In Search of Snow

The idea was to take the girls up to North Carolina for a nice family getaway. And hopefully find snow since the girls have never seen it.
We intended on hitting the Charleston, SC area to see a childhood friend of mine on the way up which took longer than it should have since we had tire problems pretty much until we got out of Florida (4 hours in delays did not make for much joy).
We made it to Pete and Jenn's and had a nice dinner, evening, and breakfast then departed for the Glass Mountain Tree House cabin we were to be staying at in Fairview outside of Asheville.
We made good time and were early so we decided to check out Chimney Rock. It's a crazy winding drive up, but did deliver the first bit of snow for the girls.
Considering it was just a pile in parking lot we hoped we could do better. The views up top were awesome so of course I snapped some shots.







After that we ate at the Riverwatch Deli and Grill then headed to the cabin. By then it had started to get dark and we were guided by the GPS I borrowed from my folks. You either love those things or you hate them; I'll explain later.
According to the female voice with a British accent we arrived at destination on the left. It was so dark the only thing I could see was a service road to the left. Or at least I thought it was a service road. Apparently all the snow melting left the driveway muddied and torn up. After plowing the Volvo station wagon through the troughs of mud we got stuck on the ascent to the house.
After a bit of spinning the wheels and even more profanity I threw it in park and we lugged our bags up to the cabin. Inside I fought to get a fire going then we settled in for the night in hopes of getting a better handle on our situation.
The morning revealed a temp of 31 degrees and the ground was frozen. Mud puddles on the driveway were turned to blocks of ice. I was actually pretty happy with our chances of getting out since the ground was so hard. Here's the drive:








Monkey and Peanut waned to hike up the back of the property and we found a bit of that white stuff:




We decided to head into Asheville and check out an indie book store called Malaprops. Neat place, the kind you want to support so we bought a few books and a coffee mug.
As the wife and I were looking over a few more books Peanut came up to me and said "This is what we do all the time." Then she handed me this fridge magnet:

I in turn tell the wife what she said and handed it to her. We both started laughing.
What Peanut was referring to was this:

Then Peanut says "Actually, I guess that's what Grampy (my dad) always does since it is wrong."
This of course leads to tears rolling down the wife and my faces. My dad can't get his arms to bend around to make the face Peanut does, so he just makes the OK signs and holds them up.
After a good hard laugh we headed out into downtown Asheville and enjoyed all the architecture.







The day was going great and got better when the owner called the wife to inform her he was having a truck drop of some gravel and he was headed over to the cabin with his tractor to repair the drive.

The next day we headed up into the mountains to do some tubing which was great for the girls, but a bit cold since there was a slight rain. After getting a bit wet and cold we headed back into town for some Starbucks.
The wife punches in Starbucks into the GPS and we proceed as directed. The British lady tells us to turn right. The British lady tells us to go left. As we head in the directions by order of the Queen we pass a Starbucks on the right. We scratch our heads but continue only to discover that apparently the British don't know the difference between Starbucks and Bank of America.
As the trip goes on the damn GPS gives us poor direction, telling us to enter the wrong way down a one way street, and never giving us the proper coordinates of Starbucks.
In a fit I decide to take matters into my own (not like the Pope picture). Having driven by Starbucks several times I had a pretty good idea of where I was going. This contradicted the directions of the British lady and she starts getting snippy with me yelling "Recalculating, recalculating!" like I'm some kind of loser on The Weakest Link. Coffee in hand we headed back to the cabin.
The rest of the trip went well and I'll leave you with some of the waterfall pics we took at Looking Glass Falls. I think I found a place to retire...

Fathers of Daughters - Part One

One of my greatest accomplishments in life is being the father of two wonderful daughters. Monkey turned nine in October and Peanut will be seven tomorrow. My experience is vast and very narrow all at once. My wife has commented several times that it takes a special man to be the father of daughters. Something I have always prided myself on. I am a good father. I love my girls very much. I look at my counterparts without girls and laugh inside knowing that they are missing out on something special.
As of late there has been a change in the air. Monkey, a usually loving and happy girl, has been very emotional. She cries at the slightest criticism and seems to toy with a sort of depression from time to time.
My fatherly response of “Come on, suck it up and let’s go” doesn’t have the typical reaction of a “I know you’re right” smile and us moving on. Now it seems to be lost in translation or makes the matter worse.
There are whispers of hormones developing and it being age appropriate. That is fine, that is the way life is. But then there is talk that this is just the beginning.
The beginning of the end.
That is of me being the awesome dad. My little girl still loves me and gives a mighty mean bear hug. But to be perfectly honest I’m scared.
Not scared of the changes that my girls will go through. Scared that I will not be able to adjust to them.
Last night she lost it over nothing and I found myself scratching my head. This is not me. I am easily adaptable and quick on my feet. But not last night.
It got my mind wandering as to what the future will hold and how the father who was always there wanting to help, may now be hiding in the corner. I don’t want to be that guy, but I’m scared. And it hurts.
It kills me inside to think that I might fail at something so important.

Christmas Photo Fun

It's Christmas in Florida, not exactly a winter wonderland. In fact the mercury didn't dip below 70 degrees for Christmas and its eve. So I decided to have a little fun taking pictures of a few decorations and ornaments...

















I didn't use the flash on any of these shots, just turned up the ISO to 800.











Also, I used a tripod and the timer setting on the camera. This eliminated any blur.
















































For these last couple I used a technique called bokeh. I focused in on a figurine and had the tree in the background. Using a quick paper cut-out over the lens created the heart shape effect on the lights.

Pay the man!

“Pay the man!” That’s what Deion Sanders said in reference to Joshua Cribbs performance in the first half of the Cleveland/Pittsburgh games last night.
“He’s only making $600,000 a year. Pay the man!”
For some reason that statement didn’t sit well with me as I brushed my teeth and watched the halftime report on NFL Network. I’m sure Cribbs is one darn good athlete, heck he's been on my fantasy team several times. He can run and throw and catch and puts up decent stats. I don’t want to take anything away from the young man. Sure there is the question of his contract with the Browns.
But Neon Deion Sanders on the other hand? I actually found him to be an entertaining analyst for the NFL. Sure his insight isn’t the greatest (He claimed my Dolphins would be fighting for the first round pick this year, yet they are actually fighting to get into the playoffs), but he is entertaining. That is up until that comment last night. Is this really what he thinks the fans want to hear? That some player making six figures deserves more?
Maybe Deion should step out of his mansion in Texas and take a look at the world around him. Maybe he should step into the local unemployment office and look at the people who would be happy to make $600,000 over the next 20 years. Maybe Deion, and his like, need to step away from their compounds and enter the gates of the Dallas/Fort Worth National Cemetery and stand by while a mother and her children lay to rest a husband/father who sacrificed his life for $34,000 and a belief in freedom.
Now I know that we have to be cool and have our little catch phrases and maybe this year’s phase is “Pay the man!” And I might have dismissed this as Neon Deion trying to flash once more, but at the end of the report Marshall Faulk jumped in and used the phase asking Deion “Who hasn’t paid the man?” I think Faulk is a pretty darn good analyst and I usually enjoy his perspective on the game. But to join in and ask the question as a form of entertaining the American public was ludicrous.
Maybe this is just a sign that the NFL truly doesn’t understand the fans who make football the sport it is in America.
Or maybe it is America spitting in its own eye. Sports players continue to make hundreds of thousands if not millions of dollars while the men and women of our armed forces make considerably less.
This, of course, is nothing new. The argument of movie stars and athletes riches versus the salaries that cops, nurses, teachers, and firefighters make has been made before. And it has bothered me before as well, but I guess I just never heard an athlete come out and say that an organization needs to “pay the man” because he’s only making over half a million dollars a year.
I guess what I’d like to see is if anyone is getting paid around here it is the American public in the form of respect. Pay some respect Deion and retire that ridiculous phrase and don’t rub in the fact that somebody who isn’t fighting to make minimum wage to put food on the table for his/her children makes $600,000 and should get more because he can entertain. Don’t ask America to pity Cribbs for making 12 times the median income.
Pay some respect!

One Fish, Two Fish, Redfish, Bluefish: The Old Man and the Bay

The jolt through the line was unmistakable.
"Reel it up!" my Dad said.
I cranked on the handled and retrieved a small fish out of the churning olive green water.
My dad held the line in front of me and the fish twisted and flipped on the end of the hook. "That's a littler snapper," he said.
My five year old heart pounded as we stood on the bridge in the Keys and I was hooked.

Thirty some years have passed since that earliest memory of fishing with Dad. There were many trips early on and more fond experiences, but now neither one of us has a boat and it had been a couple of years easy since we last soaked a line together.
My brother and I haven't fished together since double that easily and the three of us probably not since we lived in Homestead together 19 years ago.

So for Dad's 60th I figured what better way to spend it than the three of us on the water again. I got a hold of Capt. Goeff Page and after a laborious schedule matching with my brother and I a date was set.

Of course Dec. 2nd would have to have a 60% chance of rain and wind expected at 30+ mph, but still Capt. Geoff said we could have luck if we get out early. Considering that Capt. Geoff has made quite the name for himself doing what he does I put my faith in his judgment. And it paid off!

We slipped into Joe Bay and it didn't take long to see why Capt. Geoff picked this spot.


First cast and my brother, Chris (AKA Weasel) had a fish to the boat.


And then another.

Dad chipped in with a catfish.

And I with a flounder.


Capt. Geoff was pretty impressed with Chris's hot hand and joked about teaming up for the Redfish Cup.




Chris definitely had the hot hand for the reds.



Dad was the only one putting bluefish in the boat. He landed three or four like this.







Dad and his two sons enjoying the water.





I was a short but productive trip. We probably boated 10 reds, 3-4 blues, 3-4 trout a flounder, and a bunch of other stuff. We lost a bit more. All but one blue were caught on artificials. It should be noted that even though Chris put on a good show it was Dad who caught the slam: catfish, jack, ladyfish. A trash can slam!
Happy Birthday Dad!