Hollywood Musings

The Judy Lynn (Photo: Apartments.com)

I came of age at the foot of the Hollywood Hills, where Orange Drive ended at Franklin Avenue.

When I looked out south from our apartment balcony, I could see the back of the fabled Chinese Theatre a block away on Hollywood Boulevard. In view just beyond that was the Hollywood Roosevelt Hotel, home of the first-ever Oscars ceremony in 1929.

From the east window of my bedroom, I looked out at the Magic Castle next door and could see the bell tower of the Hollywood United Methodist Church at Franklin and Highland and the intersection of Hollywood and Highland. Further down, the shiny black First Interstate Building at 6255 Sunset Boulevard, then also the home of Motown Records. I worked in the mailroom at Motown several years later.

At 14, my life had become a magical journey of discovery. I was given free rein to explore Hollywood with my twin brother.

We were already familiar with the lay of the land around Franklin and Orange because Dad managed The Magic Hotel (now the Magic Castle Hotel) right next door to our apartment building. He had been doing that since 1974. Read more about that HERE.

Brother Chris and I worked there for years.

Magic Hotel Front Desk (Photo: Photo: Pody Hansbrough / Color: Russell Colombo)

Neither one of us could believe our good fortune when our mother agreed to let us stay with Dad permanently in 1977.

We had been coming to see Dad on our summer vacations after Mom moved us back to Miami. Before that, we lived in Crestline – a small burg in the San Bernardino Mountains near Lake Arrowhead.

We moved around like army brats and for a time were always the new kids: Miami to Buena Park to Crestline to Miami to, finally, Hollywood.

But Hollywood…

Much of the magic had to do with Dad, who instilled in me a sense of wonder.

By the time we lived with him permanently, he was well into his sixties.

But he never lost his enthusiasm, his grace, his sense of humor – his unbeatable charm.

When I was in my thirties, a coworker once told me I was “The Pan.”

While I wasn’t down with being compared to a satyr, I took her comment to mean I was ageless, like Peter Pan. She should see me now.

She had never met my father. If she had, she would have been blown away.

I remember visiting Hollywood with the family in 1967 or 1968. Dad had already relocated there from Miami.

Is it weird to say that Hollywood even smelled different? Maybe it was the lack of humidity…

I remember distinctly the aroma of the brush and foliage in Griffith Park – a kind of clean, dry sweetness that was new to me, not laden down with the heavy, moist air of Coconut Grove.

My mom moved us out to California in something like 1970 – my twin brother, niece Cathy and me.

We first lived in Buena Park, the home of Knott’s Berry Farm, with Mom’s cousin Floss. She had been living in a rustic little home off Beach Boulevard since the 1940s. There was an ancient spinning wheel in the front window.

Cathy was too little to go to school, but Chris and I finished out first grade at St. Pius V Catholic School.

This was the first example of being uprooted, a pattern of disjointedness that would continue until our high school years.

At this time, Dad lived in an apartment building called The Judy Lynn on Carlton Way. We visited frequently. Next door was a long old bungalow-style house with a red roof. Dad told me that it used to belong to Tom Mix. I didn’t know who the fuck that was.

Turns out, Mix was a famous cowboy actor from the silent movie days.

By that time, though, the house was rife with hippies.

What was that smell? Not the hippies I just mentioned, but the sweet smell I was talking about earlier. Gardenias? Jasmine? I’ll have to get to the bottom of that.

The Apartment at Franklin and Orange  (Photo: Taylor Yale)

I’m enjoying setting down these memories. Thanks for coming with me on the journey.

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Blue Ridge Getaway

Pilot Mountain, NC

Right after I got back from NEW YORK. Brenda and I set out on a six-day road trip to the mountains.

I found myself going from city to country in the blink of an eye.

Brenda’s family lives in Southwest Virginia. It’s a beautiful region in the Blue Ridge Mountains, a subrange of the Appalachian Mountains.

I spent three years in the Galax area, a burg known for the renowned Old Fiddler’s Convention and its once-flourishing furniture industry. When I met Brenda, she had worked at Vaughan-Bassett for more than two decades.  

Brenda was born in Sparta, North Carolina, just down the road from her hometown of Independence, a neighbor of Galax boasting a weekly newspaper called The Declaration. Low hanging fruit or not, that’s a great name.

We were supposed to wake up at 4 a.m. the morning of the trip, but we both turned off our alarms and continued to snooze until Brenda sat up like a shot and cussed like a sailor. It was 5:30.

Morning poise rattled, we set about to make coffee and load the car. Brenda was dead set on spending every minute she could in “them thar hills,” hanging with her family and exploring other towns.

Just like the trip to New York, I am hard pressed to remember an exact timeline, but I will do the best I can.

The first point on the itinerary was Atkins, just about the midpoint between Marion and Rural Retreat along I-81. Brenda’s sister Betty has lived in Atkins for decades, and thankfully offered us a room for a few days. The setting can best be described as idyllic, as was the situation pretty much everywhere we went during this trip.

I overpacked. Even brought my laptop because I thought I’d be working on a newspaper assignment with no hard deadline. I should have left that thing at home because I didn’t do squat.

I could see Brenda’s cares melt away as we visited. The one thing I had to get used to was the fact that Brenda and Betty are perfectly content to sit quietly, enjoying each other’s company. Me, I have a constant urge to fill the pockets of silence with small talk.

In those three days, we also visited with Brenda’s great-niece Addison and niece Jessica. Brother Troy was there one morning when I woke up – and it was good to catch up.

Addison

We took Addison with us to dinner in Wytheville at a pizza place called Moon Dog Brick Oven, enjoyed coffee one day and breakfast the next in Rural Retreat at Java Blend Café and tromped around a Mennonite shop called The Dutch Pantry. While Betty and Brenda explored the baked goods, jellies and more, I grabbed some sour worms and candy fruit slices.

Wytheville is home to a giant pencil outside a shop called Wytheville Office Supply. It also boasts the Bolling Wilson Hotel – a testament to the fact that Edith Bolling Wilson, wife of Woodrow Wilson, was born in Wytheville. The hotel used to be called the George Wythe, a tribute to the town’s namesake who was a signer of the Declaration of Independence (not the newspaper).

Brenda and I visited Bristol, Tennessee, what some cite as the birthplace of country music – and the home of Bristol Motor Speedway. We also cruised around Bristol, Virginia with no agenda. As they say, “just riding around.”

After enjoying Betty’s hospitality, we packed up and drove over the mountain to Elk Creek, just above Independence, to visit and stay with Cissy (Alexis) and her husband Ron (I call him Ronnie). A while back, the pair stayed with us for a couple of days here in Myrtle Beach.

Ronnie is a retired educator whose area of expertise was agriculture, and the man is a wealth of information and practical know-how in this area. He was also heavily involved with the FFA. He’s also funny, gregarious, kind and deeply spiritual. Did I mention that he’s a Gideon? Yep – “Placed by the Gideons.” If you know, you know.

I’ve known Cissy and Ronnie about as long as I have known Brenda, and we’re coming up on 20 years.

Cissy’s is a kind and calming presence – another example of how it’s OK just to be still and enjoy visiting without filling the space with chatter. I could learn a lot from her.

Ronnie was like an ambassador wherever we went – whether that was Food City in Independence or the restaurants we visited, like the Pines Restaurant in Sparta or Mi Casa Azteca and Pizza Plus in Independence. He knows everybody – former students, friends, neighbors, and more.

Ronnie and I got involved in multiple games of ring darts, talking smack along the way. He prevailed. We now have a standing prize – a rubber duck. Some people have championship rings or trophies. We have a duck. Well, he’s got the duck, but I mean to win it next time.

As far as towns go, we enjoyed Abingdon the most. We got an Asheville-type vibe from the place. It seemed to be the most progressive of the places we visited. Artsy, yet steeped in history and boasting the Barter Theatre, also known as the State Theatre of Virginia. The venue’s interior includes furnishings salvaged from New York’s Empire Theatre.  We had lunch at a music-centric restaurant called Luke’s Café, where I enjoyed an upscale Swiss and mushroom burger. Brenda ordered a truffle burger but said it wasn’t truffle-y enough. But the small place had a great music and art ambiance, with instruments and art all over the walls.

Other events of note: We met up with Brenda’s great-great niece Sophia in Marion (her father dropped her off) at Mi Puerto and afterward caught up with great-niece Skye and Brenda’s great-great nephew Harley.

With Sophia

On the way home, we stopped in Mount Airy, North Carolina – aka Mayberry – for a quick visit with our friends Randy and Lisa. We had last seen them a couple of years ago when they came to Myrtle Beach for a trade show. Always wonderful to catch up. I first met Randy when I worked at a place called Sawyer’s Sign Service in Mount Airy, and he was my boss in the art department for a time until I switched departments and wound up doing oversize and overweight permitting for the company’s transportation arm. But music cemented our friendship for good, and now we’re family.

With Randy and Lisa

There were others Brenda and I would have liked to have seen, but it wasn’t in the cards this time around.

I know Brenda doesn’t get to see her family much, and I am heartened that we were able to stay as long as we did and grateful for the hospitality.

Until next time.

Trickster!

He tricked me.

He’s a leprechaun. I mean, look at him. All he needs is a beard.

Here’s what went down: He had some cereal puffs laid out on his highchair tray, and I was sitting on a chair across from him while he munched on them.

He has a funny way of eating those things, kind of grabbing each one with his pinky and ring finger, securing them to the top of his palm and then maneuvering them into his mouth.

I was surprised when he picked one up in what I consider the regular way and extended his hand toward me with a quizzical sound, like, “Mmm?”

Clearly he was offering to share a puff with me. Cutest thing ever. I moved toward him and he fed one to me. I dramatically crunched it and thanked him. He was pleased, and laughed about the exchange.

I like the fact that a one-year-old was willing to share his stash with me, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

It didn’t end there. Because he seemed to get a kick out of this, he offered me another with the same result, same laugh.

As his grandfather, I could do this all day.  I love being around that kid. When I am with him, nothing else seems to matter.

He wasn’t done, and his generosity was impressive.

On the third pass, he moved the puff toward me and I was ready to accept it.

But as he got closer to my face, he did a 180 and quickly ate the puff himself.

As he was munching, he let out a laugh I had never heard him laugh before.

This was not the laugh of a baby. It was the laugh of a seasoned trickster.

Well, played, sir. Well played.

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One More Night In Gotham

Although our New York trip was six weeks ago, much of it has become jumbled in my memory, like what happened and when it happened. Right now, I am struggling to remember what we did for part of our final day there.

Read my previous post HERE. It will lead you to more.

I know that there were pockets when Wes and I were left to ourselves to explore while Taylor worked. I know that Wes made at least one more visit to Harbor Fitness while I slept in.

It could well be that the birthday cake for the twins from Mary happened on the last day, but I already wrote that it happened on another day. If it’s already on the internet like that, then it must be true.

I remember later having coffee and a pastry with Wes and heading into an organic/specialty grocery store to poke around. We think it was somewhere in Bed-Stuy or thereabouts.

I also remember a bunch of preteens sizing us up on the subway and trying to encircle us – acting like they were just chatting with each other as they moved closer. Wes and I stayed vigilant – eyes on each other’s pockets as we stood near one of the exits until they got off the train. Pickpockets in training, perhaps. You can call me paranoid, but Wes felt the same way. Something was up.

On this final night, we were looking forward to a meal at Gyu-Kaku Japanese BBQ in the East Village.

But we got around in the daytime also. I remember browsing at another bookshop with my twins and (maybe on the same day) ducking into Los Tacos No. 1 in the Times Square area.

Earlier, Wes asked Taylor about the Whole Foods bag he had left with her at Hartley’s the night before. She had no idea what happened to it.

Gyu-Kaku is a sprawling restaurant with personal grills at every table – and an endless array of meats for its patrons to cook – along with soups, salads and a variety of sides.

Seán was waiting for us when we got there, and it was good to see him again. The four of us were led to our table, and the feast ensued. We soon got the hang of the grill, and servers came by randomly to check the heat setting for us.

My hearing plays tricks of me in places like this and seems to go to the background noise instead of the people who are actually talking to me, but I managed. Wes and I sat across from Taylor and Seán, and it was interesting to see them interact. It was like they knew each other for years.  

I am particularly pleased with what I think is funniest photo of the trip. I don’t know what Wes said to Taylor, but her expression was priceless, like, “are you fucking kidding me…”

After Gyu-Kaku, Taylor and Seán felt like having a few more beers. We wound up at McSorley’s Old Ale House. The place was established in 1854 and it is said that Abraham Lincoln drank there once. The place oozed history and a bit of controversy. It wasn’t until 1986 that the tavern added a women’s restroom.

The men’s room had a bank of urinals that looked like upended porcelain sarcophagi without the lids, probably not as old as the bar itself, but ancient nonetheless.

Don’t expect hard liquor at McSorley’s. The place serves light and dark ale only, and you order it in pairs. I noticed a food selection on a chalkboard also. The place is about as no-nonsense as you can get.

We made our way to the subway, but Wes ducked into yet another pizza joint for a slice – proving his insatiability on this trip. We parted ways with Seán and headed toward South Slope. Even though Taylor was with us, I was proud of how easily Wes and I managed to navigate the MTA. While not pros by any means, we could get around.

Walking up Taylor’s street, the couch was still outside her apartment building, but most of the cushions had been scavenged. I noticed something odd, though. It was a brown paper bag. As we got closer, I could see the green logo: Whole Foods.

No way.

Don’t ask me how or why. It was Wesley’s food, now festering.

It was full circle – a hilarious bookend to our trip.

We hung out with Taylor and Mary. I was glad Mary was there and enjoyed our conversation. We were now homies. Mary was also kind enough to loan me her carry-on approved backpack, which was much more manageable than the gym bag I brought with me.

Early the next morning, Wes and I made our way onto the subway, took two trains to Penn Station, grabbed a New Jersey Transit train to the AirTrain and caught our flight home to Myrtle Beach.

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An Irish Pub Grows in Brooklyn

I might be beating this New York trip to death, but there are a few more memories I want to set down before they slip away…

For the first three installments, go HERE, HERE and HERE.

After Wes and I finished our pie at John’s of Bleeker Street, we headed off via subway toward Bed-Stuy and Hartley’s Pub for “trad night” – a regular session of traditional Irish Music where Taylor slings Jameson.

Hartley’s (From Facebook)

Hartley’s is a welcoming place. It doesn’t put on airs, and the vibe is chill. It’s a small place. The pub’s website cites it as “Brooklyn’s homiest Irish bar,” and it sits on the border of Bed-Stuy and Clinton Hill.

Taylor told us that a table was reserved for her group, and that’s a good thing because the place soon filled up to elbow-to-elbow status – with the musicians taking up residence at a regular table just across from us.

But Wes and I were early, and hung around outside for a bit until Taylor texted us and said to go in and claim the table. She and boyfriend Seán were en route. The place started to fill up. Before it did, we met bartender Milo, who pointed out the waiting high-top after I shook his hand about 2.5 million times. Sometimes I astonish myself.

Soon, Taylor came in with Seán, and she introduced us. I found him to be calm and kind – and conversation came easily. He is also a tall and a good-looking fellow. Did I mention he was Irish? Did I have to? I enjoyed meeting and speaking with him, and Wes did too – the pair talking about sports and fitness and, for both of them, an early decision to reinvent themselves through physical training.

How many times can you use the word “did” in a paragraph? See above.

Of course, we playfully roasted Taylor, but if you know her, that could be a slippery slope. I am happy to report that we survived.

I met a regular, Ms. Ronnie, and we ducked outside for a vape (me) and a smoke (her). She was born and raised in the area and ascended the municipal ranks from clerk to civil engineer. What a fantastic story.

We also met LG, the chef. About that time, Taylor took Wesley’s beloved Whole Food bag and brought it downstairs to store in the kitchen.

Later, Seán and I would pop out for a vape. Our conversation was relaxed and easy – and I was glad to get to know him.

It’s funny that as soon as Taylor was sure I was coming to New York with Wes, she sent me a selfie with Seán and said something like, “Unfortch, you’re going to meet this guy.”

Maybe it’s because I’m her father and she was about to introduce me to her boyfriend, but I found her choice of words hilarious. I get it. I took it to mean that there was no stopping a runaway freight train.  But I asked her why she would say “unfortch,” and she told me Seán asked her the same thing. At any rate, I am glad he knows about it.

When I met him, I told him that “Unfortch” should be his nickname.

Taylor with Seán aka “Unfortch”

There was soon no room at the table – and some of their friends crowded around. Some of them I knew – Deniese, Kaja, Jacob, Mary – and it was great to meet the others. I am heartened that my daughter has a wonderful group of people in her life.

Wes doesn’t drink and has never had an interest in it. Maybe that’s because of my alcoholic incidents over the course of his young life. Taylor is another story, although I have rarely seen her completely shitfaced – rarely being the key word. Because I have been sober for nearly ten years, I never had the chance to drink with her. I mentioned that to her once. Believe me, she’s perfectly OK with that.

But the drinkers were well on their way that night. Come on now, it’s an Irish pub after all.

The music was awesome. No singing. This wasn’t “Dirty Old Town” or “Danny Boy.” It was just as it was supposed to be: Traditional. Instrumental. I seem to remember an Irish whistle, acoustic guitar, a fiddle and either a mandolin, dulcimer or bouzouki. I’m probably missing something. At any rate, the music component contributed to a great vibe – but soon the place was so crowded that the chatter threatened to drown out the musicians, who were strictly acoustic.

Wes and I decided it was time for us to head to Taylor’s apartment. We asked about the Whole Foods bag, and Taylor told us she would bring it home with her later. She also ordered a Lyft for us.

When Wes and I got there, we decided we were still a bit hungry – so we took a short walk in the neighborhood, around the corner to Brothers Pizza for a couple of slices. It’s a small place, the pizza was good and the guys who were working that night were friendly. It’s strange, but we seemed to be getting in more together time than we normally do at home in Myrtle Beach.

We still had one more day to explore.

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This Slope, That Slope

Tromping around New York with Wes and Taylor was just what I needed for a reset. My twins were about to turn 30, and my son and I got to spend a few days up there thanks to my daughter-in-law, my daughter and, as I came to find out, my daughter’s boyfriend, Seán.

We were to meet Seán later when we were to return to Hartley’s for “trad night” – a couple of hours of traditional Irish music where Taylor tends bar.

That morning, Wes was up with the chickens to drop in at a local gym called Harbor Fitness in Park Slope, according to my daughter the fancier neighbor of South Slope, where she lives. By the time I woke up, he was back – getting ready to move a couch out of the apartment with Mary, Taylor’s friend and roommate.

Typically, a piece of furniture doesn’t last long once it is put out on the street. It’s an interesting phenomenon. By the time we headed off to check out Strand Book Store and the Union Square Holiday Market, some of the cushions had already disappeared.

But that couch was to play a role in our lives again later. Come to think of it, maybe the couch was moved out the day before. Dammit. I don’t remember.

But that day, we also celebrated the twins’ 30th birthdays early with a cake and candles thanks to Mary. This is a moment I will always cherish. Also grateful that Mary snapped some photos.

I could have stayed the day at Strand Book Shop, exploring its boasted “18 Miles of Books,” but we stayed a good while. This visit, I passed on perusing the stacks out on the sidewalk, but I regret that now. I could have stocked up and asked Taylor to ship the used books to me later.

Catherine and Taylor at Strand Book Store

The holiday market was wonderful – a sprawling bazaar with artisans, food vendors, retailers, music and much more – a feast for the senses, for sure, with the hum of bustling humanity. Taylor bought me a red winter beanie with a patch that reads, “Don’t Be A Dick.” I am proud of that hat, and love wearing it. I am sorry more people don’t actually read what it says, though. I might effect meaningful change if they did. Sometimes I make sure folks can see it, especially my friends.

I was happy that we got to see Catherine – a longtime friend of Taylor’s going back to the sixth or seventh grade – and a young lady who also struck out for NYC after college. She’s family. I always wax nostalgic when I see her and I am proud of both of them. Catherine influenced me and Wes to try the awesome empanadas from a vendor at the holiday market.

Taylor and Catherine

Wes ducked across the street to grab some takeout from the hot bar at Whole Foods. I was glad – because, here I go again, there was a restroom. Armed with what he wanted, we parted ways with Catherine – and Taylor accompanied us around as we made our way toward Greenwich Village – walking through Washington Square Park on the way.

@rograt1

Just following my twins on a recent trip to #NYC #twins #twinlife #twinbirthday

♬ original sound – Roger Yale

I love seeing the twins – my babies – interacting as adults. If I live long enough, I’ll probably be the same when they are 50.

Wes was intent on trying as much New York pizza as he could – I call it “Pizzaquest” – and we were on our way to John’s of Bleeker Street. Taylor planned on leaving us there so she could scope out a bar called Peg’s Cavalier in Queens, which was to be the site of her 30^th birthday soiree. Unfortunately, Wes and I would already be back in Myrtle Beach by their actual birthday.

Soon, it appeared before us as we walked. On the left corner of their burgundy awning were the words, “No Slices.”

Whoops.

Thank Goodness those empanadas were small.

After some debate, Wes and I decided to go in for a whole pie and Taylor took off. We “split” the pizza, meaning Wes had four slices and I had two – more than enough for me. Wes later told me that it was the best pizza he ever had.

 All the while, the Whole Foods bag was with him.

More to come.

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On the Town: A Whirlwind Trip

In three days, we packed as much adventure into our visit to New York as we could.

Only just a month later, I am having trouble piecing it all together. Memory is a funny thing.

Wes and I arrived in New York just days after KISS played their two final shows at Madison Square Garden, and if you looked, you could see evidence of the band’s “NYC Takeover.”

Taylor handed us a couple of MTA passes with KISS emblazoned on them in full makeup.

I wish I had been able to see the Empire State Building’s tribute to them, the structure alive with video and lights – paying tribute to the “local boys made good” in larger-than-life relief, a fitting farewell indeed.

But we already said our goodbyes to KISS in Raleigh a while back. You can read about that experience HERE.

After we got to Taylor’s apartment in South Slope, we regrouped. Thankfully, Taylor and her friend and roommate Mary let us stay with them.

Mary wasn’t home, but we caught up with her later.

I was happy to finally have unfettered access to a restroom.

We headed out and took the subway to Bed-Stuy with Taylor, en route to her job at an Irish pub called Hartley’s. I like to say she is slinging Jameson now, and the job is a logical fit for her because she was first a regular there. One of her concoctions actually made it onto the menu – she originally called it a “Guinn and Tonic” but it’s on the menu as a Guinness and Tonic.

When we walked into the little place, folks greeted her like on ”Cheers.”  After meeting the manager, Aidan, and chitchatting with one of the regulars (who had some very kind things to say about Taylor), we took off in pursuit of pizza.

This was one of the first adventures as a duo with Wes on the subway system. Taylor gave us some pointers, and I was impressed by the sheer detail of Google Maps when it came to navigating public transit in New York.

The first place on Wesley’s pizza quest was Prince Street Pizza in SoHo. We had both been there before, but this time we knew the place was KISS-centric.

We had seen photos of Gene Simmons there with his son, Nick. And there were cutouts of the band at the front of the place. For folks ordering whole pies, the boxes displayed KISS on them also.

We enjoyed the thick, square slices outside. Thick? Square? What? This is New York. I told Wes that the challenge was to eat them before they got cold, because it was something like forty degrees then. There is a counter against the wall inside the narrow place, but it’s usually elbow to elbow.

Wes and I walked around for a bit, and again I was forecasting about when I would need to find a restroom. We ducked into a pastry shop, but couldn’t find a restroom there – but it wasn’t urgent. Wes ordered a pastry and we continued on, deciding to head back to Taylor’s place for the night.

Taylor and Mary live in a cute apartment in an old building with vertical, floor-to-ceiling pipes in every room. I didn’t realize what they were until I got close to one of them. It was old-school boiler heat. I’m 60, and I had never encountered that before. When they heart up, it sounds like somebody is hammering a piece of sheet metal. In fact, I thought somebody was working outside the building when I first heard it.

Reminds me of “I Love Lucy” episodes where Fred Mertz had to go downstairs to check on the furnace.

Mary was home when we got there. Buzzed us in a’la “Seinfeld” – and we had the chance to catch up with her before turning in.

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Holding it In

I just got back from what you would call a couple of whirlwind trips. One by air, the other by car. In rapid succession, I visited Brooklyn and New York City and then the mountains of Southwest Virginia.

I knew that my son was heading up to New York so that he could be with his sister/my daughter ahead of their 30th birthday. As soon as I found out about that, I knew I wanted to go too. Three decades in, and the bond among us remains strong, thank God.

Imagine my surprise when I got a group text from daughter Taylor and daughter-in-law Leigh that I was going with Wes. They gifted me a flight to and from New York. Wes was on the thread too, and he said, “You’re in, Jonna” – the words Malcolm Young used to welcome Brian Johnson into AC/DC.

This was to be my Christmas present from Leigh and Taylor (more in later posts). It was one way up on Delta and one way back on Spirit – on the same flights as Wes. The fact that we wound up sitting together on both flights was a bonus, with no add-on fees or hassles.

The last time Wes and I flew together was to Miami was in 2013 to see the University of Miami beat the Florida Gators (thanks Frank) – so I was excited to travel with my son once again.

And thank you, Brenda for getting us to the airport very early. Myrtle Beach is a breeze as far as airports go, but it has come a long way in the years since my mother called it a “jerkwater airport.” But still, Wes didn’t want to mess around. I will say he might be a bit more “reasonable” than his sister about getting there early, but apparently not by much.

We flew into LaGuardia. I had only done this once before, but the flight was uneventful, pleasant and quick – I think with just over an hour in the air. And as we headed down an escalator, there was Taylor, holding up two signs like a limo driver – BRUDDER and DAD.

Taylor is very good at these cute and funny moments. (Don’t get me started about Leigh’s hilarious sign for Taylor when she arrived in Myrtle Beach once. “Welcome Home From Prison, Taylor…”)

I was relieved to see Taylor. Otherwise, Wes and I would have to navigate the MTA system, which included a bus and a train from Queens to Brooklyn. In retrospect, the process was simple, but having our own guide was a definite plus.

On the bus to the eventual subway stop, I had to pee – and I indicated to Wes and Taylor that I was reaching critical mass. We continued to the subway and got on the appropriate train, When the twins realized that it was becoming painful for me, we got off the train in the middle of who-the-fuck knows – somewhere between Queens and Brooklyn. It was raining and cold, but after some slogging, we found a small bakery with a tiny bathroom available for customers.

It was then that I realized that I would face a particular challenge for the remainder of the trip. Wherever you go in and around The City, bathrooms are scarce. And with my propensity to relieve my bladder frequently, this would prove to become an issue, with me on high alert for options.

Bladder aside, this trip was chock full of memory-making.

Much more to come.

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Thankful Indeed

Here’s a little something about Thanksgiving from my daily writing discipline. I say “daily” and “discipline,” but a couple of writing assignments recently supplanted it.

I had a wonderful Thanksgiving. Low-key, with excellent food from Brenda – traditional fare. Her nephew Christian came early to help her while the Macy’s parade was on TV. I woke up a bit later and was ready to help with my usual cleanup duties in the kitchen – and I also tidied and vacuumed.

Wes, Leigh and Anderson showed up before six, which was to be our start time. There was a knock at the door – and when I opened it, Leigh had put Anderson down to examine the little lit tree Brenda set up outside. She gave him a plastic Christmas ornament to hold for a moment, but as soon as he wanted to taste it, she gently took it back, picked him up and handed him to me.

That was all I needed. I held him and carried him around for a bit – and I was to hold him a lot during the evening. I even had the honor of feeding him from a plate of Brenda’s awesome food, making sure everything was bite-sized for him. He ate like a champ – and it was the most rewarding experience of the evening.

Xavier and Xavion showed up not long after the Yales did. Xavion is in the eighth grade now. He’s tall and quiet. A good kid, and someone I have known since he was a baby. Time flies.

Xavier and Wes have been the best of friends since middle school. He is a fantastic father.

But Anderson was the star of the show that night. He’s such a happy little guy.

For a little while during and after I fed him, we were at our little dinner table with the guys – Wes, Christian and Xavier (Xavion was quietly on his phone at the other side of the room and Leigh and Brenda chatted on the couch). It seemed like Anderson was soaking in all of the banter – and every now and then he’d say something. It doesn’t matter that we couldn’t understand his language. He knew what he was talking about, and was like he wanted to contribute to the conversation.

He says “hi,” though – sometimes with a little wave – and that’s the cutest “hi” I ever heard.

After everybody left, Brenda and I did some touch-ups in the kitchen. She put the remainder of the feast away while I washed the remaining dishes. Thank God for paper plates, though.

I put away Anderson’s playmat and toys, and as I did, I felt his energy in the things he played with. I get that same feeling when I go to his house. His things. His vibe.

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‘Twas the Season

Photo by Leigh Schwartz aka Mommy

Brenda outdid herself this Halloween.

Brenda outdoes herself every Halloween.

I know she would like her Halloween décor to stay up all year. The witches’ hats dangling from the ceiling, the slim Halloween tree (well, it’s a Christmas tree, but she uses it for Halloween – all done up with orange and black garland and dangling jack-o-lanterns), the lights inside and out, the plaque beside the front door advertising her “Dead and Breakfast” and much, much more.

It’s a lifestyle for her. As for me, an introvert pretending to be an extrovert, I follow Brenda’s lead and jump on her bandwagon. This year, I reprised my previous role as Severus Snape of Harry Potter fame when we handed out candy at work. She went as a hippie. No big surprise, since she is a hippie at heart.

Brenda gets nervous if Halloween decorations aren’t up by September first. She was particularly antsy this year because September blew by and she finally had everything up and out by the beginning of October.

We hit up the usual Haunted Trail, handed out candy from Tinder Box Myrtle Beach, the cigar shop where we work. Kids came out of the woodwork at Broadway at the Beach from 4:30-6:30. (No, we didn’t hand out puros to the youngsters when the candy ran out.)

Because we do this every year, Brenda knew that there would be stragglers, and she saved a half-bag of bite-size candy bars for the random latecomers – especially the tiny ones all dressed up like ballerinas, princesses, vampires and monsters whose parents either didn’t know or didn’t care about the trick-or-treating hours.

WELCOME, GREAT PUMPKIN

But it was The Great Pumpkin who stole our hearts.

Earlier in October, my daughter-in-law entrusted Brenda to take the reins for a planned trunk-or-treat at grandson Anderson’s daycare. Of course she was up to the challenge and hit the ground running.

The event was to take place on October 30^th, which would give Brenda and Leigh enough of a runway to get the ball rolling.

Brenda has a distinct talent for putting together things like this. She was the brains behind Wes’ and Leigh’s rehearsal dinner, which took place at their home.

Like a military operation, Brenda and Leigh were in constant communication, both women running errands and coordinating things like supplies, decorations, meetup times and more.

When the day came, Leigh’s vehicle was transformed into a pumpkin patch, the hatch wide open with pumpkins, string lights,  leaf garlands and more – with the gang from Peanuts set behind the Telluride with ghost sheets covering precut tomato cages at the perfect height. My nephew’s wife helped with the cages – scoring and cutting them to size and drawing the iconic mask worn by Lucy in “It’s the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown.” Brenda fabricated Shroeder’s coonskin cap.

You’d think the Peanuts gang was standing there, and you could almost hear Charlie Brown exclaim, “I got a rock….”

There was a table alongside the car, with goodies to give away – and the pumpkin patch extended onto the ground, in anticipation of The Great Pumpkin’s arrival.

And he arrived, dressed by his mother in the cutest pumpkin getup I have ever seen.

Photo: Leigh Schwartz

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