Count the Steps

We had relatives visiting on Saturday and we spent the afternoon at Cape Henlopen State Park.

The state park runs along a section of Delaware coastline and includes land that belonged to Fort Miles during World War II. Fort Miles was an artillery operation with the responsibility of watching for German ships and submarines and preventing then from entering the Delaware Bay. It was considered a key defensive point since the bay provided access to the Delaware River and the shipbuilding operations in Wilmington, DE and Philadelphia, PA.

Many of the cylindrical, seventy-five foot tall, concrete watch towers are still standing. Though most are in poor repair, one tower has been refurbished. Visitors can climb a metal spiral stairway up through the tower. There is an impressive view of the coastline from the top.

My nephew, Joey, a fifth grader, was anxious to climb the tower. Motivated Mom volunteered to accompany him. I offered no objections. I had been in the tower several years ago with my own children. It had taken hours for my leg muscles to recover.

I'll take Joey's word for it that there are one hundred and twenty four steps to the top. I hope never to have to count them. Joey counted them four times - twice up and twice down.

After going up the first time, Joey decided he wanted to use pine cones to spell out his name on the ground in a size visible from the top of the tower. Of course once that was done, he felt compelled to return to the tower's top and take a picture of his handiwork.

We let him make the second trip on his own.

.... Which supports the adage, with age comes wisdom.

These Are the Times

These are the times that try men's souls.

Thomas Paine wrote those words. The phrase has been bouncing around in my head recently. I googled Thomas Paine to refresh my memory about the man - and was surprised to learn the infamous phrase pertained to the revolutionary war.

I thought sure Mr. Paine had been writing about trying to raise a teenage daughter.

How does anybody survive the raising of a teenage girl? The years of thirteen through fifteen were certainly challenging. Year sixteen is going to kill me.

I know people who now have or will have multiple daughters in teenage years and all I can say is God bless you. If those parents are still alive when the girls are gone, I think the parents should immediately qualify for sainthood.

I don't think I'm going to make it to sainthood. There is a slim chance that I'll survive, but I think killing offspring would disqualify the whole saint thing.

In case Media Girl is checking in on my blog.... just kidding sweetums.

Dogs at the Beach

We spend a lot of time in the town of Rehoboth Beach, Delaware. As the name suggests, the town is a beach community.

When it is not prime sunbathing season, Rehoboth Beach does a great job of keeping tourists coming in by hosting all kinds of special events. The event for the days of October 10 through 13 is Greyhounds Reach the Beach.

If you are a dog lover and live near enough to Rehoboth Beach for a weekend excursion, you might want to check it out.

What started as a Greyhounds only event has grown to include all breeds of dogs. The weekend is such a huge draw that local businesses make a special point of catering to it.

Seriously, there are dogs everywhere. You can't swing a dead cat without hitting a dog.

Nearly every store and restaurant keeps a bowl of fresh water outside their doors. Most shops have freebie dog treats inside, and several restaurants with the proper seating arrangements welcome canine companions this one weekend of the year.

For more information on the event you can go to www.adpot-a-greyhound.org
Once in the site, you might want to start by clicking on their press site link.

Big Brother

When College Dude had called me last week, it was to request help in getting some application paperwork unstuck. The names of both College Dude and myself appeared on the paperwork and apparently my identity needed to be confirmed.

I had already sent in a mountain of forms accompanied by copies of legal documents proving I was College Dude's dad. What was a faceless phone call going to prove?

Never the less I made the call. After an endless series of prompts by a computerized voice I finally reached a service associate who said she needed to ask me some questions so she could validate my identity and get the stuck paperwork moving. As I supplied answers, I heard the tapping of computer keys on the other end.

"Just a moment sir," the associate said.

I sat in silence for three minutes while some electronic brain reviewed data.

Finally the service associate congratulated me on being who I claimed to be.

Hooray! I was so thrilled to know that I am who I thought I was.

Then the hair on the back of my neck stood up. If a computer can validate my identity based on the answers to telephone questions, then just exactly how much information about me is floating around out there.

1984 has come and gone - and Big Brother is still watching.

It Had to Happen

Media Girl has had her conditional drivers license since February. When she was able to start driving without a parent in the vehicle, we made an older car available to her.

Today that older car was in the shop and Media Girl was borrowing Motivated Mom's car.

And.... It had to happen. This was the day of Media Girl's first vehicle "incident".

When the phone call came, it was immediately apparent no one was injured, so I felt very little guilt that one of my first thoughts was why didn't I spring for the vasectomy sooner?

Inspection of the car confirmed Media Girl's assertion that the only damage was the tail light lens. I know I should be thankful.

Once I get my heartbeat back into normal rhythm I'm sure I will be.

Dollars and Dimes

My wife (a.k.a Motivated Mom) had the opportunity to do some beachcombing the other day. The pickings were pretty slim, but she did come home with some neat stuff - including sand dollars of various sizes.

And that got me started thinking. If the big specimens are called sand dollars, shouldn't the smaller ones be sand quarters and sand dimes?

And if so, would ten sand dimes be a fair exchange for one sand dollar? Or would the sand dollar, larger and more desirable, actually be worth fifteen sand dimes?

But then, should sand dimes really be called dimes if it would take fifteen of them to equal one sand dollar?

Now look what I've gone and done. I've turned a potentially relaxing stroll on the beach into an economic quandary.

The Cicada Index

Just so we're on the same page, the Cicada is that summertime insect that sits in trees making shrill buzzing noises. It's the sound many of us associate with a real scorcher of a summer day.

I heard one buzzing away today during lunch. The sound seemed out of place given the temperature was only in the 70s and was never going to climb higher. An endless parade of thick, gray clouds blocked out any hint of sunshine. Nevertheless, that one noisy cicada had me tugging at my shirt collar and wishing I had worn a lighter pair of pants.

It occurred to me that we need a new weather index - the cicada index.

It seems we're no longer concerned about actual temperatures anyway. It's all about the heat index and the wind chill factor. The weather report can have you wiping sweat from your forehead or shivering inside your coat even before you leave the house.

But I contend that the cicada is very bit as reliable as any heat index (just ask anyone who spends lots of time outside).

So my proposed Cicada Index is:

One cicada buzzing: Uncomfortably warm - wear light colored clothing

Two to five cicadas buzzing: Downright hot - drink plenty of fluids

Swarms of cicadas buzzing at ear damaging decibels: Forget work and school - find the nearest body of water.