I always suspected it might be true. Still, it was a bit jarring to find out it actually was true. Here in America, there are more dogs named Max, than people named Max. A lot more. In fact, there are about 8 times as many dogs as people named Max. I’m honored … I think.
Growing up in Ottawa, Illinois in the ‘60s, Max was a unique name. I believe I was the only Max at McKinley Grade School and it caused a bit of a problem. When filling out forms or headers for formal tests, teachers never believed my name was just “Max”. They were convinced it must be Maximillian, or Maxwell. I’d dutifully tell them no, it was just Max. I know at least a couple of them called mom, as I obviously didn’t know what I was talking about. Mom would let them know I DID know my own name, thank you very much.
Of course Maxwell Smart in the ‘60s, Mel Gibson as Mad Max and Russell Crowe as Maximus in Gladiator spread the name a bit more. And, Cathy’s Dad was named Max (I believe he was the first Max I personally knew). Over time, it wasn’t quite as unique among us humans.
As I grew older, one of the things many people said when they first met me was “Oh! I know a dog named Max!” We would of course have a chuckle. Sometimes they would ask if I could sit, or stay, and I’d do a reasonable dog imitation. I drew the line at rolling over.
Time passed. People became more inventive, or more sharing. I learned of several horses named Max, a Cat named Max and even a Guinea Pig named Max. And then of course there was the occasional person with a mother or daughter named Max. Years ago, friends in Germany wanted to name their beagle Max (pronounced Machs in German), but checked with me first to make sure I didn’t mind. I didn’t mind and thought it was cool, although they also pointed out they weren’t actually naming him after me ;-).
Max, the Beagle.
Which brings us to the present.
The Washington Post recently ran an article about dog and people names and the overlap between them. It turns out Max is the second most popular dog name in America right now. Only Bella (of Twilight Saga fame) is a more popular name for dogs.
Max is Pretty Popular as a Dog Name.
So how popular is Max? If you gathered 100,000 people and 100,000 dogs together in a park, 351 dogs would be named Max, while only 44 people would be named Max (for Bella, it’s 357 dogs and 20 people). At the other end of the spectrum, only 80 dogs, but 411 people would be named George.
Outnumbered a Bit on the Human Side.
Yep, if you know a “Max” (other than me), he’s more likely a dog than a human.
What’s in a name? Max means “The Greatest” and I agree it’s a great name for either a man or his best friend. The Baby Center, (an online site with a wealth of knowledge about babies, including names) had this to say – “Max is undoubtedly a cool name, but if you’re considering it, keep in mind it’s also a common pet name. In fact, Max is the most popular name for dogs in the United States, right up there with Toby, Bella, Riley, and Molly.”
We should all be so honored and appreciated.
Addendum:
Thanks to our old friend Steven Buxton for sending us a picture of Max the beagle. We had so much fun with Steven and his folks Jim and Res back in the ‘80s.
It turns out this is my 300th blog. I started this effort in October of 2015 and it’s evolved over time. Back then, I’d push something out every couple of weeks, or when I could get to it. The last couple of years, it’s been more or less weekly. For better or worse, my topics have remained as diverse as ever. I’m still small scale, but 300 blogs and 7 plus years of continuity – I’ll take it. I think Live Life Exuberantly remains a valid title for the blog, and one of my ongoing life goals. Thanks to all who continue reading my wandering posts.
I distinctly remember returning to West Point after Christmas my Plebe year. It wasn’t fun. As a matter of fact, the last couple of days at home became bittersweet as I started thinking about returning to West Point as a Beanhead* for another five months.
It wasn’t just returning to the Plebe System (Fourth Class System) that affected me. We had first semester finals two weeks after returning. Also, have you ever visited West Point in winter? In the Fall, West Point is one of the most beautiful places in the country. In the winter? Not so much, unless you have a fondness for the color grey. January to March at West Point is called “Gloom Period”**, with good reason.
If I’m honest with myself, it wasn’t Gloom Period, or finals that brought me down. It was going back as a Plebe for another five months. Before you enter the Academy, you hear all about how tough Plebe year is both mentally and physically. It’s one thing to hear about it. It’s another to experience it for six months, have a break, and then know you are going back for more of the same.
Official Plebe Photo
Coming home to Ottawa that December, Christmas break was great. Being a real person again was even better. Everyone wanted to know how West Point was, and of course I told them the good stuff, while minimizing the actuality of Plebe life. The time at home divided out between family events, dates with Cathy and partying with my friends.
During the day, I spent time at home, or went to see Grandma, various aunts and uncles, and church or family friends. I remember racing around town fitting in as many visits as I could. It was good to catch up with so many people, but also a bit exhausting.
Cath and I went on dates most evenings and tried to make up for lost time. The last we’d seen each other was Labor Day Weekend, when she visited West Point with my folks. In the interim, we’d written so many letters back and forth, I lost count of the actual number. While home, there was even a formal holiday dance at Ottawa High (Cathy was still a senior in high school). I wore my dress uniform, and felt so much older than the high school “kids”, who in reality were only one or two years younger.
At Home Before Going to the OHS Winter Formal
Since she was still in school, Cathy had a curfew most nights. After our dates ended, I often linked up with my buddies Howard, Tim, Mark and others. The drinking age in Illinois was 19 at the time for beer and wine, but nobody really checked. We made the rounds at Berta’s, The Flamingo and Russell’s Tap before finally making it to bed. The next morning I’d wake up and start the cycle all over again. As I recall, sleeping in wasn’t an option.
I’d taken a couple of text books home with me to study over break, but of course I never cracked them. The days and nights raced by.
Finally it was New Year’s Eve and just a couple days before I would return to West Point. I remember going to a party with Cathy at our friend Jack’s home that night. Many of our friends were there. It was a great time, and as the clock struck midnight, there were kisses, handshakes and toasts all around. It was wonderful and things seemed almost perfect.
Maybe an hour later, it hit me. This was all going to end and I would return to the reality of Plebe life. The exhilaration from midnight rapidly disappeared. I crashed and a forlorn feeling took over. I found a quiet spot in an empty room and just sat there thinking. The dread I felt was visceral. Cathy found me a few minutes later and could tell something was wrong. She asked if I was OK and I struggled with words, then just gave up trying to explain. The thing is, she felt it too. We stood there hugging for I don’t know how long.
I more-or-less bounced back the next day and enjoyed my last day or two of freedom. Finally, it was time. As a Plebe, I think I was required to travel in uniform, and when Mom, Dad and Cathy drove me to O’Hare, that’s what I wore. Back then everyone could walk all the way to the gate, and that’s where we said our final goodbyes and “I love you’s”. Mom gave me a care package and with a last wave and a smile, I boarded the plane for New York.
A Smile for Mom, Dad and Cathy as I Boarded the Plane to New York.
At the airport in New York (LaGuardia I think), cadets were everywhere. Most of us made our way to buses for the final fifty miles to our Rock Bound Highland Home on the Hudson. The bus I was on was pretty quiet, with Plebes and upperclassmen alike lost in their own thoughts. By now, I’d steeled my mind for the return to school and Plebe life. I was as ready as I was going to be.
And of course it wasn’t as bad as things looked on New Year’s Eve. I made the Dean’s list that first semester, and by late March or early April, Gloom Period was lifting. As for dealing with upperclassmen and the 4th Class System, that too passed. As the Semester wore on, things became easier and and finally, in June, Recognition Day happened. We were no longer Plebes, but full fledged members of the Corps of Cadets.
To this day, I remember that New Year’s Eve and the roller coaster of emotions I felt. Speaking with Cathy, she too distinctly remembers that night. I recently told her I thought I’d write a blog about New Year’s Eve Plebe year. She immediately knew what I was talking about. I laughed a bit and said something like “I didn’t know you remembered”. She quickly answered “How could I forget?”
Addendum:
*Beanhead – one of the many less flattering terms upperclassman used for Plebes at the time.
I’ve often thought of that New Year’s Eve over the years and the feelings I experienced that night. I’d contemplated writing a blog about it before, but couldn’t quite wrap my head around it. Then, during Christmas season this year, one of my classmates posted an email on his own feelings about the return to West Point after Christmas. Several others chimed in. Some were worried about academics and getting separated due to grades. Others, like me, thought about the return to the 4th Class System for several more months. Still others talked of the general malaise around our return, with Gloom Period settling in. A few told (now) funny stories about missing flights, late arriving girl friends, and even running into the Dallas Cowboy Cheerleaders during a stopover on the return to the Academy. It’s interesting what binds people together. My classmates and I laugh and now tell stories of those times that seemed so serious back then. Time and distance have brought perspective and a camaraderie that has lasted a lifetime. I feel lucky to be a member of the Proud and Great Class of ‘78. Thanks for the memories, and the continued friendship my brothers.
It’s that time of year when we (some of us) make resolutions. The making of a resolution often implies we previously made a mistake, or hadn’t done something well enough. The thing is, everyone makes mistakes. Everyone. The question is, what do we do about them?
Yes, we all make mistakes. Sometimes they are little. Sometimes they are life altering. We often beat ourselves up about them, which doesn’t really do any good, does it? I think back through my life and some of the mistakes I’ve made at work, at home, or in my relationships. Maybe I could have avoided making them, but due to foolishness, pride, lack of knowledge, inattention to detail or just plain stubbornness, I didn’t. And afterwards? To be honest, I’m not always proud of how I reacted, once I realized the error of my ways.
They say you can’t teach old dogs new tricks, but I think that’s a cop out. We all have the capacity to learn, and to change. And that’s true of how we deal with the inevitable mistakes we make as well.
I’ve learned, for me at least, there are four steps I can take to improve from the mistakes I’ve made – Even big mistakes that altered my life. How we react to our mistakes determines the ultimate path we follow in our lives.
It starts with recognizing and acknowledging I made a mistake. It seems pretty straight forward, but is a step many of us have a hard time taking. I’m not sure why, but I know I have a problem saying “I screwed up.” It’s often easier to try and blame someone else. And yet, once I finally do acknowledge I made a mistake, it makes everything else simpler. It also lessens the opportunity for a a fight with someone else, when after all, I’m really just angry with myself.
Next is forgiveness. We routinely forgive other people for their mistakes and sins. Why is it so hard to forgive ourselves? Forgiveness, instead of self punishment permits us to recognize that yes, we are all human, and mistakes sometimes happen, even with those of us who are loathe to admit we make them.
After acknowledgement and forgiveness comes knowledge. What can I learn from the mistake I made? How can I ensure I don’t make the same mistake again? What other mistakes can I avoid making, by understanding this one? With knowledge comes power – the power to better control my own life.
Which finally leads to the last step – moving forward. We can’t undo the past, but we can learn from it, improve ourselves and focus on the future. It doesn’t mean we don’t acknowledge the mistakes in our past, but we must look forward. Dwelling on past mistakes gains you nothing. Nada. Zero. Zilch. Zip. For me, I know that once I’m looking forward, I can move on, continue my life, and continue improving my life.
So, Happy New Year to all. As we enter 2023, and lead our less than perfect lives, remember to cut yourself a break occasionally when you make a mistake. As Alexander Pope said “To err is human”. We can try to minimize our mistakes, but we can’t eliminate them totally. And when mistakes do occur? Life is short – don’t dwell on them, or live in the past. Acknowledge your mistakes, forgive yourself, learn from them and move forward. You will be a better person for it.
There is a thief in our rural Orlean neighborhood. We’ve discovered this over the past couple of months as some items have gone missing. The items are of low value and the intent seems mostly to show he visited us and could get away with the theft, rather than anything more devious. We even know the young thief’s name – Kylie.
Kylie is pretty good as a youngster overall and our dog Carmen likes him. If he stops by while Carmen is outside, they have fun together and to be honest, I think they wear each other out a bit. Sometimes, when Carmen is inside, I’ll see him standing forlornly on the back porch staring at the door. He won’t knock, he’ll just stare at the door. I usually relent and let Carmen outside. He gives me a friendly nod and a grunt, and off they run together.
If he’s in our physical presence, with, or without Carmen there, he’s well mannered. He’ll look me straight in the eye like the most innocent guy around. “Who me? Why no, I’d never take anything from your garage, like say a shoe for instance.”
But there’s no getting around it. If we don’t see him, or don’t let Carmen out to play, that’s when the thievery occurs. We didn’t realize what was happening at first. We usually leave our garage door open and have our shoes sitting by the back door of the house inside the garage. Cathy was the first to notice something was up. One of her flip flops was missing, but she found it later in the backyard. “Hmmmm, that’s a bit strange. I wonder…”. But she didn’t finish her sentence.
A few days later, one of her muck shoes went missing. Now, Cathy’s suspicions rose up, and she called Kevin and Julie, our neighbors. Kevin, Kylie’s dad answered the phone. “Hey Cathy” – “Hey Kevin – ummmm, is Kylie by chance a shoe thief?” “What kind of shoe are you missing?” “A muck shoe.” “Yep! I found one in the front yard – I thought it was Julie’s!” That’s when we knew Kylie was the thief for sure. Evidently he’d come to play with Carmen, and since she wasn’t there, stole the shoe as a memento of his Carmenless visit. He then took the shoe to his home, which is a quarter mile away. When Kevin returned the shoe, it was a bit strange, as there were no teeth or bite marks on it.
Yes, Kylie is our neighbor’s golden retriever.
The Face of Innocence.
I chuckled about it when it happened to Cathy, and said “There must be something about you he likes.” Then it happened to me – one of my barn shoes disappeared. We looked around the house, the barn and in our backyard. No shoe. Finally, we called Kevin and Julie and asked if they’d seen the shoe. All apologetic, they immediately searched their yard, and no shoe. Kev came to our place and looked around the yard, in the woods, and by the pond (Kylie loves going for a swim in our pond). No shoe. Kevin offered to buy me new shoes, but I said don’t worry about it. These things happen, and I probably needed new ones anyway.
Kylie continued to drop by to play with Carmen, but we started keeping our garage door closed, just to remove the temptation and that seemed to work. I bought new muck shoes and dutifully placed them in the garage by the door.
Carmen and Kylie Playing Together
A couple of days later, I was walking Carmen and we passed Kevin and Julie’s home. Kevin came running out of his garage with a shoe in his hand. He’d found the shoe! Except he hadn’t. This was one of the new muck shoes I’d recently bought! What?! It turns out we’d left the garage door open earlier that morning and Kylie saw his opportunity, and seized it, so to speak.
Safely Returned with No Teeth Marks
We continue to try and keep the garage door closed, and store our muck shoes on a shelf out of reach. It seems to be working. Kevin and Julie continue to work with Kylie to understand the boundaries of their yard. In the meantime, he still drops by to play with Carmen, which she loves. I guess like many fathers, I’m a bit suspicious of her boyfriend’s intent. He’s a great dog – other than the shoe thievery thing. 😉
My wife, Cathy, has had Multiple Sclerosis (MS) since 1976 when she was 20 years old. It’s been almost 47 years since that first diagnosis. The MS is always there, lurking in the background, but Cath refuses to give in to it. It’s a special strength she has, and I love her for it.
Cathy Around the Time of her Diagnosis, and Just a Few Weeks Ago
MS is called the snowflake disease; no two people have exactly the same symptoms, or frequency of occurrence. MS symptoms can include: trouble walking, fatigue, vision problems, numbness, muscle spasms, weakness, mobility issues, and bladder or bowel issues, among other problems. Not all symptoms are visible.
Cathy’s symptoms have varied over the years, but fortunately for her (and us), she has been relatively stable for the last few decades, with only some minor issues. Compared to many with the disease, we are extremely lucky.
We both belong to a Facebook MS support group called We’re not drunk, we have MS. The name is a bit of an inside joke. Many people who have MS but can still walk, sometimes have an unsteady looking gait or trip easily, not unlike someone who’s had a few too many drinks.
Recently someone put a query out to the group: “If you were to wake up tomorrow MS free, what is the first thing you would do?” There were many responses. Reading through them, I thought they expressed how the disease effects so many people much better than anything I’d ever read or watched on TV about MS. It’s the straightforwardness and simplicity of the answers that is their strength. People were just asking for the basic things in life that so many of us take for granted.
Here are some of their answers to the question “If you were to wake up tomorrow MS free, what is the first thing you would do?”
Walk normal
Stand
Run
Walk
Dance
Stand up, embrace my husband, and not let go for a long time
Go Skiing
Ride my horse
Go for a hike in the woods
Dance with my husband
Wear heels again
Jump out of bed
Go for a run – maybe like Forest Gump
Ride a bike
Hike in the mountains
Shoot hoops again
Walk on the beach
Go horseback riding and then dance
Get a full night’s sleep
Play tennis again
Walk through my neighborhood
Chase my grandchildren
Go skateboarding again
Run with my kids
Stay at a hotel
Go up and down stairs
Walk, run, dance
Drive my car
Learn to belly dance
Dance in rhythm again
Get on the floor and play with my grandchildren
Eat out and enjoy every meal
Start quilting again
Go skating, then dancing
Go to my daughter’s home and go up the stairs to see my grandchildren’s room
Work in the flower bed
Ride a motorcycle again
Carry my grandchildren around
Rake the leaves in my yard
Go back to work
Just to consider this is overwhelming
Buy a lottery ticket because it would be a miracle
Jump in the ocean
Walk on the beach with my husband
Get on my knees and thank God.
They have newer medicines these days to address the symptoms of MS, and sometimes lessen the progression of the disease, but there is still no cure. In the meantime, these MS Warriors soldier on.
As for Cath and I, we count ourselves pretty lucky in the big scheme of things. She has some issues, and occasional flare ups, but continues to live her life. Every day is something to be enjoyed, and lived to the fullest.
Cathy and I in ‘77, a Year After her Diagnosis, and Last Summer
It’s been a busy couple of weeks for our former president. It’s not every month you get to announce your candidacy for the presidency, have dinner with a couple of racist Hitler fans, and declare the Constitution should be terminated. That’s a full month, even by Trump standards.
I don’t know anyone who was surprised when Trump announced he was going to run for the presidency in 2024. It was all his handlers could do to have him wait until after the midterms to announce. He was expecting a big splash from the midterms themselves, but most of his election denier choices went quietly into the night. Yea, Vance won in Ohio, and Lake is still whining like a mini-Trump in Arizona, but the rest of them? B’bye. None of it slowed down his big announcement though. It was almost as if he was oblivious to anything else happening. And the rest of the Republicans? Perhaps Senator Rubio said it best: “We should not have a Senate GOP leadership vote until we have a clear explanation for why our 2022 campaign efforts failed…”. Ummmm, Senator, I could help you with that…
Of course Mr Trump didn’t slow down. As a matter of fact, in typical fashion, he accelerated. Are any of us surprised he ate dinner with Ye (the former Kanye West) and white nationalist Nick Fuentes? Nothing quite says “there are good people on both sides” like having dinner with a couple of Hitler loving antisemites. It’s never a good sign when Alex Jones is distancing himself from some of your dinner guest’s comments, as Jones later did during his interview with Ye. The Republican response to all of this? Again deafening silence. Senator McConnell managed to say “Let me just say that there is no room in the Republican Party for antisemitism or white supremacy. And anyone meeting with people advocating that point of view, in my judgment, are highly unlikely to ever be elected president of the United States.” The brave Senator couldn’t bring himself to utter the “T” word.
Ye and Fuentes… “I See Good Things About Hitler”
Which of course brings us to Mr Trump’s most recent episode. His blast on the Truth Social network was … interesting. He called for “the termination of all rules, regulations, and articles, even those found in the Constitution,” because he lost the last election for president. He wants to be declared the “RIGHTFUL WINNER,” or “have a NEW ELECTION.” (All CAPS are directly from the Trump quote) Wow. Wanting to terminate the Constitution finally drew some rebuttals from the right, but not from everyone.
Just as the events of Charlottesville, or January 6th, or his continuing election denial caused some people to leave the Trump orbit, another dribble of people are departing after the Ye/Fuentes dinner and the subsequent “termination of the Constitution” comments. The vast majority of his core? Like a married couple, they are there through thick and thin, for better or worse. There will be no divorce. They will follow him to the bitter end, however that turns out.
I’m not really sure why I wrote this blog. It’s not going to change any minds. Having said that, I think we all have a duty to bear witness to what is going on in this country. If we don’t continue to speak out, the future becomes a foregone conclusion. As Edmund Burke (or maybe someone else) famously said “The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing.”
I have a couple of last questions for you. First, if Joe Biden declared he wanted to terminate the Second Amendment, what would the immediate reaction be? And second, does anyone doubt Trump would terminate the Constitution in a heartbeat if he could?
Finally, those of us who served in the military or the government swore an oath that started with these phrases: “I do solemnly swear (or affirm) that I will support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic; that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same;”. For my West Point and former military comrades who still support Mr. Trump, I guess we are finally at that point. Which do you support – Mr Trump, or the Constitution?
As we hiked towards the Hanakapi’ai Falls on Kauai, what I was thinking was “If one more person happily says to me ‘You’re almost there!’, I am going to punch them.” Seriously. Bonnie and I knew we were almost there, but I was concentrating on climbing over boulders, roots and slippery rocks, and not falling down…again.
Bonnie, my sister-in-law, contacted Cath and I to see if we were interested in a couple of hikes while visiting Kauai, one of the Hawaiian Islands, with her and her daughter Lana. The hike to Hanakapi’ai Falls sounded interesting, although not for the faint of heart. Bonnie had completed the hike several years earlier with her husband Don, before he passed away. She warned us the trail was a challenge – It’s an eight mile round trip trek with mud, lava rock, roots and stream crossings, with over 1,800 ft of elevation change. It also promised a tropical forest, panoramic ocean views and the Falls themselves, which drop over 400 feet.
The only catch was the rules changed since her last visit – now you needed reservations for the bus to the trailhead and access to Haena State Park. Both Bonnie and I were in, and she made the reservations.
The big day came for the hike and we packed lots of water, snacks and sandwiches. Our friend John dropped us off at the bus pick-up point. We told him we thought we’d finish between 2 and 3PM, and would call once we returned to the shuttle. That allowed 5-6 hours for the hike, at a 2 miles/hour pace, plus some spare time at the beach and Falls. It seemed like a reasonable time estimate. That was our first underestimation. ;-).
We arrived at the park itself about 9:00AM, where there was a check-in station and we were given more information about the trail. It turned out they’ve now measured the trail multiple times in recent years – it clocks in at 9.2 miles, not 8. Whoops! What’s another mile among friends? We were also warned to leave the Falls no later than 2:00PM to ensure we had enough time to hike the return to the start, where the last bus left at 5:30PM. If you missed the bus, it was a 6 mile stroll back to the parking area.
We started up the trail about 9:15. The first section was two plus miles from Ke’e Beach to Hanakapi’ai Beach. Two miles – easy peasy, right? Well, not quite. The first mile was all uphill, much of it over slick flat rocks. The trail also had a 500 or so foot drop off on the right hand side, which ended in the ocean. Mental note to self:if you fall on the rocks, don’t fall to the right. As we hiked along, we passed some folk, others passed us. One young woman hiked by in flip flops, while chatting with her friends. We eventually reached the high point and were rewarded with beautiful views of the ocean and distant coastline. We stopped and took a couple of pics, before continuing.
The View, One Mile Into the Hike.
From there, it was another mile or so downhill. The slippery rocks mostly disappeared, to be replaced by steps carved into the side of the mountain. You know the kind of steps I’m talking about – too wide, and too high to be comfortable while moving downhill. They were easy enough, but would come back to haunt me on the return trip.
An hour and twenty minutes after starting, we reached Hanakapi’ai Beach which was gorgeous. We stopped for a break and to eat a snack. Sitting for a bit felt good. There were warning signs everywhere about the treacherous rip tides and not to swim here. Evidently every couple of years someone would get sucked out to sea, never to be seen again.
At the Beach. Numerous Signs Warned About the Dangers of Swimming Here.
Around 11, we continued our hike. It looked like well over half of the people we’d seen along the way, including the young lady in flip flops, were staying at the beach, so the number of people on the trail to the Falls thinned out considerably. It would be a little over two more miles to the Falls.
Bonnie brought out her new, never used walking sticks for this part of the hike. After the first half mile or so, the trail narrowed considerably. Flat ground gave way to a tangle of tree roots, mud and lava rocks. It slowed us down as we worked to find a reasonable path on the path. We passed through bamboo stands and dense forest along the way.
There were Lots of Rocks and Boulders on the Trail – Looking for a Path on the Path was a Challenge.
Hanakap’ai Stream was on our left as we made our way up the trail. Along the way, we crossed the twenty foot wide stream three times. We rock-hopped across the stream pretty easily the first two times, but on the third crossing, I slipped and went into the water, banging my shin in the process. Bonnie looked at me and my bleeding shin, and with a smile, changed from her boots to water shoes. She then used her sticks to safely cross.
One of the Stream Crossings.
At this point we were nearing the Falls. The trail was getting more slippery, and we were frequently climbing over wet rocks. I fell another time or two, scraping the same shin I’d already banged up. Bonnie stayed vertical the entire time – I may need to buy a pair of those walking sticks for next time!
This is also when we started encountering the Good Samaritans coming the other way – “You’re almost there!” … “Keep going, it’s worth it!” … “Only 15 more minutes to the Falls!” … and then 15 minutes later, “Only 15 more minutes to the Falls – you’re almost there!” I believe that last one was what made me think I’d punch the next person with words of encouragement … ;-).
We did arrive at the Falls a short time later, and they were beautiful. It made the hike totally worthwhile. Bonnie took a short swim in the pool at the base of the Falls and then we ate lunch – our sandwiches tasted pretty damned good. I looked around at the other people at the Falls taking their breaks – I think almost everyone was a decade or four younger than us. Well younger physically, but maybe not mentally. Having eaten, I was feeling pretty good again.
Bonnie, as we Arrived at The Falls.
After about a half hour break, it was 1:00PM and we started our hike back. We were at the four hour mark from our start that morning and knew we were going to be late returning to John, Cathy and Lana. There was no cell coverage in any case, so nothing to be done for it.
The return hike was the same path we came in on only in reverse. Again we passed a few people, and some passed us. There were three Japanese ladies we hiked with for a while, before eventually passing them for good. Another lady was running to the Falls – we would see her again as she re-passed us a couple of hours later. We crossed the stream three more times, and this time, with the use of one of Bonnie’s walking sticks, I managed to stay dry. Eventually we reached the beach, and took another short break before tackling the last two miles.
A Section of the Trail, Returning from the Falls.
The last two miles? As I said before, Bonnie had done this hike 5 or 6 years earlier and at this point said to me “These next two miles are going to suck!” and we both laughed. Finding humor in the truth is always a good thing. She was right – for me, they were tough. Those steps on the way up were spaced just far enough apart to make me dislike them. The downhill for the last mile over those wet stones and roots, well, my knees noticed every step. And yet, there was also a peaceful feeling of contentment. Maybe we were drawing strength from the trail itself.
Finally, at about 4:30PM, a little over seven hours after we set out, we were back at the start. It had been a great experience, a wonderful hike, and a tiring day. We still had no cell coverage, and couldn’t reach our crew to let them know we were safely back, so we just climbed on the bus for the drive to the parking lot. When we arrived dirty and sweaty at the drop off point, two or three hours later than our “expected time”, they were there waiting for us. There were hugs all around and a return to John’s for a well deserved beer.
Over the next couple of days, my thighs reminded me of what a good time I had. I reflected back on the hike, and a couple of things occurred to me. First, Bonnie and I both encouraged each other along the way, as we traded off the lead at various points. It was a natural back and forth between us. Also, although, I’m the former Boy Scout and Army Airborne trooper, Bonnie was the better prepared. She brought her water shoes and the walking sticks, making for a better and safer hike. Those last couple of miles? She may not have skipped up the trail, but she handled them better than I and my old man knees did.
My final thought? Age truly is a state of mind. Go for the gusto, and enjoy every bit of life you can.
Aloha, Until the Next Time.
Addendum:
Talking with locals afterwards, I’ve learned the hike is considered one of the “tougher ones” on the island. I’ve been asked by several folk if I would do it again, and the answer is an unqualified yes.
Special Thanks to Bonnie for her contributions of content and editing for this blog. Also a big thanks for suggesting the trail in the first place, and for being such a positive force on the hike itself – it was a blast. Love you sis!
We started gathering signatures last winter to place our congressional candidate on the ballot. We would have from February to November to get her elected – it would be a busy year. With redistricting, Fauquier County moved from a bright RED district, to a new slightly BLUE one. Slightly Blue is worth squadoosh, especially in today’s world. We had our work cut out for us.
Introducing our Candidate at an Event in Warrenton Last April.
Over the next nine months, we held and attended events for the candidate to meet members of the community. We wrote Letters to the Editor. Our Ad campaign placed ads in our local hardcopy paper, and digital pop up ads in local online publications. We expanded our social media presence. We texted. We phone-banked. We ordered and placed over 140 large signs across the county on major (and some minor) roads. We mailed well over 10,000 post cards to local voters. Our candidate attended rallies, visited people and talked with local businesses.
Big Signs, Yard Signs, Flyers, Events, Ads and Post Cards – just a Part of our Effort
We raised money for her. In fact the fundraiser my friend John hosted at his barn was the largest fundraiser held for our candidate across her entire district.
The Fundraiser at John’s Barn
And we knocked doors. If you want to see America, I urge you to canvass for a candidate. Here in Fauquier, it’s a bit different than canvassing in a city, where you quickly walk door to door to door on the city streets. Yes, we have the small towns of Warrenton, The Plains, Marshall, Bealeton and Remington where you can do that, but most of the county, and our 55,000 voters, live in the country. We criss-crossed the highways, byways and gravel roads of Fauquier over the summer, and into the fall. You might be able to canvass 100 homes in an afternoon, if in a town. If driving through the countryside, it might take 3 1/2 hours to canvass 35 homes.
We Canvassed Everywhere in Fauquier County.
We met voters with mile long driveways and magnificent vistas from their back porches. We knocked on doors of small apartment complexes that had seen better days. We spoke with voters whose families lived in Virginia since before the Civil War. We met newcomers who only recently moved to the county. Men, women, young and old (the oldest person I personally canvassed was 91). Brown, black, white and every shade of color in between. We met dog people, cat people, and families with no pets at all. Single moms, families with 2.2 children and bachelor guys were all spoken with and listened to.
A few weeks before the election, a call came from my friend Austin, the Campaign Manager. The race was tightening. Our opponent was closing the gap and we needed all hands on deck. I couldn’t find my notebook, and furiously scribbled notes on a 3×5 card for reference.
Make it or Break it Time was at Hand.
During the final three weekends and the Get Out The Vote (GOTV) effort, we doubled down on our door knocking. We revisited areas previously knocked. We spoke with parents, whose kids were away at college, making sure they too had a plan to vote. We encouraged people to vote early, and if not yet registered, to take advantage of Virginia’s Same Day Registration. We started in the morning and were still knocking as dusk approached.
Finally, it was Election Day itself. Our precinct captains and their teams covered every one of our 24 polling locations from 6AM to 7PM. It was a sunny, but chilly and blustery day. As I drove around and spoke with our volunteers, people were bundled up against the cold and wind, but remained in good spirits. A couple of volunteers continued to text voters, reminding them to get out and vote. Voter turnout was high, although it was difficult to tell whether there were more Republicans than usual, or more Dems. Fauquier remains a red county, but margins matter, and margins were what we would look at later that evening.
Election Day – A long Day that Included a Visit by our Candidate.
When I made a visit to a last polling location at 6:45PM, it was cold and dark. An election official came outside to announce the poll would close in 15 minutes. Our team reported the Republicans working at the location had already left to attend their Victory Party. Our team was still talking to voters at 6:55, 56, 57, 58, 59… At 7PM, they closed polling location 206, at P.B. Smith Elementary School.
That night, after the polls closed, there was an official campaign Watch Party at a brewery in Loudoun County about an hour away, and our candidate would be there. We were tired, and elected to stay local, rather than chance the drive. Our friend Whitney hosted a party, and we went to her house. To be honest, most of our volunteers were exhausted from the long day and went home. I popped a beer and ate a slice of pizza. While election coverage was on the big TV in the family room, several of us were in the kitchen where one of our members was downloading results from the Virginia Election site as soon as they were posted.
As I said earlier, our new district, the 10th CD, is slightly Blue. What that means is if we voted exactly as the district did one year before in the governor’s election, our candidate would win by two points* – not much of a safety net, particularly in this day and age. It’s why we were interested in what our margin would be when results started coming in.
Fauquier is always one of the first counties to report. As expected, we were losing across the board in the county, but something interesting was going on. As precincts were reporting, something was happening. Although still losing in the county, we were performing three points better than we had the year before. Wow – THREE POINTS!
Three points up from a year ago was great for us, but our neighbor to the north, Loudoun County – the largest county in the District by far, would be the deciding factor.
Their precincts started reporting as well, as did other parts of the district. Our candidate’s lead remained steady, dropped some, dropped some more, then started to grow. Things were starting to look promising. I traded texts with Austin, and he confirmed things were going well from their perspective, but no one wanted to get ahead of themselves.
Finally, around 10PM, our candidate, Democrat Jennifer Wexton, was declared the winner by multiple sources, and won re-election!
Yessssss!
Emotions washed across all of us. Joy, relief, happiness… A bottle of bubbly was popped and we toasted Jennifer, each other and the Fauquier Democrats. We’d done our part to secure her re-election. The best candidate had won, and a Democrat would represent Fauquier County in the United States House of Representatives for the first time in a long time.
Cheers and Congratulations all Around!
When all was said and done, there were about 700 more Dem votes in Fauquier than during last year’s Gubernatorial election. It’s unheard of for a stand alone Congressional election to have more votes than a Gubernatorial election. Our Republican brethren had about 1,700 less than a year ago. Together, those numbers accounted for our 3.4+ point shift in the county. 12,250 people voted Democratic in Fauquier this year. We turned parts of the town of Warrenton Blue, as well as the village of The Plains – something that hadn’t happened since before 2008.
Jennifer won overall by over 5 points, and 16,000 votes. Here in Fauquier County, we are proud of the part we played in this victory for her, and for Democracy.
Jennifer Wexton – our New Congresswoman.
Addendum:
* With redistricting here in Virginia, this is actually the first elections held with the new districts. When I said “if we voted exactly as the district did one year before in the governor’s election, our candidate would win by two points ”, what that actually means is they re-combined the votes from last year’s Youngkin/McAuliffe Gubernatorial election (in their old districts) into their new districts, to project what a specific district might look like. Those Numbers showed Wexton winning by a couple of points, and showed Congresswoman Abigale Spanberger to the south of us, losing by a couple of points.
It was a bit sad, to be honest. When the frost came in mid-October, Cathy picked the last three tomatoes from the garden and brought them in to ripen. One week, ten days, fifteen days went by, and then, voila’, they were ready! But what to do with them? You know the answer.
The Three Last Lonely Tomatoes
We decided to end the tomato season as it began – BLTs of course. It did take time for the tomatoes to ripen, but finally, they were ready. A day later, and we had the ingredients – a head of romaine, a half pound of bacon, and a loaf of fresh wheat bread from Red Truck Bakery.
That Saturday we both arrived home a bit late after canvassing. Cath was there first, and when I finally arrived, she’d just finished making a dozen pepper poppers with the last jalapeños and poblanos from the garden. A manhattan later, and the poppers were baked and nicely browned. They were damned tasty, with about every fourth one having a bit of heat.
Cathy finished frying the bacon and we were ready. Slice the tomatoes, slice the bread, slather the mayo on the bread (a bit heavy for me, thank you), then pile on the bacon lettuce and tomato. It was looking good.
Almost Ready
We popped a bottle of Jsparkling wine, because, why not? It was Saturday, we were having BLTs, and why the hell not? It tasted wonderful and life was wonderful, at least for the night.
It wasn’t summer, and we’d been so busy lately we didn’t have time to make side dishes, but Nick’s Market in Marshall solved the problem. Some of their potato salad and a half dozen deviled eggs rounded out the meal. We were ready.
Nick’s to the Rescue!
You know, it may not have been quite as good as the first sandwich of the summer. I mean, in July, to borrow from DR Frankenfurter in Rocky Horror, you “shiver with antici…..pation” waiting for the first bite of that first BLT. How do you top that? Still, this one was pretty good. Considering it was November 5th, it was d@mned good.
We finished dinner and were still sipping on the J, when Cath said she hadn’t been quite truthful with me. “What? What are you talking about?” She pulled out a basket and there were seven, count them seven, green tomatoes she’d gathered from the garden that very day. BLTs in December? Will they ripen, or stay green? I guess we’ll have to wait and see.
BLTs in December?
Addendum:
Maybe I have a bit of a BLT obsession – here’s a blog I wrote a couple of years ago about the first BLT of the season – Last night we had our first Bacon, Lettuce, and Tomato sandwiches of the year. They were perfect. I’m not sure why I like the BLT so much, but I do. They taste of summer I think. They are simple. There’s a finite time when they are in “season”. And they taste so […] Continue at: https://mnhallblog.wordpress.com/2020/07/30/perfection-in-a-sandwich/
Davie was the gentlest soul I have ever known. He also had a memorable lust for life. When he died last week, the world became colder, less kind, and a little less forgiving. I mourn his passing, and there is a weight on me.
Davie and I first met through our running group, The Mount Vernon Hash House Harriers* (MVH3), in ‘90 or ‘91. Back then, we were all in decent shape, and could both run for miles and drink copious amounts of beer, sometimes at the same time. There were lots of good times running around different parts of Northern Virginia. We’d run, eat and drink, and then maybe party some more. At the time, Cath and I only lived about 1/2 mile from Davie, and frequently found ourselves in his hot tub on Saturday afternoons, some time after The Hash finished.
Random Hash Photos from DC, Orlando and Trinidad
Later, when The Hash started hosting it’s annual Red Dress Run (yes, all members were required to wear red dresses on the run), some of Davie’s outfits were legendary. Wearing his Carmen Miranda fruit plate hat still draws chuckles from those who were there.
At the Red Dress Run – Davie with his Carmen Miranda Hat, and the two of us a Different Year
Our friendship grew to be much more than just The Hash. We started doing other activities together, including dinners out, hikes in the woods or up Old Rag, and visits to our then cabin in West Virginia. Sometime in the mid ‘90s Davie organized an annual ski trip for 8 or 10 of us to the wilds of West Virginia. He’d rent a big group house, where we’d ski during the day, and take turns cooking dinners at night. There was more hottubbing, beer drinking and partying in general, but what I remember most was the fellowship we all had with each other. It was the best of times and something we looked forward to every year.
Hikes, Ski Trips, and Parties – Alway a Fun Time
In the late ‘90s, Davie came out to us. We always suspected, although we weren’t sure. It was very different then, than it is today, and coming out was a real act of bravery. It took him over half an hour and some tears before he finally came to the point he was gay. Cathy and I told him we loved him, and it didn’t matter, we still loved him. We shared hugs and tears all around at that point. It’s also what made me realize no one chooses to be gay – no one would want to willingly go through the pain and fear of potentially being an outcast of society. God, or genetics, or some combination of the two made Davie gay, and also made him the wonderful person he was.
We eventually moved to the country, a little over an hour from our old home. We saw Davie less frequently, but still had great times.
For his part, Davie, who always loved to travel, was traveling even more. He was a recognized expert on waterways for the Army Corps of Engineers and frequently flew around the country and the world for conferences, and to speak at some of those conferences. He also travelled on his personal time and loved to bicycle. I remember one trip when he went to Vietnam and rode by bike from Hanoi to Ho Chi Minh City (Saigon). He told great stories of that trip and one he biked in South Africa.
When covid hit, we didn’t see each other for a couple of years. We texted and had a few random phone calls, but that was it. One of the unfortunate realities of covid was the year or two it robbed from all of us. It’s easier to recover from the loss of a year or two when you are in your twenties. When you are in your sixties, you may still think death isn’t imminent, but you notice it hanging around out there on the horizon.
We saw Davie three times this year, including twice at Nats’ games. The final time we shared together was at our home during our annual Oktoberfest Hash, just two weeks before his death. Davie arrived early and we hugged as always. He didn’t do the trail that day, instead, hanging around the house drinking beer and eating brats. It was a fine autumn day and we spent time talking about nothing. They were the kind of conversations you have when you don’t yet know one of you is going to die in two weeks. It was wonderful.
Davie at the Oktoberfest Hash this Year
The day we found out Davie died was a grey, misty day. His death was sudden and unexpected. Calls followed to others. When you call someone in the middle of the day that you normally never call in the middle of the day, they know something is up. Still, there is the shock of the specific news.
It stayed grey, misty and rainy for two days before the sun finally re-emerged. It certainly fit our mood. The depression felt like a weighted blanket on my forehead and temples. It was a visceral, oppressive feeling. The opening stanza of W.H. Auden’s melancholy poem, “Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone” came to mind –
“Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone, Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone, Silence the pianos and with muffled drum Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.”
Yes, the sun is out now, and certainly life goes on. I always think we who are living have a duty to keep the memories of those who have died alive. For my part, I will remember Davie’s smile and the twinkle in his eyes. I will recall his gentleness, and his lust for life. And I will chuckle at his fruit-plated hat, and the many other stories I haven’t shared here.
When I think of Davie, his personality, and how he enjoyed life, I often think of the opening lines of the great Joan Armatrading song, “Everyday Boy” –
“Well I’ve never met anyone With your courage, And the way your enjoy life Puts me to shame. Just an hour with you, And I understand Why we had to meet…”
Davie was our friend, whom we loved. We will miss him always.
Addendum:
* MVH3 is a part of a world wide group known as the Hash House Harriers, which started in Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia in 1938. Hash, in this case refers to bad food, not pot. The runs are hare and hound in nature, with a marked trail. Typically, beer and food are served after the run. Hashers have the playful motto of “we are a drinking club with a running problem”. You can find out more about The Hash here: https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hash_House_Harriers
If you haven’t heard the Joan Armatrading song, “Everyday Boy”, give it a listen. It’s worth it. Ditto on the WH Auden poem “Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone” – find it online and give it a read.
Special thanks to my wife Cathy, and our friend Tia Perry who both contributed thoughts and ideas to this blog.
Thanks to Sharon Gustafson Schoen for the pic of Davie with the Carmen Miranda hat. The hat was actually made by our old friend Renee Ayer, who wore it at a previous Red Dress Run. Thanks also go out to Ann Simon for the last photo of Davie at Oktoberfest.
Live Life Exuberantly 