Grizzly Bear Scat

Grizzly Bear Scat

We arrived at the ranger Station in Wrangell-St Elias National Park, Alaska. As we checked in for our backpacking trip to Dixie Pass, an older looking ranger eyed me. After a brief conversation, he asked, “Do you know what grizzly bear scat looks like?” I shook my head no. 

Six months before meeting that ranger, Cathy turned 40 years old. We decided to celebrate her milestone birthday in Alaska the next summer and do some backpacking while there. Coincidentally, Cath’s sister Bonnie was marrying Don that June and they asked about coming with us for their honeymoon.  We quickly said yes and started outlining the trip.  

While we planned to visit several places, the highlight would be a four-day backpacking trip in Wrangell-St Elias National Park (WSNP). It is a vast national park that is the same size as Yellowstone National Park, Yosemite National Park, and Switzerland combined. Only Denali, also in Alaska, is a larger Park. 

We specifically chose WSNP because of its remoteness. Unlike Denali, which has buses circling the park and regulates when and how people can enter the park, WSNP is a wilderness area with one 60-mile gravel road dead-ending at the town of McCarthy. I should mention that while McCarthy’s summertime population was 200, its winter population was just 13. 

In the WSNP there were no trails, only suggested routes requiring map and compass skills. We eventually settled on a hike to Dixie Pass – a four-day, 28-mile round trip hike with 5,400 feet of elevation gain.  The country was remote and about half the hike was above the tree line.  It was also mosquito infested until you were above the tree line. Guidebooks suggested checking in and out with the Ranger Station at the entrance of the park for safety reasons.   

Part of Our Map for the Hike to Dixie Pass

After Bonnie and Don’s wedding in June of ‘96, the four of us flew to Anchorage. We spent a few days seeing some sites and getting acclimated to the near continuous sunlight. Eventually we made our way to WSNP and checked in at the Ranger Station. 

We signed in and spoke with one of the two rangers working that day and told him of our planned hike to Dixie Pass. He gave us a few safety tips and talked about the fact there were both black bears and brown bears (also known as grizzly bears) in the park. While black bears are usually more timid and less confrontational, the grizzly bear was totally different. They could attack even when unprovoked. 

The ranger pointedly looked at us and then asked, “Have you bought any jingle-bells for attaching to your pack to make noise, so the bear know you are coming?” I answered, “No, we planned to attach our drinking cups to the outside of our packs so they would make noise.”

AhhhhhhDid you bring any pepper spray with you?”   – “Ummm, no. Should we have?”

Hmmmmmmm.  Do you know the difference between black bear skat (poo) and grizzly bear skat?”  – “No, we don’t. Could you fill us in?”

He kind of smiled, and then said, “Sure.  Black bear scat is sort of brownish and fibrous. You’ll often see berries in it as well.  And grizzly bear scat?  Well, it’s similar to black bear scat, but it also has jingle bells in it and smells like pepper!”

A half second passed and then all of us, including the ranger, burst out laughing. He’d reeled me in like a bluegill in a pond. 

After the laughter ended, he did share that in WSNP, unlike Denali, there generally were no bear problems. There were so few people in the park that when the bear smelled or saw humans, they generally turned around or went in a different direction. They didn’t really know what we were and would probably avoid us. If we did come across a bear, stay still or slowly back away, don’t run, and things would probably turn out fine. 

We thanked him for his help and then drove down the gravel road awhile before turning onto a dirt trail for a bit. Eventually, we arrived at a small, cleared area. We saw a small sign pointing towards Dixie Pass.  There were no other cars. 

Cathy and Bonnie at the Start of the Hike.

The hike itself was wonderful and everything we hoped for – beauty, silence, wilderness – Mother Nature at her best.

We definitely needed a map and compass to guide us, so both Boy Scout and Army skills came in handy. Mountains, valleys, creeks, draws, outcroppings … they all became important in identifying our route.

The mosquitos were horrible until we climbed above the tree line.  A half mile into the hike, we needed our head nets and sprayed ourselves with 90% Deet. We used so much Deet, Cath’s running tights basically disintegrated when we returned home and she washed them. 

Cathy and Bonnie in Their Mosquito Netting, While Holding a Moose Antler.

The route challenged us. There were multiple creek crossings, some two feet deep, and places where we hiked over snowpack. We switched to Tevas or sandles several times each day to keep our boots dry. There was also plenty of rock hopping where you were using both legs and arms to scramble over the boulders. While not really dangerous, the trail wasn’t for the faint of heart.

Creeks and Snow and Boulders, Oh My!

We finally arrived at Dixie Pass where there were gorgeous views in all directions. We lounged around, ate lunch and took some photos. Although it was June 30th, we were snowed on while hiking back down from the pass. 

View From Dixie Pass Looking Back at our Approach Route.

On the 3rd morning around breakfast time, we did have a distant encounter with a brown bear, but the ranger was right. When the grizzly smelled us, he turned in another direction and gave us a wide berth. We were probably 75 yards or so away and watched him from a hillside. Still, I have to say it elevated my pulse.

Eventually, we finished the hike and our grand adventure ended. It was both a beautiful and challenging hike – one of those life events you never forget.  For me, the story is never complete without also talking about the ranger, the jingle bells and the pepper spray. I laugh to this day when I tell the tale, and it always gets a chuckle. 

Bonnie, Don, Cathy and I at Dixie Pass.

Changing Underwear

Changing Underwear

A while back, a friend talked about her son, who was either prepubescent or a new teen. In the screed, she spoke about “stinky boy stuff” or something similar. It reminded me of a lecture I received from my mom upon returning home from a week at Boy Scout camp in the summer of ‘66.

I was all of 11 years old. I’d joined Boy Scout Troop 45 that spring and was going to my first ever summer camp at Camp Kishauwau. To say I was excited was a huge understatement – a week away from home, sleeping in tents, having fun with your buddies – what could possibly be better?!

Mom of course helped me pack. In addition to scout uniforms, a swimsuit, a windbreaker, jeans and shorts, she dutifully packed six pairs of underwear, six white T-shirts and six pairs of sox. Of course, also a towel, wash cloth, soap, toothbrush, toothpaste, shampoo, bandaids, mosquito repellent, and who knows what else.  

Mom and Dad dropped me off at Kishauwau on Sunday morning and I had a great week. We went swimming everyday, took canoes out on the Vermillion River, ate great meals at the mess hall, cooked our own food a couple of times, and learned all kinds of new skills. The week passed by in a flash. 

I Attended Camp Kishauwau from ‘66 to ‘70

Mom and dad picked me up on Saturday and we returned home. That day or the next, mom was doing my laundry from camp and I heard my name called/yelled. I dutifully came to the washing machine. 

Mom: “What is this!?” Pointing at my underwear.  “What is what?” I answered.  “This!” and held up my underwear. My six pairs of clean underwear. My six pairs of clean underwear I hadn’t touched or changed all week long.  I proceeded to receive a lecture from mom about cleanliness, hygiene, what the hell did I think I was doing, how could I go a whole week without changing my underwear and on and on and on… I had no defense and took it as best I could. I probably looked like a young puppy just caught peeing on the floor.  Finally, she wound down and let me go.  – whew! –

Fast forward a year. It’s time for summer camp again and I’m looking forward to going just as much as the previous year. Mom helps pack again and in go the six pairs of underwear, the six white T-shirts and the six pairs of sox. Of course along with the packing, I also receive another lecture about health and good hygiene.  “Yes mom! I get it!”

Camp was a great time once again – water sports, learning how to track animals, bonfires, learning knots and lashings, building a bridge. It was awesome. 

Random Bad Photos (With my Then New Camera) From Kishauwau in ‘67.

Friday night came and I was getting my stuff ready to go back home the next day. To my horror, I came across my six pairs of underwear, again unused. OH NO!  What to do?!  I was sure to be in real trouble this year. I thought about it and then had an idea. I would make the underwear look dirty!  I quickly threw them on the ground and then proceeded to move them around in the dirt and walk on them in my hiking boots. They looked dirty for sure and I slept peacefully that night. 

The next day Mom and Dad brought me home.  I went out to play and then heard my name called loudly by Mom. Uh-Oh. 

Mom: “What is this!?” Pointing at my underwear.  “What is what?” I answered.  “This!” And proceeded to hold up my underwear. My six pairs of underwear with boot prints on them.  “Ummm, my dirty underwear.”  “WITH BOOTPRINTS?! WHAT IS GOING ON??”

As I looked at her, my brain feverishly worked, trying to find an answer. What could I say!? What possible excuse could I give!?  I had nothing.

Ummm, I forgot to change my underwear again and thought I could make them look dirty.”

Mom stared at me. Finally with a look only a mom could give, she said “Go to your room.”

Now I’d done it. I sat in the bedroom thinking. She was sure to tell Dad, and then what? How much trouble was I actually in? Why the heck hadn’t I remembered to change my underwear? Why hadn’t I been smarter about how to make them dirty?

Time passed. Finally, I was called to dinner. Evidently it was going to be a public execution.

Except it wasn’t. Mom didn’t say anything. Dad didn’t say anything. In my memory, I seem to remember a small smile from him, but that may just be a trick of my mind 57 years later. And that was it. I didn’t hear anything more about it. By the next year, I actually did remember to change my underwear, although probably not as often as mom would have wished. 

I’ve thought about the conversation I’m guessing took place between Mom and Dad. Mom laying out the case. Dad maybe hesitating a bit – remembering his own childhood during the depression. Or maybe thinking about being in North Africa during WWII, when he wouldn’t have had the opportunity to change his clothes for several weeks. And who knows, maybe Mom never said anything to Dad – maybe she had her own chuckle over the whole thing after sending me to my room.

Addendum:

– Fun Camp Kishauwau Fact: Ryan Gosling wore a Camp Kishauwau T-Shirt in the 2007 movie, Fracture, which also starred Anthony Hopkins.

Fun Camp Kishauwau Fact: Ryan Gosling Wore a Kishauwau T-Shirt in the 2007 Movie “Fracture”.

– Here are two previous blogs about my time in the Boy Scouts:

  • 50 years ago in June of 1969, I was awarded the Boy Scout’s highest rank, Eagle Scout. I was thinking about this recently when Cath and I were attending the Eagle Court of Honor for Mark, the son of good friends of ours. I also thought about Farrell and Don, who were great Scoutmasters and mentors: https://mnhallblog.wordpress.com/2019/07/11/farrell-and-don/
  • On Mother’s Day, May 12th, 1968, Howard and Tim, my two best friends, and I were awarded the Boy Scout God and Country award. I recently came across a photo and newspaper article about the award. That minor event took place during one of the most tumultuous years in United States history: https://mnhallblog.wordpress.com/2018/09/12/god-and-country

Strange ‘dogs

Strange ‘dogs

Two questions simultaneously occupied my brain – “Why would I possibly order a hotdog with mac n’ cheese and crab meat on it?” – and – “How could I possibly turn down a hotdog with mac n’ cheese and crab meat on it!?”  I admit it – I’ve sampled some strange ‘dogs at the ballpark this year.

Until last season, a good brat stand was not far from our seats and it became my go-to place at Nat’s Park.  It’s gone now, or moved somewhere else. Instead, behind our seats in section 219 is a concession stand with burgers and hotdogs. It also has a specialty hotdog called “Taste of the Majors” on the menu. 

The “Taste of the Majors” hotdog changes every series, depending on who the visiting team is and where they are from. It pairs the hotdog with something that city or region is known for. 

If the Cubs or White Sox are visiting, it’s easy and a straightforward Chicago dog is on the menu.  With Milwaukee, it’s always a brat instead of a hotdog, maybe with grilled onions if you want. Both of those make sense. It’s when other cities visit that things can get, well, a little strange. 

Earlier this season, when the Baltimore Orioles were in town, they added crab meat and mac n’ cheese. The crab meat I understood, but not sure I knew Bal’more was a mac ‘n cheese hotbed. Seeing it on the menu, I felt both appalled and intrigued. “Intrigued” won out and I ordered it.

And?

In its own weird way, it was delicious. And messy. I needed a knife and fork to finish eating it. 

I Ate Every Last Bite of the Bal’more Dog.

A few weeks later, the NY Mets were in town.  The Taste of the Majors ‘dog?   A hotdog with pastrami, sour kraut and mustard. Excellent. A hotdog with kraut is fairly normal, so the pastrami was just a nice add-on. As a bonus, no knife or fork were required. 

A week later the Atlanta Braves were visiting. OK, this was interesting – A deep fried hotdog with pulled pork, BBQ sauce, cole slaw and a pickle. My stomach rumbled just looking at the description.  My brain said no. My stomach said no. Some other part of me said “You must try this!”, so I ordered it. It was interesting, but…  I wouldn’t get it a second time. I thought it might be a cousin to a chili dog and taste pretty good, but that wasn’t the case. It tasted just as strange as it first sounded. I should note did take a Pepcid before going to bed that night.  Curiously, as I write this blog, I am re-tasting the Atlanta dog – a not entirely pleasant sensation. 

The Atlanta Dog was … Interesting.

So the early season review? The O’s ‘dog was intriguing and good; the Mets ‘dog was a perfect blend of tastes; and the Braves ‘dog was a clash of flavors that didn’t quite work together.

Each of these puppies weighed in at around 850-900 calories. Healthy is never a term used to describe a hotdog, let alone these bad boys. Cath rolls her eyes when I tell her what I had to eat at the park. Still, my macabre fascination remains.  We aren’t at the All-Star break yet and there are many games and ‘dogs to go.  At some point, will common sense or my taste buds prevail and I’ll heed Nancy Reagan’s advice and “Just say no!” to these mutants?

That’s a question I can’t definitively answer, but my guess is that for better or worse, I have a few more “Taste of the Majors” hotdog creations in my future.

Addendum:

⁃ Between this blog and the one I did about sausage gravy Pizza, I’m sure at least some people are asking what the hell kind of stuff is Max putting in his system. I actually do eat healthily most of the time – salads, vegetables/vegetarian, some meat, and not much dairy, potatoes or pasta. Still, I think it’s good to enjoy life and challenge the ol’ digestive track on occasion. Otherwise, what’s the point of it all?

Tyranny at the Townhouse

Tyranny at the Townhouse

Cath and I bought our first home 35 years ago in June of 1989. It was a townhouse in Fairfax, VA and we were excited. It turned out our townhouse was in a Homeowner Association (HOA), a term I’d never heard before, but grew to hate. Our skirmishes with them lasted a decade.

After living in Germany for most of the ‘80s, we returned to the DC area for our next assignment with the Army. We also decided it was time to take the plunge and buy a home. 

After looking at numerous townhouses (we couldn’t afford a house at that point), we finally found one we liked in Fairfax – four years old, with only one previous owner. Going through the paperwork, we learned our townhouse was in an HOA, a term we’d never heard. Our agent explained we would pay dues to the HOA and they did things like maintaining common grounds, pay for children’s playgrounds, and “help maintain the standards of the community.”  

Now I’m not saying our agent acted dishonestly, but she didn’t quite go into the details of what “maintain the standards of the community” meant. She more or less explained it as making sure people kept their houses painted and looking nice, as how the neighborhood looked affected our property values. I suppose we should have/could have done our own research, but we were eager to buy, and that made sense.  We didn’t think anything more about it, signed away our lives and bought the home. 

We moved in and all was going well. As we’d done since we owned our first horse in 1983, we hung a horseshoe over the door for good luck. We’d done so at our apartment in Augusta, Georgia, our rented townhome in Dayton, Ohio and both houses we rented in Rheindurkheim, Germany.  Couldn’t we all use a little extra luck?

About a month after we moved in, the HOA sent out a notice. They were having elections for all positions and we were encouraged to attend. The night of the election, we showed up, and I was impressed. There were a couple of speeches, printed ballots and then the actual elections themselves.  Wow!  We were watching democracy in action!  This was amazingly cool. Little did I know, or really understand.

Another month passed and Cath and I received a notice in the mail. We were in violation of HOA rules. What!?  The letter informed us that in accordance with section II, paragraph B, sub paragraph 3), nothing was allowed on the door or over the door. Our horseshoe was in violation.

This couldn’t be! I called the number in the letter and the person picked up. I said I didn’t understand. What rules?  How could a good luck horseshoe hanging over the door violate anything?  The gentlemen referred to the HOA code. I said, “What code?  We just moved in and never received any code.”  He answered, “Yes you did.  Check your closing documents when you bought the house. You’ll find a copy there.

I pulled out our folder from closing, and sure enough, found the HOA document.   I turned to section II, paragraph B, sub paragraph 3), and he was right – nothing was allowed on or above the door, except during the Christmas holidays when a suitable wreath or garland could be hung. 

D@mn. 

With a great deal of complaining, I took down the horseshoe. I think that’s when my unofficial war with the HOA began. 

I went back to the rule book and read through it in its entirety. There were, to put it mildly, a lot of rules and regulations. More than you would think possible. 

I spent a fair amount of time over the next several weeks reading those rules, when all of a sudden, I noticed something. While they said nothing could hang on or over the door, it didn’t say anything about the window frame, three feet left of the door. I read and reread the rules and could find nothing prohibiting hanging something on the window frame. I immediately hung our horseshoe by the window. 

About a month later we received another notice saying we were in violation of section II, paragraph B, sub paragraph 3), just like before. I called the number again, spoke with the same gentleman and asked what the problem was. He said, “One of our inspectors told us you’ve put the horseshoe back up.”  I answered, “Not above the door.”  He answered, “nothing is allowed on the front of the house.”  I paused slightly and said “That’s not what section II, paragraph B, sub paragraph 3) says. It only talks about the door.”  He answered, “It means the front of the house.”  I answered, “That’s not what it says.”

—Silence—

Then, from his end “I am referring this to the board.  I’d advise you to take the horseshoe down.”

I left the horseshoe up. Surprisingly, I never heard back from the HOA or received another letter about it. Score a small victory for the Halls, along with justice and the American Way.

On Our Front Porch With Some Neighbors. Note the Horseshoe on the Window Framing. 😉

Other letters arrived over the years. I won a couple and lost a couple. My trim paint was off a shade in color one year and I lost that one. A year later, I found out the fence around our back yard was actually inset 3 feet from the community property line and decided to move the fence back to the line itself. If you live in a townhouse, three feet is a big deal. 

The HOA dutifully sent us another letter saying we had illegally moved our fence and needed to restore it to its original location. I asked where it said in the HOA rules that a setback was required. I already knew the answer, but waited for them to find it as well – it didn’t say anything about a setback anywhere. Score another one for the Halls. Two of my neighbors subsequently moved their fences back in the coming months. 

Our last victory, though probably illegal, provided great joy. It was in ‘97 or ‘98.

Parking is usually tight in townhouse communities and regularly managed. In our community, people were parking, usually temporarily, in places where they shouldn’t, including at the end of the pipe-stem we lived on. The HOA dutifully painted the curb in front our house yellow and wrote “NO PARKING” in black letters on the curb. This was fine. As I said, no one really parked there anyway, unless they were packing up or unloading a car. 

Of course, the HOA couldn’t let it end with the painting. They also put up two “NO PARKING” signs at either end of the yellow paint.  One of the signs was literally right in front of our door. I was, needless to say, pissed. It looked ugly setting right in front of our front door, and if approaching our home from the street, you needed to walk around the sign to reach our house. Note, the HOA put the signs up, not the town or county. As a result, they didn’t use any concrete, they just put the sign in the ground, something that turned out to be important. 

Each day when I came home from work, I rocked the sign back and forth just a little bit. And then a little bit more. And then a little bit more. It became looser in the ground. 

A couple months later, we were having a small party. Our neighbors, Laura and Jason, were moving to Texas and we were saying goodbye. A U-Haul truck was parked in front of their house and they were loading it, with some of our help. Suddenly, a genius idea came to me. 

Hey Jason.  Just curious, will you have any spare room in the back of the truck?  I may have something I’d like to ship to Texas.”  He answered, “I think a little bit.  How much do you need?” 

I said, “ENOUGH FOR A NO PARKING SIGN!.” and smiled. He smiled back and replied, “I think we could fit in one of those.”

And so, over the next hour or so, we worked on the sign. Cathy had the honor of pulling it out of the ground. ;-).  Jason and I loaded it into his truck sometime after dark.

Cathy Triumphantly Holding up the “No Parking Sign”!

We never did hear anything from the HOA about the incident, which seemed a bit strange given the number of people at the party. Maybe everyone else was fed up as well.

I do understand the need at one level for HOAs, particularly in something like a townhouse community, or with a Condo Association. There are some central costs, and you do want your neighborhood looking good. Still, I’ve always wondered what kind of junior fascist signs up as an inspector for their neighborhood. Do they think they are doing good, or are they just addicted to control?

In ’99, we left Fairfax and moved to our present home in the country. One of the requirements for the new property?  It couldn’t be in an HOA. ;-).

At Rohan farm, our horseshoe proudly hangs over the garage door.

The Horseshoe’s Still Hanging, Even After All These Years.

Addendum:

  • I don’t really remember that it was section II, paragraph B, sub paragraph 3), but it was referenced similarly.

Top and Cathy

Top and Cathy

With no kids to talk about, Cath and I have a million stories about our dogs, particularly our first dog, Top. Don’t parents always have the most pictures and stories about their first born?! A German friend called Top “Einmalig”, which translates to “one of a kind”. This story, from 1981, involved Top, Cathy hitting a tree with our car, the MPs, the German Polizei and a little old lady. We were stationed in Würzburg, Germany at the time.

Cathy and Top, Around the Time of the Story.

Cathy had been shopping at the commissary and was returning home with both Top and our groceries in the back seat. Here is her version of what happened.

#—#

Top and I were on our way home from shopping at the commissary at Leighton Barracks in Würzburg one afternoon. As we entered a traffic circle, I must have been going a little too fast, as the groceries fell over onto Top and scared him. Out of my peripheral vision I saw him try and jump out my car window. I caught him by the collar and pulled him back into the car, but of course I didn’t pay attention to where I was driving. When I looked back at the road I was heading straight for a tree, which I hit. I must have only glanced off of it because the car was fine, or so I thought at the time.

I kept driving and stopped at a red light, where reaction to the accident set in. I said to Top in the back seat, “Well at least we are still together and OK!” I looked in the back and Top wasn’t there – he jumped out of the window after all. I pulled over and imagining the worst, got out of the car and looked under it, making sure I hadn’t dragged him by his leash. No Top there, so that was a small bit of grace, but where was he, and what to do?

I was near the American MP station, so I drove there.  I repeated the story of what happened, and they decided it would be prudent to call the Polizei.  

In Germany, they treat their animals and trees well. Really well. If you illegally kill an animal or damage or fell a tree, there are hefty fines. Hearing we were involving the PoIizei, I naturally became concerned and worried about both them and a potential fine. My only real interaction with the Polizei up to this time was at the German airports where they guarded against terrorists, were always in riot gear and carrying automatic weapons.  You didn’t mess around with them.

The Polizei arrived and looked a bit stern at first.  I explained everything again, this time in German, and at one point I think I saw one of the Polizei hiding a laugh or a small smirk.  I should point out you generally didn’t see the Polizei laughing.   In this instance they were quite nice and helpful.  We determined the tree wasn’t really damaged and they let me go with a warning to drive more carefully.  

As I was getting ready to leave, it turned out something was wrong with the car, as it was making a funny noise. The MPs and I decided to leave the car at the MP station and have someone pick me up. We called Hindenburg Kaserne where Max was stationed, but he had deployed to an undisclosed location in the field and was unreachable. His company said they would send Lieutenant Smrt (yes, that really was his last name – it had no vowels) from his Company to pick me up.

I was waiting on a corner for LT Smrt’s arrival when all of a sudden Top, seemingly without a care, trotted down the sidewalk towards me, trailing his leash. I grabbed him and sat on the corner hugging and holding him, crying tears of joy and relief. A little old lady who was walking by, stopped and asked me what was wrong and “Ist dein Hund krank?” (Is your dog sick?) I looked at her and just couldn’t go through the story a third time, and for a second time in German. I said the easiest thing that came to mind. “Ja. Er hat Krebs.” (Yes, he has cancer.) She petted Top, wished us good luck and looking sad, walked away.

We’ve told this story over the years and it always gets a chuckle. I laugh at myself a bit in the telling. We spoke fluent, or near fluent German at the time, but I was so overwhelmed with emotions, the “Krebs” story was the best I could do. 

#—#

Top was with us for 16 years, dying, not of cancer, but old age in 1997. By then he was a world traveler, having crossed the Atlantic three times, visited numerous European countries and several States back home. He truly was Einmalig and we still miss him and his antics.

Top – With and Without a Haircut.

Addendum:

Here are three previous blogs about Top.

  • I don’t know if our dog,Top, could bark in both German and English, but he had a fluent understanding of the two languages … We discovered this outside our local Bäckerei (Bakery), when an old German lady bent down, looked at Top and said “Gib mir deine Pfote”. As she extended her hand, Top […] Continue here: https://mnhallblog.wordpress.com/2020/07/15/our-bilingual-dog-top/
  • Next month, it will be 25 years since our first dog, Top, passed away. He was 17 at the time. I was recently thinking about him, as we placed baskets on couches and chairs, so our current dog, Carmen, couldn’t hop up for a quick snooze while we were out. We weren’t that smart with Top. He was a covert couch sleeper the entire […] Continue here: https://mnhallblog.wordpress.com/2021/12/01/let-sleeping-dogs-lie/
  • Top was our first dog, but not our last. When he died in 1997 at seventeen years of age, I think we cried for three days. We still have a book with all of the sympathy cards our friends sent us. If you want to know a bit more about Top, here’s the eulogy we read when we spread his ashes at Tibbet Knob, on the border between Virginia and West Virginia […] Continue here: https://mnhallblog.wordpress.com/2017/01/09/top/

American Ingenuity

American Ingenuity

American ingenuity – we see it applied every day in all kinds of ways. Recently, I needed to look no further than a couple of local breweries, where in addition to great beer, they are serving Sausage Gravy Pizza and Bratwurst Pizza. I put those ideas in the borderline genius category.

Pizza – it’s almost as American as apple pie. Yea, it originated in Naples, Italy, but we Americans have made it our own. For me, from pizza at Sam’s* in my hometown, to New York Sicilian at West Point, to Chicago deep dish, to rediscovering the simple pleasures of a Pizza Margherita, it’s been a great journey. Of course, these days you can find almost anything on a pizza including the outstanding combination of prosciutto, arugula and a balsamic reduction at Ava’s in St Michaels, MD.

Sam’s Pizza – Still Great After Seventy Years.

Currently, I need to say two local breweries have caught my attention with outside the box thinking.

The first is Death Ridge Brewery, located on a farm off of Route 229 about halfway between Warrenton and Culpeper. Their beers are excellent and they have wonderful views of the Virginia Piedmont. They have their own kitchen and often a food truck, but you should really try visiting on a Sunday, when they do it up right. They have bluegrass music all day long, and there’s typically a food truck. The real reason to visit on a Sunday? Their Sausage Gravy Pizza, which is only served on Sundays.

Sausage Gravy Pizza – You Know You Want to Try It!

I kid you not, it is outstanding. Does it taste like sausage gravy? Yes. Does it taste like Pizza? Again, yes. I’m not sure exactly how they do it. If I had to guess, I’d say they blend some mozzarella in with their homemade sausage gravy, and it turns into a wonderful, delicious, perfect Sunday lunch. The pizza probably has about a bazillion calories, but who’s counting?

Cathy About to Enjoy a Sausage Gravy Pizza.

The second place to try is a new brewery in Warrenton called Silver Branch, Warrenton Station. It took over the location of the former Wort Hog Brewery**, which only lasted a couple of years. Silver Branch, like Death Ridge, has good beers, with excellent IPAs and great European varieties, including Pils, Saisons, Stouts, and a Belgian Tripel that will knock your socks off. They have a full food menu including moules (mussels), a bratwurst sandwich with frites and several good pizzas. My favorite? “The Wurst”, a bratwurst pizza with caramelized onions – a brilliant idea!

Now you might think the Germans would have “invented” the Bratwurst Pizza, or at least served it, but I’m doubtful of that and never saw it when we lived there. Cathy and I were stationed in Germany for 9 years with the Army and loved both the country and the people. Having said that, the German people live up to at least one stereotype – They in fact are an “orderly” people and tend to follow rules. As a result, they serve bratwurst in Germany, and they serve pizza in Germany at Italian restaurants. The two together?! Niemals! (Never!) I’m glad someone at Silver Branch thought “Hmmm. I like brats. I love pizza. AND, I enjoy drinking bier with both of them. Let’s play around in the kitchen and see what we can come up with.” Pizza, brats and beer – what could possibly go better together?

“The Wurst” – Just say “Ja!”

I still enjoy a Cheese, Sausage, Mushroom pizza from Sam’s when back home in Ottawa, or a Greek pizza from Joe & Vinnie’s here in Warrenton. Still, it’s nice to know there are new options, and with American Ingenuity, pizza continues evolving. In the meantime, if you are here in Fauquier County, I highly recommend trying both Death Ridge and Silver Branch, for their beers, and their pizza. You can’t go wrong unless you try and do both on the same Sunday, in which case you might overeat. 😉

Addendum:

  • * Sam’s Pizza made, and still makes, some of the best pizza in the world. It’s where we went in high school and continue to stop by to this day when back in Ottawa. Here’s a blog about Sam’s and the year 1972. “It’s not easy to eat pizza 100 times in one year. I know this because my good friend Howard and I did it 52 years ago in 1972…” continue here: https://mnhallblog.wordpress.com/2017/04/14/sams-pizza-in-1972/
  • ** Wort Hog was one of the first breweries to open in Fauquier County and people were quite excited when it arrived. Unfortunately, it had a couple of problems – their beers weren’t all that good, and service was mediocre. Other than that, it was a fine place. :-). Fauquier County now has 11 breweries – if you don’t make good beer and don’t have decent service, you’re not going to make it. There are too many choices.
  • You can learn more about Death Ridge Brewery here: https://www.deathridgebrewery.com/
  • You can learn more about Silver Branch, Warrenton Station, here: https://www.silverbranchbrewing.com/warrenton-station/

A Road not Taken

A Road not Taken

When I left the Army 32 years ago in 1992, I had several good job opportunities. One of those was with a new company called Cisco Systems, where my buddy Dave tried to recruit me. He started there in ‘91 and retired a multimillionaire in ‘99. Looking back, it’s a classic “What if…”

After graduating from West Point, my first two tours were in the “muddy boots” Army with 3ID and then VII Corps in Germany. Returning to the States, the Army, in its infinite wisdom, sent me to grad school and I earned a master’s in electrical engineering. Deploying back to Europe in ‘85, the engineering group I was with started designing and implementing something new both for the Army and the world – Computer Local Area Networks (LANs) and Community Area Networks (CANs), eventually connecting them to DoD’s worldwide network. Remember this was all before the World Wide Web started in 1991 and was revolutionary. Hardly anyone even had email at the time. (My first email account was in ‘88 and was actually one account for seven of us in our office).

In our implementations, Dave and I started working with Cisco Systems, which developed the first commercial “router”. Without getting technical, routers enable different computer networks to talk with each other and were one of the necessary physical building blocks for what became the Web. The work we were doing was new enough that we were selected to make a presentation at a NATO Technical Conference in 1989 in Brussels, Belgium.

In ‘89, I returned to the States. Meanwhile, in ‘90 or ‘91 Dave left the Army and was hired by Cisco. Living in London, he became their sales engineer for Eastern Europe and Northern Africa.

Fast forward a couple more years to ‘92. The first Gulf War had ended in victory. The Berlin Wall fell a couple years before, and the USSR was falling apart. The Army decided it would downsize and started offering early-out packages.

I had been promoted to Major in the summer of ‘91 and was in a classified engineering job in the DC area at the time. I wanted to get back to the “muddy boots Army”, but the Army had decided to track me as an engineer and that wasn’t going to happen. After considering all options, in early March of ‘92 I decided it was time to leave the Army and started looking for a job in the civilian world.*

Major Hall Near Retirement Time

Pre-Internet, there were really only two ways to apply for a job – getting referrals from people you knew (always the best) or scanning the ads in newspapers. I was diligent with both and was soon interviewing for several opportunities. In the middle of all of this, Dave returned from London for a short trip and we got together for dinner.

As we talked, Dave grew animated — “I have a great job for you, and you are perfect for it. Cisco is expanding in Europe and we need engineers who understand the technology. It would be an easy transition, although you’d need to move back to Europe.”

I asked Dave to tell me more about what he was doing for Cisco.

Well, as you know, I live in London – absolutely great city. On Monday morning I head to Heathrow and fly with a sales guy to somewhere in Eastern Europe or Northern Africa. We spend the week there working through sales opportunities. He handles the corporate part, and I work the technical. We also do follow up with locations where we’ve already sold systems. Of course, there are plenty of opportunities for fun while in those countries as well. On Friday, I fly back to London, party in the city and do laundry. On Monday I wake up and repeat the cycle.”

I should mention Dave was single at the time.

I looked at him and he looked back at me. “If you want the job, it’s yours. I can make it happen. It would be a combination of salary, stock and stock options”.** I asked how long he was in town for and said I’d get back to him in a couple of days.

I thought about the opportunity and Cath and I talked about it. While it had great potential, there were also several items in the “no” column. Cath and I spent almost the entire decade of the 80s in Europe, and although we loved it, we missed a decade’s worth of time with family and friends back home, including watching our nieces and nephews grow up. Cath’s career was taking off here in the States – after following me around in the army for over 13 years, was it fair to uproot her again? She also had a new horse and we would need to sell it. At the time, it was also a problem bringing a dog into England and would require months of quarantine there – did we want to subject our dog, Top, to that? And, ultimately, did we want to return to Europe for the kind of life it would be – me on the road five days a week? I’d travelled extensively during my time in the Army, but typically for a week or ten days at a time every month or two. This was a completely different beast.

Of course, Cisco wasn’t yet what it would later become. At the time, it was a small company making a box that would become (but we didn’t know it yet) instrumental in the Internet and a new-fangled idea called the “World Wide Web” – who knew what kind of future they would actually have?

In the end, it was an easy decision to make. I let Dave know I was appreciative of the offer, but had to say no.

Farewell Luncheon from the Army

Cath and I ended up staying in the DC area where I had a dozen interviews and half-a-dozen offers. I joined a company called SRA and enjoyed a wonderful career. Later I was COO at a smaller company called Pragmatics. Both companies were good to me and I retired in 2013 at the age of 58.

And Dave? Dave rode the fast train at Cisco. Cisco went public in 1990, about a decade before the dot-com bubble. According to Forbes, the company was the top-performing Initial Public Offering (IPO) of the 1990s. It reached a peak market capitalization of $555 billion during the height of the dot-com craze, briefly making it the most valuable company in the world. Dave returned to the States in the mid 90s and continued working for Cisco at their headquarters in California. He retired in 1999, cashed in his options and bought a house in Los Gatos, CA and a Porsche. We remained friends and attended his wedding a few years later. One of the smartest guys I know, he went on to work with at least two more startups.

As for Cisco, well, other things happened. The dot-com bubble peaked on Friday, March 10, 2000. Over the next two years Cisco lost 80% of its stock value, but was one of the lucky ones. It rode out the storm and is still around today, still a cornerstone in the Information Technology industry. Many companies went bankrupt or just disappeared during that period of time. I knew several friends who were paper millionaires in the late ‘90s. Almost all of them were looking for new jobs in the early 2000s.

Cisco Systems – The Rise. And the Fall.

Over the years I’ve told the story more than a few times at my own expense. The questions I usually get are “Do you regret it? Do you think about being so close to the opportunity of a lifetime and missing it?”

The truth is, I have occasionally thought about it off and on. I mean, who wouldn’t? It makes a great story. I also often think to myself, yea, I might have become rich as hell by ‘99, but I also might have been divorced. Not that Cathy and I were having any problems at the time, we weren’t. But returning to Europe? On the road that much? Putting our lives back home on hold again for the foreseeable future?

We all have paths and choices in our lives. We never really know how things might have worked out on the other road, do we? Better? Worse? Who knows? I (we) have been pretty happy on the path chosen back in the spring of ‘92. I have no regrets.

Occasionally, in my mind’s eye, through the haze of an alternate future I see myself in a Porsche driving along Highway 1 in California, the sun setting over the Pacific Ocean. About half the time, I seem to be alone in the car.

Addendum:

  • * When I was considering leaving the Army in ‘92, my thought process was only about whether to stay in the Army or not. On purpose, I didn’t cloud the decision with thoughts of a particular job, or salary. It sounds a bit crazy perhaps, but the choice, in my mind, was about Army, or no Army for me. After I decided to leave the Army is when I started looking for a job.
  • ** To put the chance to work for Cisco in perspective, An investment of $10,000 at Cisco’s IPO in 1990 would now amount to around $6.6 million, and that excludes the dividends they started paying in 2011. Of course, an offer with stock and options would have pushed those numbers significantly higher.
  • I did work extensively with Cisco Systems in the late ‘90s when I was a lead engineer for the Pentagon Renovation Program. As the building was gutted one wedge at a time, we were replacing and updating the computer networks then in use. Cisco’s switches and routers were deployed across parts of the Pentagon. At some point I was given this coffee mug, which somehow ended up at my sister Roberta’s home in Illinois. When visiting her, I often use the mug and smile, thinking about alternate lives.

Who Are These Old People?

Who Are These Old People?

I was sitting in my cardiologist’s waiting room and looked around. My immediate thought was, “Wow, there are a lot of older people here”. And then I smiled, because I am of course one of those “older people”. Older is a relative word, but if the shoe fits…

When I was younger, one of the phrases I never thought I would utter was “my cardiologist”. That all changed after I was bitten by a copperhead* and developed AFIB in the summer of 2012. I’ve been in continual AFIB since then, although, honestly, I don’t usually notice it and have continued all of my normal activities.

Yes, I Really was Bitten by a Copperhead.

It did add to the number of drugs I take. For decades, I didn’t need any pills. Oh sure, I took the occasional aspirin or later, ibuprofen, and in the springtime took an allergy pill, but that was about it. Over time, things changed.

First, my allergy pill went from only spring to about three quarters of the year after moving to the farm.

Next came a statin. I spent a couple of years trying to control my cholesterol with diet alone, and while it dropped some, it wasn’t enough. I was tracking my meals at the time and even after I went three months with 90% vegetarian meals it didn’t drop significantly. So, Atorvastatin was added to my mix of drugs and it dropped like a rock. And because atorvastatin can affect CoQ10 levels in the body, it was suggested I take a CoQ10 supplement. It turns out your cells — especially your mitochondria — need CoQ10 to make energy. Decreased CoQ10 levels in the body could mean your muscles have less energy, leading to muscle aches and pains. Pill number three was added.

LDL Cholesterol – Pre and Post Statin – Just Take the Drug!

My doctor and I spent quite a bit of time talking about health in general. In addition to meat, I reduced the amount of dairy in my diet as many people do. Cheese was practically a food group for me for decades, and I cut it back quite a bit. We also talked about sun exposure and increased chances of skin cancer. I started wearing hats more and didn’t spend as much time in the sun.

Perhaps it was no surprise at my next annual physical I showed a Vitamin D deficiency. My doctor suggested I add a vitamin D supplement to my regime. I countered, “We didn’t have this problem before cutting back on dairy and staying out of the sun. Perhaps I should eat more cheese, while working on my tan.” She smiled but I’m not quite sure she enjoyed my sense of humor. I dutifully added pill number 4, a chewable Vitamin D tablet.

After AFIB started, I went from a baby aspirin to a whole aspirin to, eventually, the blood thinner Eliquis. There’s a stroke history on my dad’s side of the family. He, along with an uncle and two of my cousins suffered strokes. When my younger sister, Tanya, had one a few years back, I told my cardiologist, who immediately said it was time to go on a blood thinner.

With the addition of Eliquis, I upped my morning intake to five different pills. I bought one of those neat little weekly pill box containers to dole out my daily stash. I chuckled a bit at that as well. Years ago on visits home, I remember rolling my eyes as mom dutifully filled her and dad’s pill boxes for the week.

Up to Five Pills Every Morning

Cardiologists and pill containers – yep, I am getting a wee bit older. As RiffRaff sings in Rocky Horror, “It’s astounding, time is fleeting…”.**

Maybe it’s not so much astounding as inevitable and we all know it. Still, you have to enjoy the trip and occasionally chuckle at the absurdity of it all. Otherwise, what’s the point?

Addendum:

The Best Burger

The Best Burger

For the last 30 years, I’ve told anyone who would listen that the best burger I ever ate was at The Squeeze Inn in Sacramento, CA. The place is still around and if you are there, you should try it. It’s a great burger, but it’s no longer my “best ever”. For that, you must visit Field and Main Restaurant here in Marshall, Va for an Ooomami Smashburger. Trust me on this. You won’t go wrong.

According to some studies, Americans eat about 50 billion burgers a year. Taste is subjective, and we all have our favorites. Sometimes they’re from dives, sometimes gourmet places and occasionally from chains (I’m looking at all of you Five Guys and In-N-Out burger fans). It just so happens my two favorite burgers are from two very different restaurants, 2,700 miles apart.

In 1992, I happened to be in Sacramento, CA and someone recommended trying “The Squeeze Inn”, so called due to its tiny size. It was a small greasy spoon with seating for about a dozen people. It may have had a couple of picnic tables outside. In any case, we finally went and I ordered a cheeseburger. HOLY COW – it was amazing, the best burger I ever had. I couldn’t even tell you what made it so good, other than lots of cheese. A few months later in early ‘93 I was back in Sacramento and stopped in again – was the previous trip a mirage? Was the burger really that good? DOUBLE HOLY COW! It was just as good the second time.

The Original Squeeze Inn

I became an apostle and proselytized regularly. If I knew anyone traveling remotely close to Sacramento, I recommended they stop in. If I met someone from Sacramento, I’d always ask about the Inn. It turns out I wasn’t the only one who liked the place. Virtually anyone who’d eaten there loved their burgers. In fact, Guy Fieri of Diners Drive-ins and Dives TV Show fame, proclaimed it one of the best burgers in America.

Strangely, I haven’t returned to Sacramento since the ‘93 visit, but The Squeeze Inn’s cheeseburger lived on in my mind as the best burger I’d ever eaten. I’d occasionally look up the restaurant online, and they were still receiving rave reviews.

So, what changed for me? The Ooomami Smashburger at Field and Main came along.

Field and Main first opened in 2016. Neal Wavra, the owner, has done a great job of making the place both a destination restaurant AND a good addition to the local restaurant scene. Cathy and I enjoy dinners there on a regular basis. The menu rotates, but I’d tell you their Chicken leg “confit” is one of my favorite meals. Billed as “casual fine dining”, it’s received two favorable reviews from WaPo restaurant critic Tom Sietsma, has won numerous awards, and is constantly written up as one of the best restaurants in Virginia. Their food is excellent. If you saw the place, or looked at their menu, it’s not immediately obvious they would make a great burger, and yet they do.

Field and Main – “Casual Fine Dining” AND a Great Burger!

I was reminded of this on a recent Saturday evening. Returning from an afternoon with my running group, I stopped in to pick up some wine we’d ordered and to get take-out dinner for Cathy and me. I went upstairs to the bar, ordered one of their signature drinks, a “Red Lantern” (definitely try it if you visit) and ordered dinner to go – two Ooomami Smashburgers and an order of loaded crispy potatoes. If you time it right, you can finish your drink in about the time it takes them to make your meal, and that was true on this occasion. I paid, grabbed the food and drove home, where Cathy was waiting.

Both of us were hungry and we tore into the burgers. We’ve eaten them several times before and on this particular night, the revelation hit me – this may well be the best burger I’ve ever eaten. I don’t know if it’s the Wagyu beef, the homemade bacon jam, or both of those combined with the onions and American Cheese that makes it so good, but it is delicious. The loaded crispy potatoes with garlic, bacon, sour cream, scallions and a pimento cheese sauce are pretty d@mned good as well. Focused on our food, we didn’t say much as we ate.

The Ooomami Smashburger with Loaded Potatoes

I highly recommend you give it a try, but don’t just take my word for it. Northern Virginia Magazine recently held a competition and of 32 places, it was judged the best burger in Northern Virginia (read here: NoVA Wars: Burger Edition). The loaded crispy potatoes aren’t mandatory, but they’re mighty tasty as well.

The burger is listed on the menu as an appetizer. I know some who do order it as an appetizer or split it between 2-4 people to start the meal. Others order it as their main. With so many good choices on the menu, Cath and I rarely order it as a main unless we are having a casual dinner in the bar or getting take-out. Then? There’s a good chance we have Ooomami Smashburgers in our future.

I know there are many great burgers around, and I’m sure most of you have your own “best burger” in mind at some local restaurant, or some place you remember from your past. For all of you Five Guys or In-N-Out burger fans, if your best burger comes from a chain, that’s OK. I might think you’re living a sheltered life, but I won’t hold it against you.

If you are in Sacramento, CA or Marshall, VA I’d recommend both places for a burger. If you could only choose one place? Visit Field and Main in Marshall. Call me ahead of time and I’ll happily join you.

Addendum:

  • For info on Field and Main Restaurant, a reservation is usually required, unless you are sliding into the bar. Additional information can be found here: https://www.fieldandmainrestaurant.com/
  • The Squeeze Inn is still around in Sacramento, and now several other places in Northern California. They no longer have their original building (it closed due to a frivolous lawsuit). I still highly recommend you get one of their burgers if in the area. You can find more about them here: http://www.squeezeburger.com/

Making Espresso

Making Espresso

When we returned from Germany in ‘83 there were many things we missed from our 4 1/2 years in Europe. One of those items was coffee. Good Coffee. Cathy rectified that by buying me a small Espresso/Cappuccino Maker for Christmas that year. 40 years later, it still brews decent coffee, even if it looks old and outdated.

We were happy to return to the States, but in addition to good coffee, there were a number of things we missed from our time overseas, including good bier and cheese. The craft bier movement wouldn’t really hit its stride in the US until the ‘90s. As a result, Michelob or Heileman’s Special Export were what passed for top-shelf domestic beer at the time. The cheese market in the states consisted of American, Swiss and Cheddar once you were outside of Wisconsin or a couple of places in New York and Northern California. That too would change, but in the early ‘80s, it was a desert. Of course you could buy imported beer (back then, Lowenbrau or Heineken), or imported cheese, but there weren’t any real American products. I was further mystified to find the concept of a charcuterie board hadn’t reached the States – how was it possible something we routinely ate for lunch in a German Gasthaus didn’t even exist here?! And don’t get me started on wine…

Yes, I know this all sounds like an old man rant, and if I were saying it now, it would be. I was saying this in 1983, at the grand old age of 28.

Back to coffee. ;-).

Coffee in Germany and Europe was so much more than just a pot of brewed coffee. The Europeans made stronger coffee in general – not more bitter, just stronger and with great flavor. At the Gasthäuser (local restaurants) we visited, it was always made fresh – it wasn’t from a pot that was sitting for hours. In the afternoon, you could visit a Konditorei (the German word for a pâtisserie or confectionery shop) for a coffee and a sweet treat of some sort. The coffees varied from regular, to espresso, to cappuccino, to café au lait (coffee with a separate small pitcher of hot steamed and slightly frothed milk you added to your coffee). One of our great pleasures was sitting outside at a cafe in Berlin, or Paris, or Vienna, or Monte Carlo or any number of cities having a coffee, while watching the world pass by. I become nostalgic even today thinking about it.

There wasn’t the same type of coffee availability here in the States in ‘83. Starbucks started in Seattle in 1971, but didn’t really begin expanding until the late ‘80s. Although local coffee shops existed in some places, The “Local Coffee Shop” was an idea that hadn’t yet come into its own.

At the time, we were stationed in Dayton, Ohio. At a local mall, we discovered a shop that sold coffee beans. (I can’t remember if you could actually also buy a cup of coffee there or not.) In any case, we bought a grinder, and started grinding our own beans for our regular coffee pot at home and were able to make a stronger cup of coffee. We also bought espresso beans and used our Italian stovetop espresso maker (known as a Moka pot, it cost all of $6 when we bought it in Italy in ‘82 – I see they run $25 plus on Amazon now) to make a decent espresso. Half the problem was solved.

Our Old Moka Pot Also Still Works Well.

Cathy solved the other half of the problem that Christmas when she gave me an Espresso/Cappuccino maker. I was thrilled and started using it that very day. It became a fixture at our house and if you visited us in the ‘80s through the mid ‘90s, I practically forced a coffee on you

A Great Christmas Present in 1983!

Espressos? Sure. In addition, my after-dinner cappuccinos became a point of pride and were quite good, if I do say so myself. I’d add a capful of Cointreau for a sweetener and grind a little fresh nutmeg on the top of the foam. We also did Irish Cappuccinos. I think you know how I made those.

Somewhere along the way, other manufacturers started selling upscale Espresso machines of better quality. Now days, you can easily spend between $500 and $1,600 on a high-end espresso/coffee maker. Breville, Rancillo, Gaggia and others all make excellent machines … at a price. Over the years, I looked at a couple of them, but never pulled the trigger. We have a couple of friends who own them. One uses his religiously. Another found it more trouble than it was worth and it now sits on the counter, mostly unused. For my friends* that own super nice espresso machines and are real aficionados, good for you, and I’m happy for you. I’m sure you can probably make a better espresso than I can, and that’s OK.

Coffee shops are now ubiquitous here and these days you can’t trip without falling into one of them. They generally make great coffee. There are a few good local shops near us not named Starbucks, and I prefer those. If you ask, they’ll serve you your coffee in an actual coffee cup – not some crap paper cup.

Over time, I backed off using our little machine quite as much. Life was too busy, or I’d lost interest. And then, after retiring about a decade ago, I started using it more again. Usually, it’s in the afternoon and Cath and I feel the need for a little pick-me-up. I’ll make us cappuccinos and we take a break from life and sit and sip our coffees for ten or fifteen minutes. It’s a nice pause, especially on a winter day with fresh snow outside.

Yes, It Still Makes a Decent Cappuccino. Nutmeg and Cointreau are Optional.

Yes, over the last forty years, we here in the States have caught up to Europe on bier, cheese, good everyday wine and even charcuterie boards. As for coffee, I’m guessing we have more coffee shops than Europe now days.

At home, I would bet we’ve gone through five or six regular coffee machines since 1983. They die every six or seven years. Our Maxim Espresso Machine? It’s a little banged up but works fine and keeps chugging along. How many forty-year-old machines do you have in your home you can say the same thing about?

Addendum:

  • * I do know there are lots of great espresso makers out there, and that those of you who have them can pull a better shot, with more crema than I can. I certainly mean no criticism of those machines and am, at least a little, envious of you. My point in this blog was about my machine being 40 years old, and there’s not much that lasts that long anymore. Still, it’s interesting. In Italy, rather than buying an elaborate espresso machine, over 3/4 of the country still uses their stove-top espresso machine (Moka pots) everyday for their first cup of coffee. You can read more about the Moka pot here: https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Moka_pot
  • The blue coffee cup with my name on it is a bit precious to me. It was a gift from our old friend Tim in ‘80 or ‘81. He bought it while visiting us in Germany and gave it as a gift. Tim passed away last December.