and old alike and the weather was a perfect 72 degrees with clear skies, a welcome respite from what has been a too chilly Spring and early Summer.  Fire trucks, scouts, the VFW and the American Legion were well represented and it was good to see that there was at least one World War II vet still around to be honored.  The audience applauded and cheered the marchers, most now long past squeezing into uniforms that fit combat versions of themselves.  The crowd was there to celebrate being alive, free and living in a country blessed like no other.

 Then it happened.  Coming down the street six or seven abreast I saw what appeared to be marchers with placards nearly as large as they were.  At first it was impossible to see what message they bore but soon it hit me.  Each held a large picture of either a young man or woman in uniform with the dates of their births and subsequent deaths.  In every case the date of death was recorded in this new century.  Bright young faces normally looking forward to families, careers, and all the good stuff of life passed before me baring  2013, 2016,  even 2018 as the date the dream stopped.  There seemed to be so many, though I didn't count.  One small city and all of those names.  I began to multiply it by all the other cities and towns and felt ashamed that the wars in Afghanistan and Iraq had largely fallen off my radar.  It was surprising and disappointing.

As I walked home those faces filled my mind with questions.  The war of my era, Vietnam, was front and center in the daily news cycle.  The front page of most major papers had at least one or two stories with a Southeast Asia dateline and a continuing tally of casualties and fatalities often led television's evening newscasts.  In twenty years (1955-75) our country lost 58,220 young men and women only to find ourselves in 2018 still arguing over what exactly the mission was and where we went wrong.  One thing certain, most all of us were paying attention and were more than a little concerned about the loss of all those lives.  Was it because so many were draftees instead of volunteers?

I am embarrassed to admit that before seeing this assembly of way too many youthful faces now gone forever I had given little, if any, thought to the war in Afghanistan.  Why is that?  Why has the press ceased to provide full coverage of a war to which we have now given nearly 2000 young lives  and seventeen years of our time?   According to information I found on the net, the United States still has 14,000 troops in that dismal sand trap and our expenditures thus far stand at nearly three trillion dollars.  THREE TRILLION!  That's not counting the dollars spent in Iraq where we lost close to 5000 troops and still maintain a military presence.  I'm no dove and have always believed in a strong defense but at some point we have to wonder if slowly losing some of our best and brightest to a war so few of us appear to understand or care about should continue unexamined.  Maybe it's time to starting asking some questions of our politicians and the media.
Why so long?  What is the mission? How much longer will it last and at what expense?  Why is there so little news coverage?

Let's start asking for the kids who no longer can.

"A veteran is someone who, at one point, wrote a blank check made payable to the United States of America for an amount up to and including their life."