Bombs in My Old Neighborhood.

I have a long history with the Boston Marathon; my first in the early 70’s was a revelation to me. I was behind the wheel of the Fairbank’s owned WKOX news car. ‘KOX at the time was the only broadcast outlet allowed to have a vehicle on the course. There I was in the station’s Mustang with Bob Bruce and Bill Galvin, driving right behind the “Statie’s” motorcycles and the photographer’s truck, positioned just ahead of the lead runners from the start in Hopkinton all the way to the finish line on Boylston Street in Boston. Every town you pass through on the course has its own unique way of cheering the runners on, from the beer drinkers at the Happy Swallow in Framingham, the Wellesley girls cheering, the families along Heart Break Hill, the crowds in Kenmore Square and the final turn onto Boylston Street and the finish line…the smiles, the cheers, the encouragement for the runners, more cheers for everyday runners than for the elites who were right behind our news car.

The Marathon, almost 40 years ago offered no prize money, it was and still is run by the BAA, a lot  has changed but the people along the course haven’t. I know people who have witnessed the marathon every Patriots Day of their lives. It’s always been much more than a road race. It’s a way of life, a part of life a celebration in the only state in the Union that still celebrates Patriot’s Day.

Later, I lived and worked in the part of Boston where the bombings took place yesterday, it hit me hard. I know those streets, walked them every day, I used to get my glasses and contacts at the store that the first bomb went off directly in front of. I worked in the Prudential Tower, just across the street from where the 2^nd bomb detonated.

I read earlier today that Boston is a tough town, but “once you’re in, you’re in”, how true that is. I live in California now, but I’m a Boston guy and have been since my early 20’s. I’ve gone to see the Red Sox and the Marathon on the same day. I’ve sat in the VIP stands and watched the race’s finish. Jan and I have watched the runners on Comm Ave from our roof deck. We’ve walked through the smiling crowds to get a beer and a sandwich in the middle of a Patriot’s Day afternoon as the last runners chug down Boylston to the finish line.

The Marathon, until now has been a celebration of a 117 year old race, a city, its people and the tens of thousands of people from all over the country and the world who come to run in the “Boston” to cheer for the runners, fast and slow and to be embraced by the people of Boston and all the towns along the route. This has had an effect on me that I could never have predicted; one of my first thoughts yesterday was “good thing the fire fighters of Engine 33 are close at hand.” Jan and I thought of our friend Mary who manages a restaurant right around the corner from the blast. So many friends and neighbors, so close, including Mrs. Lee at King Lee cleaners a block away on Newbury, the guys at DeLuca’s market, so many, so close.

Boston is a tough town, but under the toughness is a big, damn heart. Boston is where our country began, where the first shots of the revolution were fired, where the tea was dumped, the city where the British fled from the guns on Dorchester Heights, the town where Ben Franklin swam in the Charles and learned to write and print. Tough town, tough people.

Go to Boston some time, walk the history on the Freedom Trail, sit on a bench on the Common and contemplate it and take a look at the people. They’ll get through this and next year, on Patriot’s Day there will be another Sox game and a world class marathon to celebrate. They are too tough and too big hearted not to.

The Day I went Blind, a few more thoughts.

Yesterday after revisiting my hour of going blind, I thought about it off and on all day. I think one of the reasons I didn’t panic was, even though I was self-employed at the time. I had good insurance. My plan paid 80% of all costs up to 300k. My bill was 80 thousand plus for the 4 days.

How would I felt if I hadn’t any insurance at all? How would I have done if I knew I could have lost my job because I couldn’t get to work? What if I knew I wasn’t getting any pay because I worked for a company without any sick leave policy? How would I felt the day I left the hospital with a 17k bill hanging over my head if I made the median household income of (In Mass) of just over 60k? It would have been a third of my income in that scenario? How would I have paid it?

A few years ago there was a new bankruptcy law passed, typical of congress the hearings heard from the corporate side and not ordinary people who were affected by the laws changes. We heard the same old folderol about; people ducking their bills, running up huge credit card balances and walking away laughing, the picture painted was one of everyday folks taking advantage of American businesses. When the bill passed the credit card companies, the banks got what they wanted and the public was screwed in the deal.

Elizabeth Warren, the Mass Senator, was teaching at Harvard law School at the time. Warren was surprised to find that an objective study of the causes of bankruptcy had never been done. All of the info was from the corporate world. Warren headed up a study that looked at the real world of bankruptcy and found a completely different picture than the one painted during the hearings. One of the things that stood out was 54% of all individual bankruptcies are caused by illness, leading to massive medical bills forcing families to make choices on whether to eat or pay bills. Huge amounts of credit card debt was run up by these families and when the bills were finally looked at in detail, the purchases were for food, gasoline and other necessities of life. When things got worse for these families, they paid car payments, rent and mortgages and utilities on credit. With the new law, the credit card debt wasn’t dischargeable, you may be bankrupt but you still owe Visa and Mastercard.

Bankruptcy in the corporate world is an entirely different story; ask my wife she went through it twice when she flew for US Airways. US Air got pay concessions, a huge piece of the employee’s retirement fund invested back into the company so the executives could “save” the company. When they got through it with the help of the tens of thousands of employees, they re-organized and as soon as they could bankrupted the company again and got rid of pension obligations completely, cut insurance and pay again, closed bases and gave the CEO a big raise and bonus. The pensions are now operated by the feds (that’s you and I, by the way) Jan’s retirement is less than half of what she signed on for and paid into for over20 years.

People in our country are more interested in Dancing with the Stars than the real issues we face.

My hospital bill was 80k for just over 4 days; did I get better care than I would have gotten in Toronto, London, Paris or Oslo? No I didn’t.

We need to pay attention and not be distracted by shiny objects and stupid social issues that lead us away from real solutions. The answer in my mind is to stop chanting USA! USA! USA! and get our representatives to pay attention to what we want and need.

The gun lobby has won on the bodies of dead children, 90% of Americans including a majority of gun owners, republicans and NRA members want tough background checks, we aren’t going to get them. We aren’t going to get them because congress pays attention to lobbyists and business, the game is rigged and we are the losers, but hey USA! USA! USA!

 

The Day I Went Blind

At 80 miles an hour I lost all vision in my right eye, the eye just stopped working. I was in the left lane on Route 128 west of Boston. I worked my way over to the right through traffic and stopped my old Range Rover on the shoulder. I turned on the emergency flashers and sat there. I wasn’t panic stricken; it just seemed odd not to be able to see at all with my right eye. No half vision, no blurred vision, I couldn’t see anything, period.

I sat there for a few minutes and then one-eyed drove to a meeting at my lawyer’s office in the Wellesley Office Park just off 128 on Worcester Road. I got there on time, we discussed an upcoming zoning meeting and I left within an hour. I said nothing to my lawyer about what had happened. During the meeting, a sliver of vision came back, a narrow slot of vision on the side of my eye close to my nose.

After the meeting, I got in the Rover and sat behind the wheel for a few minutes. I drove from Wellesley down Route 9 to my home on Marlborough St in the Back Bay. On the way, I stopped at a traffic light near the Chestnut Hill Mall and another sliver of vision opened, this time it seemed to be in the middle of my eye and was only partially open, like a window with the shade halfway down. I pulled into the parking lot of a Starbucks, bought a coffee and while I was paying for it, my vision slowly returned. Tiny individual slots appeared and slowly opened, one by one. By the time I was back in the car my eye worked normally. I felt strange, but very detached from the entire process, almost like I was watching it happen on a movie screen to someone else. It didn’t feel like it was happening to me.

At home, I took the dog for a quick walk and then sat down on the sofa. Jan was in the air on her way home from Charlotte. I decided to call my eye doctor at Mass Eye and Ear. I told my doc what happened and he said to come over right now. I wrote Jan a note, left her the car keys and gave my dog an ear rub and a cookie. Locked up the condo and took a cab to Mass Eye and Ear.

Dr. Foster did a quick examination of my eye, brought in a neurological ophthalmologist to examine me. After a half hour of tests, they determined it had nothing to do with my cornea transplant. I was on my way to the emergency room at Mass General. I had more tests.  By 4 in the afternoon I was in a bed on the neurology floor. I was being pumped full of blood thinner. I left Jan a message on her cell phone telling her where I was and what I thought was going on. She was landing in an hour.

The head resident came in to my room; he looked about 15 years old. He told me I’d had a stroke incident, a minor one. He explained his diagnosis, a small piece of plaque from an artery had broken loose and had lodged in one of the arteries that provide blood to the optic nerve or to the eye itself and had shut off the vision temporarily. He said the good news is, my eye was working. I asked him what the bad news was, he said, you had a stroke and we haven’t assessed if there is additional damage yet or where the problem originated. He left.

Once again, I felt completely detached from the situation. Never the less I was in a hospital bed, hooked up to monitors and had two IVs in my left arm. At least I was in one of the best hospitals in the country. I had a roommate, another stroke victim; he couldn’t talk or move the left side of his body. He had spittle running out of the left side of his mouth.

Just before 5 the chief neurologist came in the room, he was about my age; he looked at my chart and said in a loud voice, “How are you feeling?” I told him I felt fine. He said, “Good”, I asked how long he thought I’d be here, he didn’t answer and left the room. I looked at my roommate and he held up a note pad that said, Asshole. I laughed and my roommate smiled with the right half of his mouth as best he could. My roommate’s wife came in, introduced herself and her husband, she was Mary Margaret and he was Brian, they lived in Charlestown. She looked exhausted as she sat by his bed and held his hand.

My cell rang and it was Jan, she’d just landed at Logan. She wanted come right to the hospital, I convinced her to go home first and feed the dog, change her clothes and then come over, it took a few minutes but she finally agreed. She called again from home, I asked her to bring me a few things, 90 minutes later she was in my arms. It felt good.

Jan was more worried than I was. Maybe I would be if I felt ill, I didn’t. I had no symptoms, I’d gone blind in one eye and it cleared up in a little over an hour. I told her the docs would get to the bottom of it, she was skeptical and upset. I told her I was hungry, I’d been given a cup of chicken broth for dinner; maybe she could go ask the nurses if I could have something from the cafeteria. When she came back, she said they’d bring me something, they did, another cup of chicken broth. Brian had the Bruins game on, Jan climbed in bed with me and the 4 of us watched the game. I wanted a beer, so did Brian.

A nurse booted our wives at 10pm. The Bruins lost to the Pens. I shut off the TV, Brian laid there and I read. I don’t know what time I fell asleep, I do remember nurses coming and going off and on all night.

I was awake early, breakfast was egg whites, scrambled and a piece of dry wheat toast, I bitched that I was starving and I got a bowl of Special K with skim milk. I was drinking a cup of black coffee when the Chief Neurologist came in with a herd of residents. They pulled Brian’s curtains shut and he ran through Brian’s diagnosis at the top of his lungs, when he finished he turned to me, he shouted, “Good Morning, how are you feeling, today?” He was flipping through my chart, not even looking at me, he turned to the residents and said, “He’ll be getting an MRI this morning and later a CAT-Scan.” They started to leave and I said, “Can I ask you something?” he turned with a scowl on his face and said “What?” I said, “I had a problem with my eye, not my ears, could you hold it down. I heard your entire discussion in the room next door and my roommate can hear every bit as well as I can, you don’t need to shout.” The Chief turned and walked off with his entourage. As they left, one of the residents, a young black woman turned and gave me a thumb up. Brian was silently laughing. I had two scans that day, it was Tuesday

On Wednesday my roommate Brian was ambulanced to Spaulding Rehab hospital, I got up and walked alongside his gurney to the elevator, he was on his back and I was pushing an IV stand with wheels. I shook his good hand and wished him well. I had more scans and several neurological tests.

More of the same on Thursday, one of the residents told me they couldn’t pinpoint the cause, but I was in good shape according to the tests.

My hospitalization continued until Friday Morning, 4 days of tests, more tests and then repeats of previous tests. I never heard more than a loud “Good Morning” from the chief neurologist; my information was coming from medical students, residents and the nurses. My primary care doc was out of the loop even though he worked in another wing of the building. Dan did drop by each day and read my chart to me, offered his take and went home. In reality no one really knew what had happened to make me go blind for an hour. Plenty of theories, no hard facts.

I went home at noon on Friday, Jan was out of town, it was a beautiful day so I walked to Charles Street, had lunch at the Sevens, an Irish Pub on Beacon Hill, I had my first beer since Sunday, a small salad and bowl of stew. Then I walked 14 blocks home. The dog was glad to see me, I was happy to be home. I put all my medicine away crawled into bed and took a nap.

Now you know as much as I do about how I went blind for little more than an hour. My personal share or co-pay for this adventure was $17, 363, including the drugs I took home to medicate myself.

My personal doc’s office manager got a couple of thousand knocked off the bill for non-essential billing.

I haven’t had a problem since this happened in 2000. It scares me more 13 years later than it did at the time.

First Time Camping with the Cakes

 “I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep tonight, do you think I’ll be warm enough? Are we safe from animals here?” her questions are coming non-stop; I’m not answering her while I put the tent up.

“Open me a beer, honey.” That’s my new answer for everything when I’m camping; she walked over to the cooler and got me a cold one.

 

We’ve driven to this spot south and above Ouray. We’re going to camp at treeline in the Yankee Basin. I’m puffing pretty hard above 10,000 feet; she and the dog are too. We’ve found a nice spot next to a creek; the previous users of this site left a nice cache of firewood.

My lovely wife hands me a beer, she looks great in her red fleece jacket, “What are we having for dinner?”

I take a pull of my beer, “I was thinking we’d have burgers and beans, sliced tomatoes, sound okay?”

“I don’t want a bun with mine.” She sniffs.

“Fine with me, no bun for you my dear.”

“How are you going to cook them?” she asked.

“I’m going to light that wood on fire and cook the burgers over the flames,” I said.

She looked at the wood and then at me and says, “Oh.”

“You told me you’ve been camping before, Honey”

“I went to camp every summer, not camping per say.” She said taking a superior tone.

“Ah, I see. Let me guess, you slept in cabins, ate in a dining hall and ran around all day doing planned activities.”

Continuing with her superior tone, “That’s right, I learned archery, swimming, crafts and I learned how to paddle a canoe.”

“They never taught you how to build a campfire?”

“No, someone built them for us, we’d just show up when it was dark and the fire was already going.” She looked off in the distance up the basin, “It isn’t going to snow is it?”

“What? Why would it snow, it’s almost July.”

“I was just wondering because there is so much snow up above us.” She was shading her eyes and looking at the snow.

“Sugar Pie, that snow is left over from the winter, it’s not going to snow tonight, it can’t, it won’t be cold enough to snow.”

“We told ghost stories around the campfire, Indian stories as well.” She smiled at the memory, I think.

“Should I tell you a ghost story tonight? Maybe I’ll tell you a few tales about the murderous Arapahos who used to hang around these mountains.”

She looked at me and said with another dazzling smile, “I’d like that.”

“What if I scared the pants off you?”

“I’d like that too.” She turned, wiggled her ass at me and walked over to the truck and brought back our folding chairs, the miserable kind that come in a carry sack.

Cakes and I weren’t camping as much as we were “Glamping”. We had an aluminum table, those horrible folding chairs, a big REI tent equipped with a double thickness queen-sized air bed. We had our own sleeping bags and a double sleeping bag, lanterns, pillows, buckets, basins, and rugs for the floor of the tent. Of course, we had our mountain bikes, two bags of shit for the dog. We had a new 4 wheel drive we stuffed it all in. We had bags for camping clothes, bags for hotel clothes, and clothing bags for dress-up clothes. The dog even had his own sleeping pad, he didn’t like it, he slept in-between us on the air bed. We had two coolers, one for food the other for drinks. We had wine, vodka, whiskey, and beer. Plus we have a big bag of snacks for us and one for the dog.

I opened the first aid kit and handed my wife two Tylenol, I said, “Take these before you get an altitude headache.”

“I won’t get a headache. I never get headaches.” She sniffed again.

“You will up here in the thin air, trust me on this.”

She shrugged her shoulders and took the Tylenol one at a time, each followed by multiple sips of my beer, she grimaced. I’ve never seen anyone who hated to take a pill more than she does. I take that back, the dog hates it more than she does. Maybe I should hold her jaws open and toss the pill in like I do with the dog, then hold her mouth closed and stroke her throat?

“I won’t get a headache, you know.” She stuck her tongue out at me.

“I know you won’t, you just took two Tylenol to head it off, see how we’re both right. Why don’t you and your buddy get some deadfall for the fire, start with stuff the size of your fingers and work your way up to branches the size of your thigh.”

She looked at the wood we have and said, “How much do we need?”

“Plenty if it snows tonight.” 

“You said it wouldn’t snow.” She replied with a note of alarm.

“The dog will love it, so will you, look in the car I think I brought a shovel, just in case. Remember, Sugar, I memorized Major Robert Roger’s Ranger’s Rules, the first rule is, “Don’t Forget Nothin”.

“What was the second?” Cakes asked.

“Keep your musket as clean as a whistle”

My wife laughed, “Did you bring a musket?”

“It’s under the backseat along with the powder, ball, and patches. I have a scoured hatchet, too.”

“You’re kidding, right?” She said.

“I forget.”

“What are we going to do if it snows?” She's back to the snow scenario again.

“Stay in bed and keep warm and dry, how’s that sound?”

“I like it, as long as I’m warm.” She and the dog walked off to collect firewood.

I finished the tent, blew up the air bed and things organized when she got back with a bundle of wood. They were both short of breath. The three of us walked back and got more. When we got back to camp I poured her a cup of Cabernet. She watched as I built our fire.

“Wow, look at the mountains, they’ve turned gold, Honey.” She said sounding amazed and happy as she stared at the San Juans.

“It’s called Alpenglow, sweetheart.”

She smiled, “What a perfect name.”

We had a nice dinner, a warm fire. The Cakes was tired, I tucked her in bed at 9:45. She didn’t show her face until after 8 the next morning. All her worries about not being able to sleep was a waste of time. On the other hand, the dog kept me awake most of the night and I had a headache when I finally woke up at 4:45. When I got up he snuggled up and slept with his "Mom" until 8.

That was the first night of the Cake’s wilderness experience, the next day she got a taste of 4 wheeling in the mountains. She was horrified!

St. Patrick's Day Chronicle, "The Devil Woman"

Boston in the mid 90's. St Patrick's Day is on a Friday and believe me that's a good thing, no hang over at work, no hours of story telling by the coffee pot the next day. The only productivity lost is because everyone leaves the office early.

The New England Broadcasters Association throws a big party every St. Patrick's Day, at one time it was probably the best in the country, today it's still fun but its slid downhill, way downhill.

I met my date at 3:30 at Ciao Bella on Newbury Street, we had a quick drink and head to the NEBA party, as I mentioned it's not what it used to be and this year it's being held at Dick's Last Resort in the basement of the Prudential Tower*. Not a place anyone associates with the Irish. My date isn't in broadcasting or media, she's a corporate attorney, successful, beautiful and she's a lesbian. I've known her since we lived in the same building in the Back Bay, H is my pal, my friend and an all around good person and she's fun to hang out with. Her partner is at a conference in Chicago.

H and I walk into Dick's, it's packed. I see Tommy, Billy, Kevvy holding down a table in the middle of the room, I get in front of H and push my way to the table. It's just after 4 and they are all pretty much fucked up. I make introductions and order drinks. I ask Tommy how long he's been here, he says, "Since I got off the air. Jesus he gets off at 9am. He's shitfaced. Kevvy's drinking vodka, not a good sign and Billy is drinking vodka martinis. H has a scotch and water, hmm, she's a wine drinker. I order a Guinness. The 5 of us drink and chat for an hour or so, friends drop by the table. We order some food, shrimp, oysters, clams and pulled pork sliders.

Billy, now better than three martinis into the evening gets philosophical, he holds up his glass and says,

“A well made Martini, correctly chilled and nicely served, has been more often my true friend than any two-legged creature"

Tommy, whose eyes are looking more and more like Marty Feldman's, says nothing in response, Kevvy says "No shit man, I agree and women are the worst!" At that, H rolls her eyes, I tap Billy's glass as H finishes her 2nd scotch. H whispers in my ear, "Your pal Kevin obviously doesn't have much luck with women, does he?"  I answer, "Zero, unless he can find a woman who can out drink him he's destined to be alone." Kevin looks at us and says, "How come you always have a nice date, Bob and I'm always alone?" H looks at him with a dazzling smile, "Probably because you say stupid shit like that among a host of other things, Kevin." Fortified with vodka Kevin starts to say something and then thinks better of it. H reaches across the table, pats Kevin's hand and tells him, "Good boy, just be quiet for awhile." In the meantime Billy has wandered off, Tom is having a drunken conversation with a saleswoman from the competition and H and I switch into observation mode.

Billy comes back with a couple of women, the three of them squeeze in around the table, sitting in chairs Billy snatched from other tables. One of them is a woman I dated for awhile last year, she is staring daggers at me. H sensing the hostility decides to throw a grenade the woman's way, she wraps her arm in mine, kisses me on the cheek and whispers, "Watch this." Still holding on to my arm, she leans her head on my shoulder and says, "Bob and I had such a wonderful time in Key West, didn't we, honey?" My old girlfriend glared at her, then said to me with a forced smile, "How long have you two been together?" H smiles and says, "Off and on for what Baby? Two or three years?" The woman looks at me and says, "I knew it, you lying prick." She and her friend picked up their drinks and left the table. Billy looks around wondering what the fuck just happened, Kevin wisely keeps his mouth shut and Tom is now necking with the saleswoman. H orders a round and smiles a self satisfied smile.

The band is playing rock and blues for St. Patrick's Day, when they play "Have You Ever Loved a Woman?" H insists we get up and dance. On the way to the dance floor, I laugh at the implication of the song's title. H says, "Let's make a spectacle of ourselves." and that we do. By now the entire staff is wondering who H is and they are dropping by in twos and threes to check out my date..H is playing the part of devoted, madly in love girlfriend. One woman I know says, "You guys are just perfect together." H looks at her and says "I know." When she leaves H says, "I'm setting you up with an incredible story of heartbreak and loss." She smiles her brilliant smile.

I leave for the men's room, while I'm taking a leak, a guy I barely know says, "Where the hell did you find her, she is just a killer, you're a lucky bastard." When I get back to the table, H is in a deep conversation with Kevin, as I sit down I hear her say, "Kevin, don't you think its time to stop being a fucking Irish Catholic Mama's boy? If you promise to act like a man tonight I'll find you a nice woman to talk to and if you behave yourself maybe she won't run off the minute you open your mouth, got it?" Kevin just nodded. I asked H what was going on. She smiled and said, "I'm just getting little Kevin straightened out." She kissed my cheek then patted it and she was off to find Kevin a woman. She was back in no time.

"Look what I found, two lost, little girls at the bar." H makes introductions, seats them on each side of Kevin, sits back down next to me and explains the girls are sisters, the older one works at channel 7 and the younger just graduated from Syracuse and moved to Boston. They are in their 20's, a little mousy and wide-eyed. Kevin starts to say something and H interrupts him and gives them a glowing report on Kevin's engineering prowess. Kevin is hammered, the two girls are buzzed enough so maybe they won't notice. One of the girls asks H, how long we've been married? Holy shit, now we're married, I thought we just started dating. H tells them 20 years, it works I guess because we are old enough to be their parents. The next question is do we have any kids, H says two, twins, "Sheila and Sean, juniors at Boston Latin, brilliant kids and great hockey players." The sisters nod with great admiration at H and I. Kevin is sitting there with a shit eaten grin on his face and since he promised H to keep his mouth shut, he isn't saying a word. The band is playing another set and H suggests we get up and dance, the girls look at each other and H says, Kevin can dance with both of you, it'll be fun. Kevin dances like a piece of shit, so this should be interesting. It turns out the sisters dance as bad as Kevin does, they have a great time. I tell H during a slow song that's this is the longest I've ever heard Kev go with out saying something stupid since I met him. She says look at them, I do and the three of them are stumbling around the dance floor locked in each others arms, Kevin is in heaven and the sisters seem to be as well.

When the set ends, we all head back to the table, more drinks are ordered, I order soda water, I've had enough Guinness to float one of the those leather Irish boats. H is hitting the scotch, she's hammered but you can't tell unless you know her, Kev is drinking but is quiet, the sisters are slammed. I figure someone in our crew should be able to handle the navigation. Tom stops kissing his account executive long enough to say, let's get the hell out of here and go to an Irish bar. Everyone agrees and now I have to arrange transportation. There's 7 of us and if Bill comes back that's 8, 2 cabs minimum.
Tommy wants to go to the Kells in Brighton and we do.

The Kells is hot, noisy and everyone in the bar has a sheen of sweat...the music is a cross of Irish, punk and rock and roll. Billy is back with us and he's grinning like an idiot, by far the oldest guy in the room, he's got a "Kiss me I'm Irish" button on his jacket, nobody has taken him up on the offer. My "wife" and I are dancing and singing along with the band. Kevin and the sisters are so drunk by this point, none of the three can communicate. The girls kiss Kevin on each cheek and laugh like they are crazy and they are. We stay at the Kells for an hour and cab it back to the Back Bay. We decide to have a nightcap at the Capital Grill, when the valet opens the cab door, Kevin gets out, falls on his ass taking out one of the sisters, the other thinks its so funny she jumps on top of them. Billy, H and I pretend we don't know them.

When we get inside and order a round, I asked H if she was planning on driving home to Weston, her response, "Hell no I'm staying with my husband, tonight." Whatever that means. She starts talking to people sitting at the bar, I help Bill to a stool, he's close to paralysis. I yell in his ear, 'You can't drive home to Andover, you dumbshit, you need to get a room." Billy Boy just nods in the affirmative. The bartender's brother works at the Eliot and he secures Bill a room. I tell Bill and he says "Cool." I told him to call his wife, he takes out his cell, drops it and it slides under the bar rail. He spends the next 5 minutes hoping nobody steps on it before he can find it.

I catch up with H, I ask her if she knows what happened to Tom and the AE. She cocks an eyebrow and says, "I'd bet they are fucking on a dumpster behind the Kells." I agree. She introduces me to the her new friends at the bar as her husband and the father of the wonderful twins, Sean and Sheila. The woman beams at me and the guy checks out H's ass. The couple are visiting Boston from Minneapolis and are truly Minnesota nice. I decide to start drinking again since I'm only three blocks from home. I switch to the same scotch as H is drinking, as I finish the first one I notice that Kevin and the sisters are sitting at the end of the bar, I should say Kevin is sitting, the girls are standing with their arms draped around Kevvy. The asshole is in heaven. H has her arm around my waist and continues to chat with the nice couple, their last name is Brunsberg. Their kids play hockey, too, just like Sheila and Sean. Another drink and I'll start worrying about the kid's grades and wondering where the hell they are tonight.

The bar closes at 1, the lights go up and we stumble into the street, we all hug goodbye, Bill trucks off to the Eliot which is just around the corner. Kevin is trying to hail a cab, apparently he's going to Jamaica Plain with the sisters. As Kevin stumbles around in the street attempting to get a cab to stop. the sister are having a conversation. I tell H we should leave and she says, "No let's see how this turns out." The girls are getting heated with each other, we can't hear what they're saying but fingers are being pointed, the younger one screams, "Marianne you are such a c*nt! Marianne screams back at her sister, I'm a c*nt? No way, you're the c*nt in the family, Margaret, not me!"

H smiles takes my arm and says, "Let's go home, Honey, my work is done."

*Now located at Quncy Market, if you really want to go!

Doggie Adoption Games

After our good, old boy Jager passed on to his doggie reward, the Cakes and I were going to take some time off from being dog people. We were good with that even if I still talk to him when I get home in my stupid dog voice and his ashes are on the table next to the Cake's side of the bed!

Out of the blue, our friend John in Florida comes up with a dog adoption. Of course we've already fallen in love with the big, strong and handsome German Shepherd from looking at pictures, watching video and reading John's long and detailed e-mails about the dog. The deal is done except there are a few details beyond the normal hassles of transportation, vet checks and papers and, and and.

The owner was in the position of having to choose between his wife in New York City and his dog and house in Florida has chosen the wife and is moving back. When we heard this we were excited as Jager used to get when I'd offer him a bite of my steak. However, the owner told John that what he'd like to do is keep the dog with him until he sells his house. Florida is the worst real estate market in the country, this could take years. The dog is 20 months old, by the time the house sells he'll have a gray muzzle. This is one of those "awww shit moments". That was yesterday, today there is a glimmer of hope. John thinks he can talk the guy into giving him up now, because its in the dog's best interest and it is, let's hope the retired cop agrees. We'll see.

Meanwhile John gets a rather cryptic e-mail from a woman in Boston who had John raise her German Shepherd for his first 12 months. She and her husband have been gloriously happy with the dog. She teaches at Northeastern University and she takes the dog to work, the dog has even been to black tie parties. The woman says the dog is a lab in a GSD costume. All of a sudden she has decided that the dog would be better off with a family with another dog and did he have any ideas.John doesn't have a clue what's going on, but she is calling him tonight and hopefully she'll explain.Cakes and I know this dog and he is a superb GSD...now what?

This is nuts, I've had 3 GSDs, I couldn't have given any of them up. Now there's two of them being given up by people who are long time, experienced GSD owners. Neither of them are people who get a dog and realize they are a life changer and a lot of work and decide to hell with it I don't want to deal with it.I don't get it, but on the other hand we may end getting one of them or both.

I used to tell the Cakes when I brushed Jager that I could build a litter of pups out the hair that came off him. I can't imagine having two, but then again, we miss those doggie kisses, screw the dog hair.

That Job is Child's Play

I was the first of my friends to learn how to drive. As soon as my legs were long enough to reach the pedals, I was driving on Grandpa's farm. I think I was 9 years old. I thought it was the greatest thing to ever happen and all my friends were jealous as hell. What I didn't know was I was being taught to drive so I could actually work on the farm. I started working the next year. While my friends were at the swimming pool, playing ball, at a matinee or hanging around Widman's Candy store. I was mowing ditches, cleaning, granaries or hauling wheat, barley and flax in a big old farm truck. It was always hot, dirty work and I have memories of shoveling grain with a huge grain scoop and crying, the tears making tracks down my dirty face.

My dad was an asshole, we were the last family to get a power mower. Why? Because the old man said he didn't need one, he had me. I'd struggle through our 1/2 acre of thick, heavy grass, pissed and angry.

I was running boats at our lake cabin when I was 7 or 8 years old in exchange for the maritime activity I had to do the yard work, maintain the dock and the beach. My other grandfather insisted on perfection, I had to deliver or I had to relinquish my captaincy.

I worked as a busboy, you think all busboys do is pick up the dishes and wipe the tables? Think again, I cleaned the back kitchen, trimmed meat, made hamburger, mashed potatoes, cooked vegetables and made salads. I was also the caterer, I hauled tables, chairs, crates of dishes and silverware. Did the set up and then brought the food and helped serve it. When it was over, I hauled all of the shit back to the restaurant, cleaned it and put it away. I also did janitorial work, to this day I can run a buffer with the best of them.

Hauling grain in a big truck as a child opened the door to hauling farm implements on a huge flatbed truck, which lead to taking the bus to Saginaw Michigan and picking up specialty trucks and delivering them. Imagine a 17 year old driving a big truck with another one piggy-backed on the back, from Saginaw to Grand Forks. I pocketed the expense money and slept in the truck, bought a loaf of bread and a jar of peanut butter and fed myself on the road. It was a trip of 867 miles each way. I left Saginaw at noon, slept for a few hours alongside Highway 2 and was home the next morning.

I used to pick up one way rentals for National Car Rental when I was in high school. When school was out in the afternoon, I'd pick up the paperwork, take the expense money and hitchhike to where ever the car was located. My record? Left Grand Forks at 3pm, hitchhiked to Minot, picked up the car and arrived home in time to meet my girlfriend at a school dance at a quarter to ten. A 420 mile round trip in 6 hours and 45 minutes including dropping the car off, changing my clothes at home after a quick shower. At the Kegs later that night a pal of mine said, "Didn't see you after school, where were you?" I just looked at my girlfriend and smiled. Interesting isn't it, at 16 I wasn't old enough to rent a car, but I could pick them up and drive them hundreds of miles.

A friend of the old man owned a farm implement dealership, one summer I used to drive down to a rail siding and pick up swathers, balers, plows, combine pickups, combines and tractors. I'd haul them back to the dealership and assemble them. All that play with erector sets came in handy. I think I could still put together a New Holland self propelled baler or a Case combine with a Melroe pick up to this day.

I pretty much hated all those jobs when I was a kid, but looking back on them, I learned a lot about the nature of work, met every kind of person imaginable and achieved a level of self reliance today's kids don't get a shot at.