Missed The Daily Show last night due to the highly entertaining Candidates Night in White Salmon. But with the miracle of the internet, I was able to enjoy it this morning, coming dangerously close to spewing my coffee and ruining my laptop. Good thing Lloyd got his computer back, just in case. Jon does a great job of calling a spade an effing shovel, as my friend B.D. used to say. And his imitations of various politicos is hysterically funny (especially his Looney Louis Gomert). So very tired of all the hate and hypocrisy.
Wednesday, October 19, 2011
Monday, October 10, 2011
Protect Your Brains
Back in the 50s, when we were learning to ride that big second hand balloon tire tank, helmets didn't exist. Well, I do recall one helmet, an old Army issue that my cousin Kenny wore for weeks when my Auntie Mary gave him a buzz cut and he was not cool with that. When I was a little older, and saved my babysitting money to buy a nice bike with skinny tires (a blue Phillips as I recall), I rode all over town, helmet free. That bike widened my world. Later, I bought a 3 speed Raleigh, which I rode to work and from my apartment to Northeastern University for classes. My mom borrowed it once and got in a collision with a car, broke her ankle but the bike was fine (and spent the night in 'jail' til I picked it up at the Watertown PD). I eventually bought a 15 speed Lambert, and gave the Raleigh to my sister Annie to help her get around when Liam was little. It was stolen from her apartment in Waltham, baby bike seat and all. All those years, no helmets.
When I moved to RI with the Lambert (later stolen and replaced with a Raleigh Super Course circa 1976, which I still own), helmets were in vogue. I rode with the Narragansett Bay Wheelmen, and we all work helmets. My helmets have save my head on several occasions. So when it came time to ride with our kids, helmets were required attire. We still wear our helmets when we ride. Both girls now own bikes. My first question: Do you have a helmet? Do NOT ride without one. We have too much invested in your head.
Last night I got a text from Alina in Boston, asking which hospital Auntie Linda worked at (in the ER). I was worried, as she'd had an eyelid infection. I thought, oh no, it got worse. I had no idea how wrong I was. It was much worse than that. Her housemate and fellow 2011 BC grad Mike, who rides his bike everywhere, had come home in questionable condition. He'd had a bike accident. She was afraid he had a concussion, and texted my sister who works in an ER for advice. They took him to the ER (not hers, just to clarify). Mike ended up in surgery for several house to drain a brain bleed. The doc told Alina if they hadn't gotten him in when they did, he might not have made it. Did I mention? Mike was not wearing a helmet.
Mike's parents got the phone call every parent dreads: Your son is in the ER. He needs surgery. Get here. Fortunately, they live within about 90 minutes of Boston. The roommates stayed until after parents arrived and Mike was out of surgery. It was a 3 day weekend in Boston (one place that actually celebrates Columbus Day). Alina and friends spent it in the ER. Went home to sleep, went back today to see how he was. He'd woken up, recognized his parents (good) but not his best friend (bad). His motor skills were not impaired (very good). He knew he lived in Allston (good). But it was 2008. Not so good. Hopefully the next report will be even more hopeful. This young man just graduated from college and has his whole future in front of him. It looks like he'll get a chance at that future.
The Oregonian has been full of letters to the editor arguing the merits and demerits of helmets. Bottom line: WEAR A HELMET!
update: Mike recognized Alina and Conor when they visited him last night. He was making good progress, though still disoriented, and may be moved out of the most intensive care area today.
When I moved to RI with the Lambert (later stolen and replaced with a Raleigh Super Course circa 1976, which I still own), helmets were in vogue. I rode with the Narragansett Bay Wheelmen, and we all work helmets. My helmets have save my head on several occasions. So when it came time to ride with our kids, helmets were required attire. We still wear our helmets when we ride. Both girls now own bikes. My first question: Do you have a helmet? Do NOT ride without one. We have too much invested in your head.
Last night I got a text from Alina in Boston, asking which hospital Auntie Linda worked at (in the ER). I was worried, as she'd had an eyelid infection. I thought, oh no, it got worse. I had no idea how wrong I was. It was much worse than that. Her housemate and fellow 2011 BC grad Mike, who rides his bike everywhere, had come home in questionable condition. He'd had a bike accident. She was afraid he had a concussion, and texted my sister who works in an ER for advice. They took him to the ER (not hers, just to clarify). Mike ended up in surgery for several house to drain a brain bleed. The doc told Alina if they hadn't gotten him in when they did, he might not have made it. Did I mention? Mike was not wearing a helmet.
Mike's parents got the phone call every parent dreads: Your son is in the ER. He needs surgery. Get here. Fortunately, they live within about 90 minutes of Boston. The roommates stayed until after parents arrived and Mike was out of surgery. It was a 3 day weekend in Boston (one place that actually celebrates Columbus Day). Alina and friends spent it in the ER. Went home to sleep, went back today to see how he was. He'd woken up, recognized his parents (good) but not his best friend (bad). His motor skills were not impaired (very good). He knew he lived in Allston (good). But it was 2008. Not so good. Hopefully the next report will be even more hopeful. This young man just graduated from college and has his whole future in front of him. It looks like he'll get a chance at that future.
The Oregonian has been full of letters to the editor arguing the merits and demerits of helmets. Bottom line: WEAR A HELMET!
update: Mike recognized Alina and Conor when they visited him last night. He was making good progress, though still disoriented, and may be moved out of the most intensive care area today.
October Baseball Blues
Ah, it's like the old days. So many of the Red Sox Nation don't remember the lean years...There was something not clicking this summer. Too many overpriced free agents? Owner trying to be Steinbrenner? Who knows. All I know is: I have no time tied up watching baseball this October, which is really a good thing for me, cuz now I have a little time to write. Jacoby Ellsbury had the year of his life, after his horrible no good year last year (Beltre curse) and should get AL MVP for his efforts, and the best manager is baseball was let go. They didn't ask me, but I'd forget about spending outrageous sums on glory boys, put the bull pen on a diet and whip them into shape, lose Lackey and Matsuzaka (same same), make Varitek a coach, bring up the awesome talent in Pawtucket, and build a TEAM. And if Theo goes to the Cubs, so be it, it'll still be years til they win a pennant never mind the World Series (sorry Cubs, I do root for you, but I'm a realist). Enough on that. I had to say it. Now on to other things. Go Rangers!
Monday, July 18, 2011
It's All About The Process
I tie dyed for the first time in forever, at our annual Fourth of July Husum Pride Parade Prep Party. We took the leftover "You Win Some, You Husum" white shirts with blue letters and tie dyed them red. Also our hands, and a few planks of the deck. They came out quite nice, and the four of us doing the project got more than 30 of them done in a few hours.
Fast forward a week, it's time to get ready for the Nights in White Salmon Art and Wine Fusion. Lots of boring leftover tan Event Staff Shirts. What to do? Tie dye them with chocolate brown dye. I spent a day working on them, and cranked out 34. All that experience, you know. It helped make me a little more efficient.
My dear sweet husband took the finished products downtown for safe keeping at Postal Express. Celynn liked them. A Lot. So much so that my dear sweet husband came home around 2 pm with more dye, so I could do the leftover shirts that didn't proclaim Event Staff on their backs. I guess he thought people might buy them now that I'd classed them up a little bit. Did I mention, the event was 48 hours away and that I was working the next day in the tasting room? There were about 65 or so in the box. Really. You want them WHEN????
I had to streamline my process or I was sunk. I am writing about it now, not so much to entertain, but to have it documented so I can recreate the magic. I hope I don't have to...
Prep and materials: the biggest pot you have (I used my 5 gal stainless steel brewing pot); bag of rubber bands, long idled forceps from my college dissecting kit, salt, boxes of RIT dye, detergent, plastic garbage bag to cover portable table, drying rack, clothesline, wood rods, beverages. Lots of beverages. Heat about 3 gallons salted water to about 160 or more, add a pack of dye and a tablespoon of liquid detergent. Mix it all up with a long large spoon, pref stainless or your spoon will get dyed, too. Set it on your outside table, open or pour a beverage, and begin.
Step 1: Lay shirt flat. To do a spiral on the bottom half of the shirt, pinch the shirt and start a swirl. Clamp the forceps into the center, and keep turning. Wrap the spiral around the outside with a rubber band. Add 2 or 3 rubber bands criss-crossing the spiral.
Step 2: Put a rod through the sleeves. If you need to adjust the level of the shirt in the dye, bunch up the top and use another rubber band. Dip the spiral into the dye and rest the rod on the top of the pot. Pot can do 2 shirts easily. Meanwhile, prepare next two shirts.
Step 3: After about 5 minutes, remove from bath, and hang on rack.
Put the next two shirts in the dye. Put on gloves, remove rubber bands, shake out the shirts. Rinse well with hose sprayer. Allow to drip a bit. Then go make up 2 more shirts.
Step 4: When second batch is ready, move the finished shirts to the clothesline. Then the next batch can go on the rack, the third batch into the pot, rinse, repeat....Until all the shirts are done or it's dark or you run out of beverage.
Afterwards, I did a quick cold water wash of all the shirts, then dried them in a hot dryer. Between 2 pm and 9 pm, with a short break to eat pizza and watch The Daily Show, I successfully dyed 58 shirts in various sizes.
Fast forward a week, it's time to get ready for the Nights in White Salmon Art and Wine Fusion. Lots of boring leftover tan Event Staff Shirts. What to do? Tie dye them with chocolate brown dye. I spent a day working on them, and cranked out 34. All that experience, you know. It helped make me a little more efficient.
My dear sweet husband took the finished products downtown for safe keeping at Postal Express. Celynn liked them. A Lot. So much so that my dear sweet husband came home around 2 pm with more dye, so I could do the leftover shirts that didn't proclaim Event Staff on their backs. I guess he thought people might buy them now that I'd classed them up a little bit. Did I mention, the event was 48 hours away and that I was working the next day in the tasting room? There were about 65 or so in the box. Really. You want them WHEN????
I had to streamline my process or I was sunk. I am writing about it now, not so much to entertain, but to have it documented so I can recreate the magic. I hope I don't have to...
Prep and materials: the biggest pot you have (I used my 5 gal stainless steel brewing pot); bag of rubber bands, long idled forceps from my college dissecting kit, salt, boxes of RIT dye, detergent, plastic garbage bag to cover portable table, drying rack, clothesline, wood rods, beverages. Lots of beverages. Heat about 3 gallons salted water to about 160 or more, add a pack of dye and a tablespoon of liquid detergent. Mix it all up with a long large spoon, pref stainless or your spoon will get dyed, too. Set it on your outside table, open or pour a beverage, and begin.
Step 1: Lay shirt flat. To do a spiral on the bottom half of the shirt, pinch the shirt and start a swirl. Clamp the forceps into the center, and keep turning. Wrap the spiral around the outside with a rubber band. Add 2 or 3 rubber bands criss-crossing the spiral.
Step 2: Put a rod through the sleeves. If you need to adjust the level of the shirt in the dye, bunch up the top and use another rubber band. Dip the spiral into the dye and rest the rod on the top of the pot. Pot can do 2 shirts easily. Meanwhile, prepare next two shirts.
Step 3: After about 5 minutes, remove from bath, and hang on rack.
Put the next two shirts in the dye. Put on gloves, remove rubber bands, shake out the shirts. Rinse well with hose sprayer. Allow to drip a bit. Then go make up 2 more shirts.
Step 4: When second batch is ready, move the finished shirts to the clothesline. Then the next batch can go on the rack, the third batch into the pot, rinse, repeat....Until all the shirts are done or it's dark or you run out of beverage.
Afterwards, I did a quick cold water wash of all the shirts, then dried them in a hot dryer. Between 2 pm and 9 pm, with a short break to eat pizza and watch The Daily Show, I successfully dyed 58 shirts in various sizes.
Monday, July 11, 2011
Garlic Scapes...Who Knew?
I like to think of myself as a Foodie. And I love it when something new comes my way.
GARLIC SCAPES. What are these crazy things and what do you do with them?
I love Kim O'Donnel's description:
First you give a bunch away. Then, thankfully, there is the internet. Which is how I found Kim's article. And then I made her recipe for Garlic Scape Pesto.
GARLIC SCAPES. What are these crazy things and what do you do with them?
I love Kim O'Donnel's description:
Here's the anatomy lesson: Garlic and its relatives in the allium family, (leeks, chives, onions) grows underground, where the bulb begins its journey, soft and onion-like. As the bulb gets harder (and more like the garlic we know), a shoot pokes its way through the ground. Chlorophyll- green like a scallion (maybe even greener), the shoot is long and thin and pliable enough to curl into gorgeous tendrils.There were some in our marimba band's 'food pay' from a Farmers Market gig last season. I had no idea what they were. Someone said, use them like scallions. OK. I had like TWO. I used them. The other night, during our Husum Pride Parade Prep Party, Miki dropped off a box full. What does one do with a box full of garlic scapes?
This stage of growth is the garlic scape, folks. If left unattended, the scape will harden and transform from green to the familiar opaque white/beige color of garlic peel. Keeping the shoot attached will also curtail further growth of the bulb. So, in an effort to allow the garlic to keep growing, the farmer is getting a two-fer with this edible delectable that cooks are just beginning to discover.
First you give a bunch away. Then, thankfully, there is the internet. Which is how I found Kim's article. And then I made her recipe for Garlic Scape Pesto.
Garlic Scape PestoTo Die For. I am now a huge fan. How did I live 58 years before I knew they existed? And now I'm heading out to the garden to cut the scapes off my garlic so the bulbs will grow bigger...Ingredients:
1 cup garlic scapes (about 8 or 9 scapes), top flowery part removed, cut into ¼-inch slices
1/3 cup walnuts
¾ cup olive oil
¼-1/2 cup grated parmigiano
½ teaspoon salt
black pepper to tasteMethod:
Place scapes and walnuts in the bowl of a food processor and whiz until well combined and somewhat smooth. Slowly drizzle in oil and process until integrated. With a rubber spatula, scoop pesto out of bowl and into a mixing bowl. Add parmigiano to taste; add salt and pepper. Makes about 6 ounces of pesto. Keeps for up to one week in an air-tight container in the refrigerator.For ½ pound short pasta such as penne, add about 2 tablespoons of pesto to cooked pasta and stir until pasta is well coated.
All Star Break
| EAST | W | L | PCT | GB | HOME | ROAD | RS | RA | DIFF | STRK | L10 |
| Boston | 55 | 35 | .611 | - | 28-17 | 27-18 | 482 | 371 | +111 | Won 6 | 9-1 |
| NY Yankees | 53 | 35 | .602 | 1 | 30-19 | 23-16 | 455 | 334 | +121 | Won 2 | 6-4 |
| Tampa Bay | 49 | 41 | .544 | 6 | 21-21 | 28-20 | 380 | 343 | +37 | Lost 2 | 4-6 |
| Toronto | 45 | 47 | .489 | 11 | 19-22 | 26-25 | 426 | 416 | +10 | Won 3 | 5-5 |
| Baltimore | 36 | 52 | .409 | 18 | 22-22 | 14-30 | 355 | 454 | -99 | Lost 7 | 1-9 |
Well, all is almost right with the world at the All Star Break. We sit atop the AL East by a mere one game. The lead has changed hands regularly, as usual, and will continue to do so. Keeps everyone on their toes. I said ALMOST because most of the pitching rotation is on the DL. I would like Lester and Bucholz back ASAP. Dice K can stay there a while. Lackey is giving us enough fits. I've enjoyed Tim Wakefield's solid year so far, his knuckleball is dancing and he's helped keep things where they should be. And the new kids on the block have lots of potential.
Here in the Gorge, we are enjoying all that July brings. Great weather, with warm days and cool nights. The AC has yet to fire up, and all but a few nights have required a blanket. Snow is finally starting to melt on Mt. Hood, with ridges becoming visible at last.
The Husum Pride Parade and .1k Micro Marathon was outstanding this year. (photo from the front page of the local paper, thanks Sverre Bakke.)
The Husum Yacht Club pre-parade preparation party was great fun. We tie dyed leftover shirts from last year, painted the kayak (float), ate barbecued thai chicken and drank plenty of wine to accomplish all our tasks.
On Parade Day, we had excellent participation, with a large crowd of observers, more 'floats' than ever, a growing kazoo marching band, color guard, hula hooper, fire truck, and, for the first time, a CANNON! We even found a beauty queen to ride in our float this year.
At the end of the parade route, we turned and fled for the finish line, quenching our thirst at Joel's water stop. The Husumites gathered in front of the District 3 Fire Station for the annual group photo. The band took this opportunity to play the National Anthem, and bombs were bursting in air as the cannon fired (in the opposite direction). Excellent.
The hot dogs and watermelon at the Husum Roadside BBQ were the perfect energy builders after our exhausting run. Even the sign got decorated.
The new addition to the Husum Pride traditions: a pickled egg eating contest. Even with a $100 prize offered, only two participated. The winner choked down NINE in an 8 minute period. His competition only managed a couple. Yours truly did not even think about it. I have yet to bite into a pickled egg. Take a look. Would you?
The day was far from over. We'd received this special message from the kids down the street:
We HAD to be home in time to witness the first Brislawn Loop parade. We were treated to tootsie pops thrown by bike riders, who'd taken lots of care to decorate both their bikes and their helmets. On the second time around the loop, one rider dismounted, unpacked his fiddle from his backpack, and played us a tune. As he rode away, another rider stopped, dismounted, drew her recorder from her backpack, and played us a tune. What a treat! And seriously, I can't remember the last time I had a Tootsie Pop.
Next up: the concert at the park. We brought a picnic, a little vino in a water bottle, flags and spirit. Finally, we were fortunate to be invited to a bluff house to watch the fireworks, which were being launched directly across the Columbia River. It was a great Happy Birthday America!
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
Slow Start at The Pahk
Another year, another opening day. For this year's Red Sox, apparently they did not read the media hype that they were so good they were going straight to the World Series. I hate it when this kind of stuff happens. Baseball season is very long. Good thing.
I knew things would improve when they got home. It's hard to start your season on the road, especially when you start in Texas with the defending World Series champions. It did get better in Boston, winning the series with the Yankees. Then Tampa Bay came to town, and finally won a game. I always hold my breath when Dice K pitches. I am not a big fan, sorry bud.
Yesterday I got a big surprise in the mail from my old high school friend Caroline, who is an artist living in Boston. Not to be confused with my old high school friend Caroline who is an author living in Hoboken. Though I did see both in February. Together. When author Caroline came to town to read from her new best selling novel, Pictures of You. But I digress.
Caroline the artist lives in the Fort Point Arts Community in South Boston, and her neighbor Laura Davidson makes these very cool books. Caroline knows of my Fenway addiction, and just knew I needed my very own Pahk, home away from home. So she sent me this:
It's a tunnel book showing the third base line grandstand view of Fenway and the skyline. The artist painted the images, then offset printed them, laser cut then pieced them together by hand. Fabulous! Thank you from the bottom of my heart.
Boston folks, and visitors, should check out the Fort Point scene. They have open studios events that I managed to attend a few times over the years. There is one coming up May 6-8. Visit the Made in Fort Point shop where you can buy all kinds of cool art! Go to the website for more info.
I knew things would improve when they got home. It's hard to start your season on the road, especially when you start in Texas with the defending World Series champions. It did get better in Boston, winning the series with the Yankees. Then Tampa Bay came to town, and finally won a game. I always hold my breath when Dice K pitches. I am not a big fan, sorry bud.
Yesterday I got a big surprise in the mail from my old high school friend Caroline, who is an artist living in Boston. Not to be confused with my old high school friend Caroline who is an author living in Hoboken. Though I did see both in February. Together. When author Caroline came to town to read from her new best selling novel, Pictures of You. But I digress.
Caroline the artist lives in the Fort Point Arts Community in South Boston, and her neighbor Laura Davidson makes these very cool books. Caroline knows of my Fenway addiction, and just knew I needed my very own Pahk, home away from home. So she sent me this:
It's a tunnel book showing the third base line grandstand view of Fenway and the skyline. The artist painted the images, then offset printed them, laser cut then pieced them together by hand. Fabulous! Thank you from the bottom of my heart.Boston folks, and visitors, should check out the Fort Point scene. They have open studios events that I managed to attend a few times over the years. There is one coming up May 6-8. Visit the Made in Fort Point shop where you can buy all kinds of cool art! Go to the website for more info.
Saturday, March 5, 2011
Justice for White Salmon
Sometimes I get so annoyed with short sighted people. Okay, more than sometimes. And I try to keep my political opinions in a separate place, not at the Pahk. But this is a local non partisan fury.I know times are tough. I know there's not a lot of money in the town coffers. But for the love of Pete, can our city council use their heads for something besides hat racks (thought I'd throw in some Larryisms)? Honestly, if we lived in the city limits, one of us would be trying to unseat one of these guys. Alas, we are just outside the city line, though we get our water, police and fire response from White Salmon. If a town of 2500 can't get their act together, we are all doomed.
Here's the short story. More details here. White Salmon has a police dog named Justice. He is here be the grace of a grant, arriving in Sept 2009 to much fanfare. The city council, who basically forced the chief to resign, now want to eliminate Justice, who has proven his worth as a great back up officer and even caught a criminal. Which still caused issues with the council, warranting another editorial smack down in the local paper.
The mayors of White Salmon and Bingen want the dog. The Bingen-White Salmon Police Department wants the dog. We The People want the dog, enough to open a bank account in which to put donations to cover Justice's upkeep. The Police Dept. is short handed as it is. The dog is an excellent partner. The County Sheriff's budget has been cut, so don't look to the County for more coverage. What are these guys thinking? Or drinking... easy on that tea, fellas.
Anthony Coulter stands alone on the council in support of Justice. Good for him! Stay strong!
One councilman, Bob Landgren, says he wants to hear more from the public. He says there is so much more to this that we poor huddling masses don't understand. Please, fellow citizens in the Bingen/White Salmon area, let Bob hear from you. And cc the rest of the gang while you're at it. And don't forget to thank Anthony. Here are their emails:
Anthony Coulter
Bob Landgren
Mark Peppel
Richard Marx
WS Manager - Pat Munyan
WS Mayor- David Poucher Mayor@ci.white-salmon.wa.us
The next city council meeting is Wednesday, March 16th. Round table at 5pm, meeting at 6pm at the fire station. Pass the word around to everyone you know. Make some signs. Be there.
Stand up for Justice.
Thursday, February 17, 2011
For Dad
Following is the eulogy written and delivered by my sister Mary at our Dad's funeral 2/14/2011.
LAWRENCE PHILLIP SULLIVAN, LAWRENCE, LARRY, LP,
DAD, DADDY, GRAMPA, GRUMPA, POOPA, UNCLE LARRY, LEERY, LAW-LAW, BUCKY, BIG BUCK, 66, COFFEEMAN, LORENZO SULLIVANI, RORY MUNDANE, UNCLE LORENZO, SIR LAWRENCE, and my personal favorite, given to him by his grandsons, JAMAL.
It is fitting that Dad had so many names, since he gave out so many. If your name was Bill, he called you William or Willy; Lisa was Claudia Cardinale; Al was Alphonzo; Linda Corcoran was Harper’s Ferry. If you were Theresa, you became Terri; Terri became Theresa. If you were a guy and he liked you, you were Commander. After almost 60 years of marriage, it still drove my mother crazy. “Just call them by their real names!” she would say. He totally ignored her. I am sure this was the only instance in their marriage that this occurred . . . right, Mum? I think maybe he did this so when he called his kids the wrong names, we wouldn’t take it personally.
My earliest memories of my dad were how he would march all of us kids down to the nickel Pool. He was like the father Duck with his ducklings behind him . . . Lorrie, Linda, Mark, Annie, Mary, Janet, Carol . . . walking in a line with towels over our shoulders - only stopping for a dropped towel or broken flip flop. Or he’d march us down to the tracks over on Massasoit Street to wait for the train to go by. . . when it did, we would all wave and hoot & holler. I think he did this to give my mother a little bit of peace and quiet.
And way back then, there was singing . .. Always singing . . . except at the dinner table. “No elbows on the table.” “No singing at the table.” Those were the rules. Let me digress & say that my Dad said the fastest Grace on earth, whether in English or Latin, which we loved.
Back to the singing . . . Dad played his gorgeous guitar and we’d all sing: Bill Bailey won’t you please come home; Bicycle Built for Two; Irene Goodnight; Toot Toot Tootsie; Linda - When I go to sleep, I never count sheep, I count all the charms about Linda.
And then, there was the ukelele. Purchased with S&H Green Stamps about 45 years ago, it still sits in the canvas bag my mother made. It came out for every birthday - kids, grandkids, sons-in-law, nieces, nephews, other family members, and special friends. I don’t know how many messages I had on answering machines over the years with my parents singing along with whoever else happened to be at the house, and my dad playing Happy Birthday on the uke. I wish I had saved every one of those messages. For his 80th birthday, we all brought ukes and serenaded HIM for a change. We were no where near as good as he was, but he didn’t mind. He tried out every one of our ukes to make sure they were “satisfactory.”
We can never forget Dad singing with those Sullivan brothers: Bill - Willy, Jim - Seamus, and Dick - Richard. When those boys got together is was magic and there was lots of singing. As a result, all of the Sullivan kids have what my daughter calls the “Sullivan Curse.” Say just about any phrase and we can burst into a song with those words in it.
Music ran through my father’s veins. He loved it all, especially opera. He has an amazing Mozart collection, the official catalogue with his prized possessions highlighted in yellow. He loved Verdi and Donazetti, and the “Eenies” - Puccini, Rossini, and Bellini. He used to say he wanted to “See La Scala and die!” My parents traveled quite a bit after dad retired - to Germany, where my mother’s parents were born; to Austria, the land of Mozart; to Switzerland; and on many cruises. It took a while for them to get to Italy. When they finally visited Milan, La Scala was closed for renovations. My parents sat on a bench across from that famous, boarded up opera house and took in the view. But that was the closest he got. I told him, “Look on the bright side, dad. You don’t have to die yet.”
He loved Gilbert & Sullivan, Maria Callas, & “Lennie” Bernstein. But it wasn’t just opera that he loved. Django Reinhart, Marian McPartland, and Frances Albert Sinatra were among his favorites. And of course, the Bee Gees. Yes, the Bee Gees.
As he neared retirement, Sir Lawrence could be heard singing his theme song, “Ah, ah, ah, ah, Staying Alive, Staying Alive.” The only time he ever surprised my mother on the dance floor was at our friend Terri’s wedding when Staying Alive was played and Dad was out there showing off his disco moves.
'Staying Alive' was the perfect theme song for my dad. He had a good life, a wonderful wife, fantastic kids & grandkids (if I do say so myself), and marvelous friends and extended family . . . but is was never easy. He lost his father and sister at a young age. He had just about every type of ulcer there is; I remember we all went up to Waltham Hospital one time when he was in for a bleeding ulcer. Of course they couldn’t let all us kids into visit, so we stood outside and waved to him up in the window of his hospital room. At age 39, my dad had a retinal hemorrage. He could no longer work running the press at Buck Printing. He had just begun training to teach others how to run the presses. It wasn’t until I got older that I could truly comprehend how incredibly difficult this must have been on him and my mother. Imagine having seven kids, no job and limited vision. But his overabundance of tenacity pulled him through.
My dad was retrained as a court reporter and many of us kids became his proofreaders. I remember spending hours together in the cellar as he typed up transcripts and I read through them looking for grammar, spelling, punctuation, and spacing errors. Forever etched in my mind are the two words that most remind me of my dad . . . “However, Comma”.
After his retraining, my Dad went to work for the Industrial Accident Board, the state agency for workers compensation. He loved working with the insurance company attorneys . . .not so much the claimants’ attorneys. It was through his connections that first Carol and then I got our jobs at PCD&W, sending both of us down the legal career path. Dad’s favorite ALJ to work with was Roz Brooker. “Rosalyn” had polio as a child and walked with canes. They would joke about being the Dynamic Duo; the crippled judge and the blind stenographer. As you can imagine, any scam artist faking a worker’s comp claim got no sympathy from these two. One time, a man challenging the insurer’s abrupt ending of his wc payments appeared for a hearing wearing his Thomas Collar and using a cane. The Insurer’s attorney had the lights turned off as he showed a video of the man water skiing. When the lights went back on, the man was gone for the courtroom and his cane remained behind. “Look, Lawrence,” Roz exclaimed, “It’s a miracle! Let’s raise the cane to the rafters!” Dad loved that story.
Another of Dad’s favorite ALJs was Dottie “Dorothy” Antonelli, who was also a trustee at Suffolk Law School. Dad put in a good word for me with Dorothy when I applied to Suffolk. I’m sure that he helped me get accepted. Dad was so excited that I was going to be a lawyer. Right before I started at Suffolk, I went to the book store to purchase my books. Like an idiot, I bought - all at the same time- every required book plus all those that were recommended. I had three huge bags of books - I swear these plastic bags were partially made of steel. I made it the one block to back to PCDW & called my Dad. “Daddy, can you come help me carry my books home?” Of course, he did. We took the Express Bus to Carter St., then walked the mile or so home, past the Nickle Pool- only this time we didn’t stop for broken flip flops, we stopped every few blocks to put down the books and get back the circulation in our fingers that had been cut off by those steel bags!
Dad loved the law . . . and not just Rumpole of the Bailey. In his next life, I think Dad will be a lawyer. However comma, I’m sure by then he’ll just buy a Kindle and won’t have to worry about carrying law books home.
My Dad also loved the ocean. When we were young kids, the family went for two weeks every summer to Plum Island and stayed at Navassa, a wonderful old house right on the bay. At high tide, we’d swim happily in the bay. At low tide, when we weren’t building sand castles or digging for clams on the sand bar, we’d march over to the ocean side to swim. Dad & Uncle Dick taught us how to dive into the big waves before they crashed. If you didn’t do it correctly, there was always a hand to pluck you out as you tossed around in the surf. If you wouldn’t go in because the water was too cold or too rough, you were called “Chicken of the Sea.” Even though the ocean was often times too cold and too rough, no one wanted to be Chicken of the Sea. Dad gave us dolphin rides on his back and you had to hold your breath while holding on tight as he dove deep under the water.
For a while, my parents had a trailer at Brant Rock where they spent a lot of time in the summers. It never mattered how cold the water was - and it was freezing!- Dad would always get in the ocean. He would never be the Chick of the Sea.. He loved going to Aruba, where Uncle Dick had a time share. The Four Musketeers- Larry, Trudy, Dick & my mother’s sister Mary, would go every year the week after Thanksgiving. There they’d meet up with Uncle Billy & Elaine and have a ball. After Dick and Mary were gone, one or two of the kids with go with them. Even when the ocean was rough (one year Dad broke his collar bone in the waves), he made sure to get in the water, often with the help of “Larry’s Mermaids”. It revived his spirit and energized him- there he was free of all that ailed him. He was Free Willy.
Recently, Dad got to singing, “Open the Door Richard” - a song written in 1947, recorded by many artists over the years, including Count Basey. We think he was calling to his brother that he was ready. Richard, Seamus & Willy opened the door last Wednesday at high noon, and Law Law left his ever-ailing body. We will miss him terribly, but his spirit lives on in each of us.
Every night, before I went to bed, my Dad, thinking he was funny, would say, “Night Mare.”
Night, Dad. Love you madly. Period. Closed Quotes.
LAWRENCE PHILLIP SULLIVAN, LAWRENCE, LARRY, LP,
DAD, DADDY, GRAMPA, GRUMPA, POOPA, UNCLE LARRY, LEERY, LAW-LAW, BUCKY, BIG BUCK, 66, COFFEEMAN, LORENZO SULLIVANI, RORY MUNDANE, UNCLE LORENZO, SIR LAWRENCE, and my personal favorite, given to him by his grandsons, JAMAL.
It is fitting that Dad had so many names, since he gave out so many. If your name was Bill, he called you William or Willy; Lisa was Claudia Cardinale; Al was Alphonzo; Linda Corcoran was Harper’s Ferry. If you were Theresa, you became Terri; Terri became Theresa. If you were a guy and he liked you, you were Commander. After almost 60 years of marriage, it still drove my mother crazy. “Just call them by their real names!” she would say. He totally ignored her. I am sure this was the only instance in their marriage that this occurred . . . right, Mum? I think maybe he did this so when he called his kids the wrong names, we wouldn’t take it personally.
My earliest memories of my dad were how he would march all of us kids down to the nickel Pool. He was like the father Duck with his ducklings behind him . . . Lorrie, Linda, Mark, Annie, Mary, Janet, Carol . . . walking in a line with towels over our shoulders - only stopping for a dropped towel or broken flip flop. Or he’d march us down to the tracks over on Massasoit Street to wait for the train to go by. . . when it did, we would all wave and hoot & holler. I think he did this to give my mother a little bit of peace and quiet.
And way back then, there was singing . .. Always singing . . . except at the dinner table. “No elbows on the table.” “No singing at the table.” Those were the rules. Let me digress & say that my Dad said the fastest Grace on earth, whether in English or Latin, which we loved.
Back to the singing . . . Dad played his gorgeous guitar and we’d all sing: Bill Bailey won’t you please come home; Bicycle Built for Two; Irene Goodnight; Toot Toot Tootsie; Linda - When I go to sleep, I never count sheep, I count all the charms about Linda.
And then, there was the ukelele. Purchased with S&H Green Stamps about 45 years ago, it still sits in the canvas bag my mother made. It came out for every birthday - kids, grandkids, sons-in-law, nieces, nephews, other family members, and special friends. I don’t know how many messages I had on answering machines over the years with my parents singing along with whoever else happened to be at the house, and my dad playing Happy Birthday on the uke. I wish I had saved every one of those messages. For his 80th birthday, we all brought ukes and serenaded HIM for a change. We were no where near as good as he was, but he didn’t mind. He tried out every one of our ukes to make sure they were “satisfactory.”
We can never forget Dad singing with those Sullivan brothers: Bill - Willy, Jim - Seamus, and Dick - Richard. When those boys got together is was magic and there was lots of singing. As a result, all of the Sullivan kids have what my daughter calls the “Sullivan Curse.” Say just about any phrase and we can burst into a song with those words in it.
Music ran through my father’s veins. He loved it all, especially opera. He has an amazing Mozart collection, the official catalogue with his prized possessions highlighted in yellow. He loved Verdi and Donazetti, and the “Eenies” - Puccini, Rossini, and Bellini. He used to say he wanted to “See La Scala and die!” My parents traveled quite a bit after dad retired - to Germany, where my mother’s parents were born; to Austria, the land of Mozart; to Switzerland; and on many cruises. It took a while for them to get to Italy. When they finally visited Milan, La Scala was closed for renovations. My parents sat on a bench across from that famous, boarded up opera house and took in the view. But that was the closest he got. I told him, “Look on the bright side, dad. You don’t have to die yet.”
He loved Gilbert & Sullivan, Maria Callas, & “Lennie” Bernstein. But it wasn’t just opera that he loved. Django Reinhart, Marian McPartland, and Frances Albert Sinatra were among his favorites. And of course, the Bee Gees. Yes, the Bee Gees.
As he neared retirement, Sir Lawrence could be heard singing his theme song, “Ah, ah, ah, ah, Staying Alive, Staying Alive.” The only time he ever surprised my mother on the dance floor was at our friend Terri’s wedding when Staying Alive was played and Dad was out there showing off his disco moves.
'Staying Alive' was the perfect theme song for my dad. He had a good life, a wonderful wife, fantastic kids & grandkids (if I do say so myself), and marvelous friends and extended family . . . but is was never easy. He lost his father and sister at a young age. He had just about every type of ulcer there is; I remember we all went up to Waltham Hospital one time when he was in for a bleeding ulcer. Of course they couldn’t let all us kids into visit, so we stood outside and waved to him up in the window of his hospital room. At age 39, my dad had a retinal hemorrage. He could no longer work running the press at Buck Printing. He had just begun training to teach others how to run the presses. It wasn’t until I got older that I could truly comprehend how incredibly difficult this must have been on him and my mother. Imagine having seven kids, no job and limited vision. But his overabundance of tenacity pulled him through.
My dad was retrained as a court reporter and many of us kids became his proofreaders. I remember spending hours together in the cellar as he typed up transcripts and I read through them looking for grammar, spelling, punctuation, and spacing errors. Forever etched in my mind are the two words that most remind me of my dad . . . “However, Comma”.
After his retraining, my Dad went to work for the Industrial Accident Board, the state agency for workers compensation. He loved working with the insurance company attorneys . . .not so much the claimants’ attorneys. It was through his connections that first Carol and then I got our jobs at PCD&W, sending both of us down the legal career path. Dad’s favorite ALJ to work with was Roz Brooker. “Rosalyn” had polio as a child and walked with canes. They would joke about being the Dynamic Duo; the crippled judge and the blind stenographer. As you can imagine, any scam artist faking a worker’s comp claim got no sympathy from these two. One time, a man challenging the insurer’s abrupt ending of his wc payments appeared for a hearing wearing his Thomas Collar and using a cane. The Insurer’s attorney had the lights turned off as he showed a video of the man water skiing. When the lights went back on, the man was gone for the courtroom and his cane remained behind. “Look, Lawrence,” Roz exclaimed, “It’s a miracle! Let’s raise the cane to the rafters!” Dad loved that story.
Another of Dad’s favorite ALJs was Dottie “Dorothy” Antonelli, who was also a trustee at Suffolk Law School. Dad put in a good word for me with Dorothy when I applied to Suffolk. I’m sure that he helped me get accepted. Dad was so excited that I was going to be a lawyer. Right before I started at Suffolk, I went to the book store to purchase my books. Like an idiot, I bought - all at the same time- every required book plus all those that were recommended. I had three huge bags of books - I swear these plastic bags were partially made of steel. I made it the one block to back to PCDW & called my Dad. “Daddy, can you come help me carry my books home?” Of course, he did. We took the Express Bus to Carter St., then walked the mile or so home, past the Nickle Pool- only this time we didn’t stop for broken flip flops, we stopped every few blocks to put down the books and get back the circulation in our fingers that had been cut off by those steel bags!
Dad loved the law . . . and not just Rumpole of the Bailey. In his next life, I think Dad will be a lawyer. However comma, I’m sure by then he’ll just buy a Kindle and won’t have to worry about carrying law books home.
My Dad also loved the ocean. When we were young kids, the family went for two weeks every summer to Plum Island and stayed at Navassa, a wonderful old house right on the bay. At high tide, we’d swim happily in the bay. At low tide, when we weren’t building sand castles or digging for clams on the sand bar, we’d march over to the ocean side to swim. Dad & Uncle Dick taught us how to dive into the big waves before they crashed. If you didn’t do it correctly, there was always a hand to pluck you out as you tossed around in the surf. If you wouldn’t go in because the water was too cold or too rough, you were called “Chicken of the Sea.” Even though the ocean was often times too cold and too rough, no one wanted to be Chicken of the Sea. Dad gave us dolphin rides on his back and you had to hold your breath while holding on tight as he dove deep under the water.
For a while, my parents had a trailer at Brant Rock where they spent a lot of time in the summers. It never mattered how cold the water was - and it was freezing!- Dad would always get in the ocean. He would never be the Chick of the Sea.. He loved going to Aruba, where Uncle Dick had a time share. The Four Musketeers- Larry, Trudy, Dick & my mother’s sister Mary, would go every year the week after Thanksgiving. There they’d meet up with Uncle Billy & Elaine and have a ball. After Dick and Mary were gone, one or two of the kids with go with them. Even when the ocean was rough (one year Dad broke his collar bone in the waves), he made sure to get in the water, often with the help of “Larry’s Mermaids”. It revived his spirit and energized him- there he was free of all that ailed him. He was Free Willy.
Recently, Dad got to singing, “Open the Door Richard” - a song written in 1947, recorded by many artists over the years, including Count Basey. We think he was calling to his brother that he was ready. Richard, Seamus & Willy opened the door last Wednesday at high noon, and Law Law left his ever-ailing body. We will miss him terribly, but his spirit lives on in each of us.
Every night, before I went to bed, my Dad, thinking he was funny, would say, “Night Mare.”
Night, Dad. Love you madly. Period. Closed Quotes.
Thursday, February 3, 2011
Is It Really February Already?
The groundhog says spring is on the way. Good thing, because I am back here at the mothership in Boston, and it looks like the north pole. Before I left the Gorge, it was winter. Here is the view from Panorama Point on a wintery walk early in January.
Here is the view of my parent's house. There have been 4 storm days since I got here 2 weeks ago. Another is due Saturday. I haven't seen snow piled this high since the Blizzard of 78.
I honestly don't know where January went. I figure I'd better post a few things so people don't think I went into a permanent funk after the Patriots lost to the Jets. My biggest excuse is that my 2.5 year old computer suffered a fatal seizure after Lloyd tried to upgrade my OS from Vista to Windows7. Thanks a bunch, Microsoft and HP. Had to wait for a new laptop. Lost my emails and address book, but fortunately I did back up my tunes, pix, and docs. I do not trust anything to work the way it should. Especially with Microsoft.
We had our New Year's Day ski on the Clark Creek Trail, the best snow there in a couple of years. Check the link for some great pictures. Unfortunately, it's rained ever since.
Alina came to visit for a week after a pit stop in Sugar Land to visit her old buddies, and had the pleasure of extensive father-daughter bonding when she and Lloyd went to pick up Conor at the airport. They got stuck for 4.5 hours behind a jack knifed big rig less than halfway to PDX, with no way to exit or reverse direction. Did I mention there was an ice storm in the Gorge at the time? The normally 2 hour round trip became an 8.5 hour odyssey, with their return at 2:30 am. Now anyone who knows me is aware that I am a terrible bad weather passenger. Knowing the forecast, I thoughtfully suggested (during a mother/daughter pedicure) that Alina might want to have a little one on one time with her dad as well. Little did I know, how long that one on one time would be!
We had a good week visiting breweries and brewpubs, including a fantastic tour of Full Sail in Hood River (highly recommended), and at the other end of the spectrum, Doug showed us where he creates the magic elixirs at Everybody's Brewing in White Salmon. Conor and Alina are home brewers, so we also stopped in to taste at Big Horse, Double Mountain, and Thirsty Woman Pub to check out potables not seen in Boston.
One late night, Lloyd, Alina and Conor brewed a batch of After Midnight Porter, now sitting in the secondary fermenter. They forgot to buy ice to cool the wort, and the sight of the three of them running outside to the last remaining snow piles was pretty funny.
The return trip to PDX was mercifully uneventful. We dropped them off and were back in White Salmon by 6 am, before the sun was even up. But my plans for the rest of January were scuttled when Mom fell and hurt her hip. I was able to reschedule my Alaska Air flight for little more than the $75 change fee, and headed to Boston on the 20th. More on that in the next post.
Here is the view of my parent's house. There have been 4 storm days since I got here 2 weeks ago. Another is due Saturday. I haven't seen snow piled this high since the Blizzard of 78.
I honestly don't know where January went. I figure I'd better post a few things so people don't think I went into a permanent funk after the Patriots lost to the Jets. My biggest excuse is that my 2.5 year old computer suffered a fatal seizure after Lloyd tried to upgrade my OS from Vista to Windows7. Thanks a bunch, Microsoft and HP. Had to wait for a new laptop. Lost my emails and address book, but fortunately I did back up my tunes, pix, and docs. I do not trust anything to work the way it should. Especially with Microsoft.We had our New Year's Day ski on the Clark Creek Trail, the best snow there in a couple of years. Check the link for some great pictures. Unfortunately, it's rained ever since.
Alina came to visit for a week after a pit stop in Sugar Land to visit her old buddies, and had the pleasure of extensive father-daughter bonding when she and Lloyd went to pick up Conor at the airport. They got stuck for 4.5 hours behind a jack knifed big rig less than halfway to PDX, with no way to exit or reverse direction. Did I mention there was an ice storm in the Gorge at the time? The normally 2 hour round trip became an 8.5 hour odyssey, with their return at 2:30 am. Now anyone who knows me is aware that I am a terrible bad weather passenger. Knowing the forecast, I thoughtfully suggested (during a mother/daughter pedicure) that Alina might want to have a little one on one time with her dad as well. Little did I know, how long that one on one time would be!
We had a good week visiting breweries and brewpubs, including a fantastic tour of Full Sail in Hood River (highly recommended), and at the other end of the spectrum, Doug showed us where he creates the magic elixirs at Everybody's Brewing in White Salmon. Conor and Alina are home brewers, so we also stopped in to taste at Big Horse, Double Mountain, and Thirsty Woman Pub to check out potables not seen in Boston.
One late night, Lloyd, Alina and Conor brewed a batch of After Midnight Porter, now sitting in the secondary fermenter. They forgot to buy ice to cool the wort, and the sight of the three of them running outside to the last remaining snow piles was pretty funny.
The return trip to PDX was mercifully uneventful. We dropped them off and were back in White Salmon by 6 am, before the sun was even up. But my plans for the rest of January were scuttled when Mom fell and hurt her hip. I was able to reschedule my Alaska Air flight for little more than the $75 change fee, and headed to Boston on the 20th. More on that in the next post.
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