Reno Rendezvous 2010 - Day 5

Our first full day in the mountains was dedicated to mountainy stuff. After a rudimentary breakfast at the condo we loaded up and headed down the hill to the lake and Stateline where Nevada and California collide with all their cultural seismology. Its amusing to note how the casinos and saloons that line the lakeshore drive on the Nevada side come to a screeching halt right at the California line. They even designed the buildings to follow the oblique angle the border makes with the road. We dropped Mimi and Grampy off at Harrahs to learn lessons in probability theory the hard way and then headed to the base camp of the Heavenly Ski Resort across the semipermeable California line. At the resort base we researched our options and decided to fork out the not-insignificant sum to take the gondola up the mountain. None of us were prepared to go skiing, but there were places at the ski area at the top where the kids could rent sleds and go sledding. Knowing that mountain-top snow-bunny food would be out of our price range, we made a quick dogleg over to Subway before hitting the slopes.

You may recall from previous blog entries that Stacy does not well abide the seat-of-your-pants world of ski lifts. She was somewhat mollified that our ferry to the mountain top was a fully enclosed gondola rather than one of those oops-I-dropped-my-shoe, open-air, bench-on-a-wire jobs. But even with 360º of metal, plastic and graffiti around her, she still was a little spooked and her voice entered the soprano range whenever L or N would shift in their seat, or heaven forbid, attempt to stand up. (My suggestion to the kids that we try to get the gondola rocking was particularly poorly received.) Fortunately the awesome views of the mountain, the lake and the quickly retreating casinos of Stateline lent enough majestic tranquility to offset the rise in blood pressure, so even Stacy had to admit it was a great ride up.

Yes, that is anxiety you see in those eyes.

The gondolas go about two thirds of the way up the mountain and hit an intermediate landing where you can get out and walk around. It is the best place to catch the Lake Tahoe scenery because once you get back on the gondola and continue the ride the rest of the way, you go up and over a ridge and lose sight of the lake. We got out at the landing and took in the sights, pulling out our formerly hot meatball sandwiches for an al fresco patio lunch.

N, evidently tracking satellites.

Soon we were back on the gondola and gaining elevation. I'm not a skier myself -- on the contrary, gravity and I have a fairly adversarial relationship. And since I can't do it, I can't imagine why anyone else would want to; I am always a little mystified, yet intrigued by the folks who inhabit the ski world and its environs. It is a culture I could never join, don't quite understand, and yet find strangely enjoyable to watch and study. I admit to being baffled that people could devote so much passion to sliding down a mountainside at great speed, hoping to avoid death-by-splatting. But I dedicate great passion to driving to work on the 405 each day, so who am I to talk.










We found the kiddie sledding slopes, paid another not-too-insignificant sum and purchased the rights to two brightly colored plastic discs and a 15º incline. Both the kids were a little apprehensive at first, but quickly took to barrelling down the hill at great speed with great passion, leading me to believe that my ski-reticence probably isn't genetic, or if it is, that my particular ski genes got avalanched by Stacy's. (Generally a good thing, we've both come to agree.) A young kid was assigned to umpire the two mini-sled slopes. (Suddenly any one under 30 is a kid.) I don't know what this poor guy did to get relegated to essentially being a lifeguard at a kiddie pool, but I'm figuring he must have ticked his boss off somehow. I think he was desperate. He noticed my Bar Harbor sweatshirt and struck up a conversation. Evidently he had worked as a counsellor at a camp in Acadia National Park a year or two ago. (What? When he was five?!?) It was fun to chat with the guy on the joys of Maine and I took some small measure of satisfaction in knowing I probably helped keep the guy from succumbing to the unbearable boredom and despair and slitting his wrists and staining all that pretty white snow.

Ouch!

The hour took its time passing, but eventually it did, and much to the kids' chagrin they had to turn in their brightly plastic disc. (N had swapped his out about seven times in that hour, deciding that different colors would go faster.) As we made our way back toward the gondolas we found a suitable patch of still-soft snow and had to pause for some angelic activity. Probably not a good idea in the long term, because now we had tired kids, at altitude, with hats, jackets and pants now soaking wet. Mini-meltdowns accompanied us back to the ski-lift and on down the mountain.

Somewhat recovered.

Once we got to terra-warma we paid the not-too-insignifacant fee to get our car out of the parking garage, swung by a local grocery store to pick up some stuff for dinner, swung by a local casino to pick up some newly impoverished grandparents, and headed back up the Kingsbury Grade to our condo. Dinner was followed by a movie (Up, quite a nice film, actually), which was followed by bed for the kids - top bunk, of course. Stacy, Mimi and Grampy and I then finished off the evening with a rousing game of Progressive Rummy, where Stacy, evidently emboldened by the mountain air, skunked us all.

A Band of Brothers

This weekend the South Bay city of Torrance is holding their annual Armed Forces Day celebrations. The parade and exhibitions are all happening today (Saturday), but last night they kicked off the festivities with a free concert by the official United States Coast Guard Band. Stacy stood in line for over an hour with the kids earlier this week to get tickets and we all converged at Armstrong Theater last night and waited in lines another hour to get in.

The wait was easy. About thirty minutes before the theater opened we were treated to a really wild exhibition by the dozen or so strong United States Coast Guard Silent Drill Team, with slow but tightly synchronized marching, gun twirling and rhythmic stomping. Their drill rifles had to have been four feet long, with an additional foot long bayonet mounted to the muzzle. At one point the one of the parade day officials (Grand Marshall, perhaps) was led into the center of the corps and had to stand there rigidly while the team circled him and went about their routine, throwing the rifles over the guys head and occasionally lunging their knives at the poor Joe who stood there nervously grinning throughout. While those guys would probably bayonet me if I were to call it "dance," nevertheless it was a wonderfully choreographed and beautiful presentation. After the presentation was over the team came back out and talked to everyone and let the kids hold their rifles. N it seems, who sat on my shoulders for the event, was just under eye-level with each of them; you didn't notice it when they were all in formation, but it quickly became obvious that each one was over seven feet tall and generally made out of iron and granite. My hand is still aching from the three or four guys I shook hands with. These were some big, solid dudes.

While we were watching the exhibition Stacy started pointing out all the bald, eight foot tall secret service types bustling about and all the army guys armed with rather potent looking weapons that they did not seem the least bit interested in twirling about. Stacy started getting a little anxious and asked me what was going on. "Duh: Armed Forces Day!" I said. But when N noticed guys in camo with binoculars on the roofs of all the surrounding buildings, talking into head mics and not looking particularly paradeish, I started getting a little spooked too. I think the fire power was explained, however, when we were all finally seated in the theater and the host began introducing all the dignitaries in the audience. It seems all the ranking officers of the Pacific divisions of each of the armed services were in attendance. We were awash in vice-admirals and brigadier generals! (I kept listening for the chop, chop, chop of the Presidential helicopter landing out on the courtyard, but he must have been running late.)



The concert itself started around 7:30, which is generally when we start winding L and N down for the night. Fortunately the kids seemed to really enjoy it. L, who is now always wiped at the end of her school day, was definitely the fussier of the two, but she eventually curled up on Mommy's lap and dozed. N was at my side and was a ball of squirming interest. "That was some good music!" he would proclaim way too loudly in those sacred pauses between movements.

The music was, expectedly, weighted to rousing Sousa marches and patriotic military tunes and the excitement was contagious. (With one exception; I don't know why, but for some reason I can't stand Lee Greenwood's "God Bless the U.S.A." I know, I'm going to Patriot Purgatory.) The band was absolutely excellent. Stacy and I compared notes later; while it is genetically impossible not to enjoy Sousa, we were both somewhat surprised to find that our two favorite pieces were were actually by contemporary composers. "California Jubilee" by Cali-native Roger Nixon was an Aaron Couplandesque romp that gave the percussion section a chance to shine. Our hands-down favorite, however, was "Xerxes," an "angry march" by John Mackey. Dark, stomping and cruel, this is a brilliant piece. I've since found an MP3 version on the composer's website, but so much is lost in not having the full band right there in front of you and feeling the thuds and stomps. Again, the percussion group gets a workout, but so does the rest of the band. I spoke to one of the players after the concert and asked him if "Xerxes" was as much fun to play as it was to listen to. He laughed and said it was a real "chop buster!"

The concert finished up a little after 9:00 with L asleep and N bopping around, fully energized. It was gratifying to have the older folks sitting behind us complement N on how well he behaved. I suspect the older generation is so generally appalled by "kids these days" that they go out of their way to cheer on the families that still seem to be trying to keep a lid on things. (The gentleman who sat in front of L and received a couple of her kicks to the head did not pay many compliments.) We left recommitting ourselves to seeking out more inexpensive musical outlets. The kids so enjoy them, and I'd forgotten how much more aggressive, tactile and powerful living breathing music can be when a living breathing orchestra is attacking you with it!


A special thanks to the U.S. Coast Guard for all the great work they are doing mitigating the oil spill disaster in the Gulf Coast right now. The Gulf Coast is my old stomping grounds, and I am simultaneously crushed by the potential disaster there, and enhearted by such fine folks as these working to save it. My deepest gratitude to these men and women!

Things That Make You Go "Hmmm..."

Ummm. O-kay...
(We found this across the street when we got home from church today.)

Dodger Disintegration

Seems not even my inspirational presence could pull the Dodgers from their downward spiral into oblivion. My pastor and a couple of guys from church got to watch the Milwaukee Brewers put a true hurtin' on the home team. 11-3 Brewers.

On the bright side, the Dodger dogs were tasty.

Vengence - Beau Style!

OK - probably two items I should fill in by way of background and context before launching into things:

1) N has been pretty sick the last couple of days, running a decent fever, and has been on kiddie-drugs that seem to make him a little wired.

2) For a number of years now Stacy and I have featured our former neighbor's dog, Beau, a little white poodle in L and N's bedtime stories. Beau has lots of adventures, usually involving, for some unknown reason, trips to Santa Barbara to visit the penguins at the zoo.

So, with that in mind...

I got home fairly late from work tonight and the kids were already in bed. Not asleep, by any stretch, but pajamaed and tucked in. I went in to give them kisses and decided to cuddle with them a little. L joined me in N's bed and we discussed their day and dramas. N still felt pretty warm and was a little manic on his meds. He chitter-chattered non-stop. Finally, just to give him something to focus his verbosity on I let him tell the Beau story he was begging to tell. It was... concerning.

"Today Beau went for a walk," N began, "and he walked out into the street. And a car came by and bumped him!" (A "car bump" is our phrase for a car accident.)

"How terrible!" I said, a little appalled.

"It's OK. Beau was still alive. So he jumped up on the car and got the people out. Then he threw all the people into the water!"

"So Beau dragged the people who ran over him out of their car and threw them in a lake or something?" My appallation was growing. "What happened? Did someone help them?"

"No. They sank to the bottom and drowned," N relayed rather matter-of-factly, while L lay back, nodding approvingly.

We left the story at that. I'm thinking these kids have been in L.A. too long.


UPDATE: Stacy just informed me that she had read the story of Noah and the Flood to the kids tonight out of their kiddie-Bible. Methinks I now have a better understanding where this water-logged thirst for justice is coming from...

Sweet (Peas) for the Sweet

Once again, Stacy's green thumb keeps anyone from noticing that I can't get around to mowing our side yard.

Reno Rendezvous 2010 - Day 4

Our Reno leg of the trip came to a merciful conclusion nice and early on Thursday morning. I don’t hate places like Reno or Vegas; they turn out to be convenient places to round up the families and they are fun and exciting for a time. I get stoked to go and eagerly anticipate being there, but once I’m there I find, for my tastes, a little goes a long way. I’m not much of a gambler; I’ll play a slot machine or video poker for an hour or two, but after that the thrill is gone (whether I've won or lost) and I’m ready to do other things. The casino noise and lights drive Stacy to drink (water and aspirin, that is), so she usually tucks herself away at a pool with the kids or tries to go see stuff outside. Vegas as a few more options in that sense than Reno, or at least than the place we stayed, since once you left the hotel the neighborhood wasn't too interesting or pedestrian friendly. All that is to say that Stacy and I were in a good mood as we packed bags and all assembled down in the lobby.

Our plan for the day was to grab whatever breakfast appealed to us at the little coffee kiosk next to the front desk and then head west… far west… or rather Old West, to the old antique mining town Virginia City. This is one of Kirk’s favorite vacation spots and Stacy has lots of fond childhood memories of the place. About a year and a half ago we all went up to the Reno Air Races with Kirk and Lynne, and Virginia City was a de rigueur sidetrip. I figured my parents would enjoy it.

Virginia City is up in the mountains between Reno and Carson City. The drive takes you up some pretty dog-leg rich mountain roads. My Dad is somewhat claustrophobic. Add to that a substantial fear of heights. Since Stacy gets carsick, she rode co-pilot with me as we followed Kirk and Lynne up the mountain. Dad was relegated to the second row with N. He was not happy. I think the grab-handle above the passenger door has been permanently deformed into the shape of his crushing grip. By the time we parked and rolled out of the car in Virginia City he was looking an interesting blend of pale and green.



Ever on the lookout for gunslingers and cattle rustlers, we made our way through the mean streets of VaC. Nestled between tattoo parlors and saloons with names like “The Bucket of Blood” were ice cream shops and candy stores, ready to cater to the truly varied needs of the local prospecting population. Now I didn't see exactly what all transpired, but evidently at one point Poppa, L and N ran seriously afoul of the law and ended up in the pokey.













Despite my in-laws proving to be outlaws, or perhaps in part due to it, the longer we stayed in Virginia City, the more disreputable a clan we became. As our influence and infamy grew it seemed fitting to stake our claim in the town with a photo that would serve as a warning to other clans of ambition, that we were a motley crew and to be reckoned with at risk. I think we made our point.




Deciding that this town warn't big enough for the both of us (and that Kirk and Lynne’s dogs missed them), around lunchtime Poppa and Grandma holstered their weapons and hit the wagon train for southern Cal-lee-for-nigh-A, evidently hoping to ingratiate themselves with some of the ubiquitous gun-toting posses down in them there parts. We said goodbye and watched them ride off into the sunset, which was actually quite a feat since it was only around 11 o’clock. A quick sandwich lunch and ice cream cone and we too took to the lonely trail, onward and upwards to Tahoe Territory.







The southern road out of Virginia City toward Carson City is significantly more agreeable to my Dad than the northern Reno approach. The decent into Carson Valley is much more mellow a prospect (no pun intended). Once in Carson City we paused for a second scrapbooking store browse for Stacy (the things I do to accommodate her addictions!) and then turned south on beloved Highway 395, a long way away from where we abandoned it in Bishop days before. For about 15 miles south of Carson City we flatlined through the Carson Valley while the snow-peaked Sierras, now on our right, rolled stately past. As we got to Minden, NV, we hard-righted it and proceeded up the infamous Kingsbury Grade over the mountains to Lake Tahoe - another chance for my Dad to test out the integrity of his cardiovascular system. (The valley is at around 4700 ft., and the condo we rented was pretty much at the tip-top of the pass at about 7400 ft.) Again, a rather pale-ish green Grampy emerged from the minivan when we'd reached our destination.



Our evening was relatively uneventful. We moved into the condo, did some preliminary unpacking and competitive napping, and then, like brown bears emerging from hibernation, headed down the hill toward the lake looking for our equivalent of honey and beetle grubs. Our provision came in the form of a pretty decent pizza at Grand Central Pizza and Pasta in South Lake Tahoe. That was pretty much all we needed to get back into hibernation mode, so we didn't linger to see the sites much that evening. The condo we rented was a narrow, three-story job on a hillside; the three bedrooms were all on different levels. So the kids got the top floor, Mimi and Grampy the middle ground, and Stacy and I were forced to suffer the isolation and privacy of the basement floor (so sad). The last remaining thrill of the evening was in allowing, much against Mommy Bear's better judgement the baby bears to actually sleep in the top bunk of their room's bunk bed. I was fine with that -- Mimi and Grampy would hear and deal with any things that might go thump in the night!