Stephen Mark Rainey's Blog, page 37

Mavahi Class of 1977 45th Reunion — Plus Bonus!

"Mavahi" is the official short form of Martinsville, Virginia, High School, which is, yes, my alma mater. Last night was our 45th (WHAT?) reunion, so Brugger and I oiled up the old bones and creaked our way to it. After our big trip to Michigan, we had one only night at home before heading out for another overnighter, but at least Martinsville is only an hour's drive from Greensboro. The reunion was held at TAD Space , a relatively new business and event facility in Uptown Martinsville. Since COVID-19 had squashed the 1975 and 1976 class reunions, we had a triple-header, with all three classes coming together to celebrate being kinda fuckin' old. With all the celebrating, hugging, and hollering, I shouldn't be surprised if the covidz or other germy nasties got loose in there, but Ms. B. and I are as shot up with anti-covid juice as we can be. I hope it'll be a non-event, not just for us, but for everyone who attended, since I know a few there who suffer from some chronic health issues. Dr. Stan

I haven't missed any of the previous reunions, and although I've remained close friends with only a handful of my old classmates, it's always a joy to see the entire lot on these occasions. Gathering with old friends from the classes of '75 and '76 was an added bonus this year, particularly since I haven't seen some of them since high school. The only sadness that comes from these class events is that, at each, the crowd is smaller than at the last. Our class in particular has lost what seems to be a disproportionately large number of alumni. One of our classmates passed away just days before the event. To start off the reunion, friend and fellow author, Dr. Stan Gravely, offered a moving tribute to our friends who have gone before us.
Brenda's Catering provided us with a decent dinner, and the cash bar did a brisk business (I have it on good authority that Brugger made this job worth their while). Our DJs kept up a stream of 1970s tunes at just the right volume — loud enough to enjoy without overwhelming conversation. (That said, the acoustics in TAD Space aren't necessarily the best for clear communication.) The gangs from the various classes that pulled this event together did a wonderful job.
I must give a special shout-out to old friends Bob & Yvonne Moore, with whom Brugger and I have connected on several occasions. Although we as couples keep promising each other we'll get together again, life's twists and turns have continually pulled us in other directions. This time, though... definitely. The commitment has been made.
The next reunion for my class... mein gott... will be at 50 years. I hope to make that one. I plan to make that one. How lovely it would be if everyone who made the 45th (as well as those who couldn't make this one for their own reasons) will be there for that half-century celebration of friendship, achievement, and life in general.
Peace out. Old dude and pretty young lady. Classmates Ellen, Rick, Sally, Mary, Margaret, and Rich. Friends Yvonne & Bob Let this train keep on riding on through. Nothing to see here. Mavahi Class of 1977

Mavahi Class of 1977 45th Reunion

"Mavahi" is the official short form of Martinsville, Virginia, High School, which is, yes, my alma mater. Last night was our 45th (WHAT?) reunion, so Brugger and I oiled up the old bones and creaked our way to it. After our big trip to Michigan, we had one only night at home before heading out for another overnighter, but at least Martinsville is only an hour's drive from Greensboro. The reunion was held at TAD Space , a relatively new business and event facility in Uptown Martinsville. Since COVID-19 had squashed the 1975 and 1976 class reunions, we had a triple-header, with all three classes coming together to celebrate being kinda fuckin' old. With all the celebrating, hugging, and hollering, I shouldn't be surprised if the covidz or other germy nasties got loose in there, but Ms. B. and I are as shot up with anti-covid juice as we can be. I hope it'll be a non-event, not just for us, but for everyone who attended, since I know a few there who suffer from some chronic health issues. Dr. Stan

I haven't missed any of the previous reunions, and although I've remained close friends with only a handful of my old classmates, it's always a joy to see the entire lot on these occasions. Gathering with old friends from the classes of '75 and '76 was an added bonus this year, particularly since I haven't seen some of them since high school. The only sadness that comes from these class events is that, at each, the crowd is smaller than at the last. Our class in particular has lost what seems to be a disproportionately large number of alumni. One of our classmates passed away just days before the event. To start off the reunion, friend and fellow author, Dr. Stan Gravely, offered a moving tribute to our friends who have gone before us.
Brenda's Catering provided us with a decent dinner, and the cash bar did a brisk business (I have it on good authority that Brugger made this job worth their while). Our DJs kept up a stream of 1970s tunes at just the right volume — loud enough to enjoy without overwhelming conversation. (That said, the acoustics in TAD Space aren't necessarily the best for clear communication.) The gangs from the various classes that pulled this event together did a wonderful job.
I must give a special shout-out to old friends Bob & Yvonne Moore, with whom Brugger and I have connected on several occasions. Although we as couples keep promising each other we'll get together again, life's twists and turns have continually pulled us in other directions. This time, though... definitely. The commitment has been made.
The next reunion for my class... mein gott... will be at 50 years. I hope to make that one. I plan to make that one. How lovely it would be if everyone who made the 45th (as well as those who couldn't make this one for their own reasons) will be there for that half-century celebration of friendship, achievement, and life in general.
Peace out. Old dude and pretty young lady. Classmates Ellen, Rick, Sally, Mary, Margaret, and Rich. Friends Yvonne & Bob Let this train keep on riding on through. Nothing to see here. Mavahi Class of 1977

Clusterfuckin’ Our Way to Michigan, Part 3

Very old graves at Pine Grove Cemetery in Eagle Harbor, MI Tuesday, September 20, 2022
Annual snow gauge along Route 41
in the Keweenaw
Here's how differently driving works in Michigan's Upper Peninsula than in other places around the globe. From your starting point, your destination is 12 miles away. So you get on a long, relatively straight stretch of road and drive at a steady 65 to 70 mph for ten minutes. At this point, having kept a constant speed, you check to see how far your destination is. It's 10 miles away. That's just how it works.
Today, we drove about 20 Upper Peninsula miles to Calumet, a little town on US 41, to meet Ms. B.'s cousin, Chris, and his wife, Bonnie, for coffee at a little shop called Keweenaw Coffee Works . We had good coffee, pleasant conversation, and, for me, a fair blackberry scone. After we parted ways, Ms. B. and I hit the road eastward, bound ultimately for Copper Harbor, a wee little burg pretty far east. We figured that, along the way, we'd find waterfalls, pleasant scenery, and possibly some spirits.
We did stop for geocaches at a number of excellent locations, such as Jacob's Falls , Eagle Harbor Lighthouse (where we enjoyed a picnic lunch)  Manganese Falls , Evergreen Cemetery, Pine Grove Cemetery, and Brockway Mountain, among others. Ms. B. found a neat little rock & gem store. One of our favorite stops was very close to Jacob's Falls — Jampot Bakery, Jams, & Jellies, which is a lovely little shop run by monks of the Society of St. John . Just about everything they produce is made with heavy-duty spirits. We picked up an "Abbey Cake," which is kind of like a fruitcake, made with walnuts, dates, and molasses, generously laced with bourbon. It was one of the most delicious thingummies I've ever tried, and after having some at lunch, I had to wait a few minutes to drive.
There's not much to be found in Copper Harbor; it's about the size of a thumbtack. But after the bourbon in the Abbey Cake wore off, we figured a dose of extra spirit couldn't hurt. We found some at Lake Effect Bar & Grill — a fair Chardonnay for Brugger and a decent gin & tonic per me. Most interestingly, a couple we had encountered and chatted with at Hungarian Falls yesterday happened into Lake Effect while we were sitting at the bar. I mean, a day later and 50-plus miles away, we have another random meeting. I mean, what are the chances? Again, we chatted a bit, largely about geocaching and hiking. I wonder if we'll run into them back in NC?
Eventually, we made it back to our lodgings along Portage Lake. We had leftover goodies for supper, watched the sunset over the lake from the deck, and — since we were in a Bigfoot state of mind — watched Abominable (2006), which I had apparently watched some time ago, but I had forgotten. It's pretty awful, yet incredibly fun, with Jeffrey Combs, Lance Henrickson, Matt McCoy, Phil Morris, and Dee Wallace Stone, among others.
Tomorrow, we leave the Keweenaw Peninsula behind and head back to Kimberly's folks' place in Midland before for a couple of days before returning to NC. And I think it's gonna be a long, long trip. Brugger playing around at Jacob's Falls Eagle Harbor Lighthouse Manganese Falls Abbey Cake from Jampot Bakery. Loaded with bourbon! Another lovely evening on the lake Wednesday, September 21, 2022 Some future guest at our VRBO lodging
may end up having a devil of a time.
To me, the UP is a place of unparalleled natural beauty, interesting people, and, for Kimberly and me, what I'd call romantic charm. On our two trips here together, we've shared some of the best settings, best experiences, and best personal bonding of our lives. We've spent time in a few pockets of population — Marquette, Houghton, and, to a lesser extent, Munising (though none of these would qualify as more than a small town in our region of North Carolina). However, what we truly love is the generally sparse population, and, in many places, outright isolation. In the latter, we find both a sense of closeness with nature as well as an eerieness; the idea that, with just a little nudge, events could slip into the realm of a classic horror movie.
Today, we rose early, since getting back to Kimberly's folks' place in Midland would be a long, 500-mile drive. (Remember, UP miles are far longer than even the dreaded country mile). To complicate matters, we ran into long corridors of road construction, one of which stopped us dead for at least 15 minutes. We stopped for a scant few caches. But our stop at Canyon Falls , near Alberta, MI, ended up being one of our favorite stops of the entire trip. Just off US 41, the trail leads you along the Sturgeon River, past several stretches of rapids, a few small falls, and incredible rock formations. The falls, which aren't huge but very powerful, pour into a spectacular canyon of stone.
There was a single cache near the falls, which I found — shortly after a couple of other cachers, whom I think I saw leaving as I was on my way toward ground zero. Pity our paths didn't actually cross.
After Canyon Falls, our route took us back through Munising, so we stopped for lunch at Eh, Burger. The name caught our interest when we stayed in town the other day because it's just so beautifully Yooper. In the same vein, their burgers come with "Holy Wah!" sauce — again, a classic Yooperism. To our delight, the Eh, Burgers rocked. Fiercely. As did the fries. Good, good stuff.
We spent a total of ten hours on the road, sometimes moving (fast!), sometimes stopped for construction (uggh), sometimes checking out the sights along the way. Fairly exhausting, to be sure, but what a fantastic outing in Michigan's Upper Peninsula. With all the obstacles that kept presenting themselves prior to the trip, we weren't sure we were going to make it — or, if we did, make it in good health. To this point, the Fates have smiled on us.
Yay. Ms. B. on the rocks at Canyon Falls Down in the canyon Wicked cedar along the trail Eh, Burger! Even the raptor critters like Eh, Burgers! More to come! "Clusterfuckin' Our Way to Michigan, Part 1" "Clusterfuckin' Our Way to Michigan, Part 2"

Clusterfuckin’ Our Way to Michigan, Part 2

Saturday, September 17, 2022
Ms. B. and I loaded up our rental Toyota SUV and hit the road early — after a quick breakfast stop at McDonald's. Nonstop and direct, it's about a five-hour drive to drive to Munising, which was our first overnight destination in the Upper Peninsula. We had enjoyed our stay at the Terrace Motel there on our first UP visit ( "Midland & More in Da Moonlight, Sunday," October 5, 2014 ), so we decided to stay there again. It's convenient, kind of rustic, and only a little smelly. A dearth of roaches is also a distinct plus.
On our way upward, we stopped for several caches, a picnic lunch at a wayside overlooking Lake Superior, just on the north side of the Mackinac Bridge (a cache placed at the site of a reported Bigfoot sighting, which made me smile), and a visit to Kitch-iti-kipi on Indian Lake. Kitch-iti-kipi (in Ojibwe, "the Big Spring," "The Big Cold Spring," or "the Mirror of Heaven," depending on the translation source) is a spring that is so cold that the water is perfectly clear to its bottom (45 feet) and fallen trees are perfectly preserved. There's a glass-bottomed raft on a cable that allows you to float out on the water and view the breathtaking scenery down in the depths. Happily, there's a geocache on the raft, as well as a virtual cache and an EarthCache. Some of the fallen trees that are actually deep underwater in Kitch-iti-kipi, seen from the raft View of the spring through the glass bottom of the raft The raft on its way across the spring pool After enjoying the sights — and caches — at Kitch-iti-kipi, we took off for Munising via a few back roads, one of which turned out to be a very long, very deserted dirt track through what I believe is the deepest, darkest forest I've ever entered. It was truly gorgeous and a little eerie. This is bear, moose, and Sasquatch country, and I did really, really hope our rental car would behave itself over that stretch of 25 miles or so. It did. Good car! We did have the pleasure of passing through the one marked town on the map — Steuben — which turned out to be two houses and a streetlight.
Eventually, we landed in Munising. After checking in at the Terrace, we turned around and went out to dinner at The Duck Pond Eatery & Beer Garden over in Christmas, a tiny village just west of Munising. I went for the "fresh-caught daily" whitefish and a couple of Michigan craft beers; Ms. B. had a whitefish taco. All quite delicious.
After dinner, there were a couple of caches just down the road, and a little daylight remained, so we headed out after them. One ended up being at the old Grand Island Harbor Lighthouse, which is tucked away in the woods not far from the main road. An ingenious cache lurked here. There was another one a short distance away near the beach along Lake Superior. It turned out to be hidden in a veritable cavern beneath the roots of a gigantic fallen tree. The search took some serious time, as the posted coordinates were off by a looooong way. Still, it was a gorgeous evening, the settings were lovely, and we had a wonderful time of it.
We headed back to the Terrace, drank a little wine, and eventually retired for the evening.
A lovely first day in the very lovely UP. Do you suppose there might be a geocache in there? Sure is dark in here! Evening view of Lake Superior from "A Walk on the Beach" (GC1HK7Z) Sunday, September 18, 2022
Today's plan was to head up from Munising up to the Keweenaw Peninsula, to a B&B we'd rented on the shores of Portage Lake. It's a pretty long drive, especially given that, in many places here, one Upper Peninsula mile is the equivalent of about five nautical miles, and with many roads being two lanes with only occasional passing zones, getting behind a slow-driving peasant can really rack up the time behind the wheel. So we started out early, with breakfast at Falling Rock Cafe & Bookstore , which we'd found delightful on our trip here in 2014. It was again delightful, though not quite as quirky and off-the-wall as we'd found it back in the day. Still... we'd go again.
Once on the road, we passed through Marquette, which we'd visited last time, and now set a course for nearby Dead River Falls. The drive to the falls took us down a long and winding backroad through dense forest land, where we came upon an old, rickety bridge that had once served as the main road. Here there was a cache — a cool one called "Brain Box"  (GC5FEJX), which I stopped to find. The falls lay very nearby, and there was another cache there to be found — "Boris" (GC66VTC) — which was even cooler, especially since I'd given up looking for it and Kimberly ended up finding it far from where it was supposed to reside. Kind of a scary fellow, this Boris.
The falls themselves were scenic, if not quite as spectacular as many of the waterfalls we visited on our last trip. The hike to them, though, was memorable for its rugged character and many sheer dropoffs, which required extreme caution to navigate. We survived it all; even Kimberly failed to bounce on her butt, as she has been known to do on occasion in rugged terrain.
Most of the rest of the day we spent on the road. We stopped for lunch at a place called Skipper's in L'Anse, for groceries in Houghton — at the Walmartz (eek!) — and snagged another couple of caches. We planned to make chili for dinner this evening, and we thought we'd done so well by not forgetting anything at the store. Well, everything except the ground beef, which Ms. B. remembered when we were about five minutes from our place. Around we turned and drove twenty minutes back to the village of Lake Linden, which was the closest outpost of civilization to us. Mission accomplished, we hit the road again, took up residence in the very nice B&B, cooked chili, drank wine, and watched Hocus Pocus as a prelude to the Halloween season.
Despite the occasional pokey peasant on the roadways, I found nothing displeasing about this day. Over and out, for now. Old abandoned bridge on the way to Dead River Falls Along the treacherous trail on the way to the falls Standing on the precipice Dead River Falls The provisional Casa di Rodan along the shores of Portage Lake on Michigan's Keweenaw Peninsula Monday, September 19, 2022

Today was a day of waterfalls, trails, and very high precipices. After a light breakfast, Ms. B. and I headed out to find a couple of noteworthy waterfalls in the area: Douglass Houghton Falls and Hungarian Falls , both a relatively short drive from our lodgings (only about twenty UP miles, which translates to about 100 nautical miles or perhaps 66 country miles). Houghton Falls was our first destination. To my surprise, when I looked at the geocaching map, I learned there was a brand new cache near the falls, as yet unclaimed. How cool is that! At the trailhead, we hiked out about half a mile, where we had to cross the creek above the waterfall — which, at 110 feet, is the highest in Michigan. Fortunately, we didn't fall in or get washed over the falls. However, once we reached the far side... holy cowz... what a view! The trail took us along a dizzying cliff, sometimes so close to a sheer drop-off of at least 150 feet or so, that I was actually a little nervous — largely for Brugger's sake because, in the past, she has managed to sit down real hard in rugged terrain. Sitting down real hard here might just be the end of you.
Douglass Houghton Falls is actually located on private land, and due to people plummeting, for a time, the falls were closed to the public. However, some while back, they reopened, and now that I've seen them, I'm mighty glad they did. It's all too easy to understand how someone might plummet from the summit, though.

Fortunately, not only did we avoid any hard sit-downs (or plummeting), we managed to get some of the most spectacular waterfall views I have ever seen. And, to boot, I got a first-to-find on that new cache out there. What a morning! Ms. B. on the edge View of Douglass Houghton Falls from the high precipice After Houghton Falls, we made the relatively short jaunt into the village of Lake Linden, where, after some trial and error, we found a usable trailhead into Hungarian Falls, which isn't anywhere near as large as Douglass Houghton, but the falls are incredibly scenic and the trail leading to them runs along the top of a dizzying ridge through the forest. There was another cache here to grab... so I did.
Old dude standing on another precipice, this one overlooking Hungarian Falls Ms. B. pauses on the "bridge" across the stream to get a photo of Hungarian Falls A Brugger's-eye view of the waterfall Old dude taking a breather in a handy little alcove above the falls By now, Brugger and I were starving, so we drove down to the town of Houghton, which we'd passed through on our way to our lodgings. We found a lovely little spot called Chicago Beefs , where they specialize in Chicago-style Italian beef sandwiches. During my time in Chicago, those decades back, Italian beef sandwiches rated among my favorite things on Earth. Make no mistake, Chicago Beefs' are definitely good, but they lacked just a little of the zing of Chicago's best. Smoke on the water...
From there, we wandered around town, stopped at a few shops that Brugger wanted to check out, and grabbed a handful of caches. We found a nice little restaurant/bar called The Library , where you can eat, drink, and read in a comfy, book-themed environment. Ms. B. had a Chardonnay, and I enjoyed an exceptionally good dirty martini. This hit the spot for some mid-afternoon spirits. Before heading back to our place, we stopped at Roy's Pasties & Bakery , where we snagged a couple of pasties to take home for dinner. When you're in the UP, you eat pasties. No exceptions. These were delicious.
After dinner, just as the sun was setting, we went out by the lake front to our little firepit and built a roaring fire, which we sat around for maybe an hour and a half, with a bottle of wine to keep us company (it departed partway through the fire, which we found rather rude). But what a lovely evening to be outside! Eventually, we wandered back in and watched Primal Rage, a killer Bigfoot movie that both Brugger and I find immensely entertaining.
Tomorrow, we plan to meet one of Kim's cousins for breakfast and then... another expedition into new territory, at least for us, in the UP. Till then. A "Yooperlite™": the minerals in the rock glow under the beam of a UV flashlight. Ms B. picked up
a couple at a rock shop we visited. They also had dinosaurs. More to come....
"Clusterfuckin' Our Way to Michigan, Part 1"

Clusterfuckin’ Our Way to Michigan, Part 1

Here you see a somewhat frazzled damned old dude with a Damned Bloody Mary, the traditional anti-frazzling airport beverage. Autumn is traditionally the time that Brugger and I take a trip somewhere. Last year, we made it to France and Italy. This year, we opted for a slightly less ambitious venture: a few days in Michigan visiting her parents and then a few more in the Upper Peninsula at a secluded cabin along Portage Lake, where we might catch a view of the Northern Lights. For this trip, our frequent traveling companions, Terry and Beth, planned to join us after an extended outing of their own in New York.

Now, just prior to all this, both Kimberly and I had each been dealing with some severe health stressors. Without going into detail, we both had cancer scares. After several tests each, both of us — much to our relief — received clean bills of health, at least on the cancer front. So, we made our travel arrangements, and everything seemed good to go.

As a tangentially related aside, for several months now, Ms. B. and I had planned to attend the Dark Shadows Halloween gathering at Seaview Terrace (Collinwood in the TV series) in late October. However, a while back, the gathering was canceled due to scheduling conflicts with HBO, which has been planning to film a series on the estate. Then, a few days ago, those plans flip-flopped, and the Halloween event was back on. Things looked fairly good for Ms. B. and me to attend as originally planned.

A couple of weeks ago. Terry and Beth had set out on their adventure with plans to meet us in Michigan once we arrived. Things started out on the right foot, but then Terry got hit with gout, which damn near crippled him for a few days. Just as that ugly situation began to improve... enter COVID-19. Terry and Beth both got sick midway through their trip and, with a bleak outlook for the duration, they opted to turn around and head home. Naturally, we were sad about this, but for their part, it seemed the only prudent course of action. Brugger and I opted to stay the course with our Michigan plans. For us, this meant we would need to rent a car rather than rely on Terry and Beth for our transportation.
Okay, for the moment, everything looked as good to go as it was going to get. Then, the day before our flight out from NC, Kimberly's dad, Mr. B. (a.k.a. Delmar), sent us a text saying he was down with strep throat. It was really too late at this point for us to throw in the towel and reschedule everything, so — in the interests of avoiding strep if at all possible — we booked a hotel in Midland rather than stay at their place. By now, though, our unexpected expenses had piled up to the point that the Dark Shadows Halloween event had to go back off the table. Bloody fook.
Still, the absence of cancer for either of us has cast a nice shiny light on these other most admittedly first-world problems.
Wednesday, September 14, 2022 By way of United Airlines — so, so, SO much better than American Airlines, based on our relatively recent travels to Necon — late in the afternoon, Ms. B. and I departed Greensboro, bound for Saginaw with a connection in Chicago — but with only about a half-hour between flights. Happily, not only did we not have to run through O'Hare for our connecting flight, the gate assignments were changed at the last minute so that our arriving and departing flights were literally next door to each other. Both went off without any undue complications.
At the Saginaw airport, which is only about twenty minutes from Midland, we met Kim's parents, fully masked up, who'd come to meet us. We headed back to their place and spent a little time with them, as socially distanced as practicality allowed. Fortunately, Del was well into his regimen of antibiotics, so it seemed unlikely he would be contagious. Fern was the wildcard here because, all during Del's illness, she hadn't shown any symptoms, even though strep throat is quite contagious. As best we could, we all treated each other as if they were the Plague Incarnate. Del and Fern were kind enough to lend us their vehicle until we could pick up our rental car on Friday. After a brief spell together, we said our goodbyes, and Ms. B. and I settled ourselves into our hotel.
Thursday, September 15, 2022 The Bradley Mansion at the Herbert H. Doan Midland Historical Center A massive hornet's nest on the window
of the Bradley mansion.
Ms. B. and I started the day on a somewhat later-than-usual note since we had been up until the wee hours the night before. Our first order of business was to grab coffee and a light breakfast at Live Oak Coffeehouse , which has been among our regular destinations on trips here over the years. From there, we headed after a few geocaches at the nearby Herbert D. Doan Midland History Center . Mission accomplished, we headed to Casa di Brugger and spent a fair portion of the afternoon hanging out on the back porch, where we figured germs would be least likely to get the upper hand on us. Even after all this time, Fern remained symptom-free, and Del appeared up to his usual snuff, as he went out to mow the lawn on his big ol' riding mower.
During the afternoon, we entertained ourselves hand-feeding peanuts to a remarkably domesticated, exceedingly tubby squirrel the Bruggers had named Stubby (due to his unnaturally abbreviated tail). Stubby is exceptionally polite, and he enjoyed the treats we offered him. I don't imagine he will have any issues weathering the winter months, given the excessive bulk he gained just today, thanks to the generosity (read gullibility) of several humans smitten by cuteness.

For dinner, Ms. B. and I went to Villa D'Alessandro , a nearby Italian restaurant we had enjoyed a few years back. It was a lovely evening, so we sat out on their Italian-style terrace. For dinner, we ordered a bottle of Campofiorin Masi, a dry red from Veneto; Ravioli Formaggio for the nice lady; and Lamb Osso Bucco per me. All quite delicious. For an after-dinner diversion, we drove to downtown Midland, which turned out to be hopping: live music, food trucks, and all the shops and restaurants doing a booming business. We decided to visit  Grape Beginnings Winery , since we had been there once before, a few years ago. At that time, the wine was so-so, but I'd say they've really come up in the world. Brugger's Merlot and my Italian-style red blend both proved excellent.
Then it was back to our hotel, where we mellowed out for the rest of the evening. So far, we're all physically well. May we remain so. Ms. B. giving a handout to Mr. Stubby Pardon me, might I trouble you for a peanut? Smilin' happy again at Grape Beginnings Winery Wednesday, September 14, 2022 Both Del and Fern appeared to be doing fine — no bugginess in their house whatsoever — so we departed our hotel and set ourselves up in our traditional places at Casa di Brugger. It's tradition on our visits for me to provide at least one dinner for the folks, and since Del and Fern prefer their larger meal midday and nibbles in the evening, I decided to make larb gai (Thai chicken) for today's feast. This required a jaunt to Meijer for supplies. Much to my dismay, Meijer doesn't carry ground chicken. What kind of bourgeois bullshit is this?! Anyway, Brugger and I debated whether to chop up chicken breasts or substitute ground turkey, which Meijer carries in profuse quantities, for the requisite protein. For kicks, we settled on ground turkey. Once back at the house, I set to work in the kitchen, and... well... the turkey turned out excellent. Frankly, yes, I would have preferred chicken, but this version more than satisfied the lot of us. (You may find my larb gai recipe here .) Somewhat non-traditional larb gai. Damn good stuff!  Since we are leaving for the UP tomorrow morning, Fern, Ms. B., and I drove down to MBS Airport to pick up our rental car. Once I had it squared away, we split up; Kimberly and Fern went to do some shopping at nearby Warmbier Farms , and I headed after a bunch of geocaches in Auburn, a little community a few miles east of Midland. After finding a few, it appeared that some kind of massive to-do in Auburn was shaping up, as thousands of folks began lining the streets. So rather than get stuck in masses of humanity with no escape, I beat a hasty retreat and returned to Casa di Brugger for one of our typical mellow family nights in the basement.
Tomorrow, it's off to the UP.
More to come....

The Second Shooter by Nick Mamatas

Enigmatic characters, conspiracies on top of conspiracies, and mysteries within mysteries make author Nick Mamatas's The Second Shooter one of the most engaging books I've read this year. Investigative reporter Mike Karras, on the hunt for the elusive "second shooter" — a shadowy but ubiquitous figure at countless mass-murder scenes — finds himself embroiled in one web of intrigue after another as he closes in on the truth behind the reports of countless, disparate witnesses.

Enterprising and tenacious, Karras embeds himself in various families and groups of witnesses, whose bizarre personalities — and fantastic ideas about what's "really" behind the second-shooter phenomenon — endlessly complicate his quest. To top things off, Karras ends up facing a formidable personal nemesis in the form of conspiracy theorist and podcaster Chris Bennett, whose far-out ideas make Alex Jones sound like Walter Cronkite and whose reach extends into literally every aspect of Karras's life.

As one might expect from this author, no thread in The Second Shooter leads you quite where you expect — I would even say a long way into "who'd have bleepin' thunk it?!" territory.

Mamatas's assured authorial voice makes The Second Shooter a gripping, noirish story that doesn't let go even when it soars clean over the top. Four and a half out of five Damned Rodan's Dirty Firetinis.

Pick up The Second Shooter by Nick Mamatas
at Amazon.com

Peter Straub, 1943–2022

What a blow to learn Peter Straub has died. I knew he had been suffering health problems for some time, but still... it seems unexpected, even to many of those who knew him well.
I never met Peter face to face, for which I can't help but feel some regret. Other than the occasional interaction on social media, I didn't really know him. Still, he was one of the earliest and strongest influences on my choice to become a writer. Ghost Story, in particular, stands out as one of the novels that made me want to write. I've shared the contents pages with him in anthologies. I loved reading his online posts — his wit, his recollections, his views on life and writing, his general graciousness. For him, I have always held the utmost respect.
My deepest condolences to his loved ones and all those with whom he was truly close. 

Darkness Falls in Sandy Level

For the easily amused among us — like me! — I present the sign at the St. John Missionary Baptist Church in Sandy Level, not far from Martinsville, VA. It struck me as amusingly ominous (or ominously amusing) when I encountered it on my way to and from Greensboro.

For several years, Sandy Level was home to the entity I called "The Sandy Level Creep" (story here ), who has sadly passed on to greener pastures.
I'm sure the Darks are very fine folks, but then I have a dark sense of humor. Sandy Level has always struck me as the Virginia Piedmont's answer to H.P. Lovecraft's community of Dunwich... maybe more so than I realized. The Sandy Level Creep and friends

Larb Gai — Thai Chicken

Apart from Thai Beef with Basil (my recipe here ), Larb Gai is probably my favorite Thai dish, and I make it frequently. It's spicy (in my case, damn near lethal), tangy, and salty. It's not complicated, and total prep plus cooking time is no more than 30 to 40 minutes. This recipe makes a mildly spicy concoction. You can adjust it, as I do, to your particular taste.

Ingredients (Serves 2–4):
• 16 oz. ground (or finely chopped) chicken (I usually use white meat)
• ½ cup diced onions (I prefer red)
• 2 cloves garlic (crushed)
• tsp Thai chili oil
• tbsp water
• tsp Thai chili powder (can adjust for heat preference; I use about 2 tbsp)
• 2 tbsp fish sauce (nam pla)
• juice from 2 limes
• ⅓ cup chopped basil
• ⅓ cup chopped mint
• ¼ cup cilantro
• several whole mint and basil leaves for garnish
• lettuce leaves (or other greens) and cucumber coins or spears for serving
• 1¼ cup rice (pre-cooked)

Sauce Ingredients (per serving):
• 2 tbsp fish sauce (nam pla)• tbsp chili garlic sauce (can adjust for heat preference)
• tsp lime juice
• ½ brown sugar
• ½ tsp soy sauce (optional)

What You Do:
1. Mix sauce ingredients for individual servings and set aside.
2. Heat chili oil in a wok or skillet over medium-high heat. When hot, add tbsb water, garlic, and chicken. Add onion while chicken is cooking. Stir frequently to break up lumps. Cook till done (about three minutes) and then transfer to mixing bowl.
3. While chicken is warm, add chopped basil, chopped mint, lime juice, fish sauce, and chili powder. Mix thoroughly.
4. Serve over rice. Add sauce over chicken as desired. Top with cilantro.
5. Surround with whole mint and basil leaves, lettuce or other greens, and cucumber spears.

The Tale of the Not-So-Stable Door Bash Victim

Notice the extensive damage to the driver's side door. Holy cowz, my daughter packs a powerful wallop!

I suppose I am fortunate that I've rarely had to deal closely with the mentally unstable face to face. My temper isn't as quick to rise as it used to be, but that doesn't mean I'm thoroughly mellow in certain situations.

This morning, I took my daughter to the grocery store (the Druid Hills Food Lion in Martinsville), and when she got out, her car door bumped the driver's side door of the car next to us. Gently enough that Allison didn't even realize she had bumped it. Well, she didn't until the woman in the car came out screaming — and "screaming" is an understatement — that Allison had bashed her door on purpose and fucked up her car. Now, I looked at the woman's car door and my car door; there was not even a nick on either. I asked the woman to please lighten up, it was an accident, and there was absolutely no damage — not even a stray fleck of paint — on either car.

Oh, but we'd have none of that. Now, I get "YOU MOTHERFUCKER, JUST BECAUSE MY CAR IS A PIECE OF SHIT* DOESN'T MEAN YOU CAN BASH IT WITH YOUR CAR DOOR!"

"Ma'am, it was an accident, my daughter apologized, and your car is fine."

"THAT DOESN'T FUCKING MATTER, AND MY CAR IS NOT FINE! YOU FUCKED UP THE DOOR!"

At this point, I confess I called her a twit.

Allison went into the store, and I moved my car to another spot for fear yonder loon might start bashing mine. After a few minutes, she came over to get my license plate number, so I went over to her car, took a photo of the massively extensive damage to her door (see above), recorded her license plate number (VA #UHD 9382, for the record), and offered to call the police if she had a problem.

More screaming and hysterics. I was sufficiently rattled that I failed to make a video of this. I did, however, have Brugger on the line, so she was treated to the entire exchange. I finally told our excitable victim of car door bashing that she was unstable and got back in my car.

Once Allison came out of the store, I took her home. However, since I hadn't been comfortable leaving my car unattended, I never did get what I needed, so I went back up to the store. Our favorite lady was still in the parking lot, now gesticulating wildly to two fellows (I'm guessing husband and son) at the extensive damage following our spectacular collision. By their expressions, they were stunned — STUNNED — that someone could have fucked up her car so severely. At least one of them went back into the store. Now, since unstable people make me nervous and ornery, and I really didn't want to get into the position of doing something I might regret,** I just left and picked up lunch elsewhere.

I trust that will be the end of it. Well, other than writing it up here and hopefully making you glad that someone other than you had to deal with this particular unhinged human specimen.

*Well, there were lots of dings on her car (none, zero, nada from mine), which together appeared to paint a detailed portrait of a long history of dinging.

**Knowing me, I might have.