Napa, You Smell Like Chicago

Have you ever wondered what you smell like to someone else? Someone you know very well. I know….what an odd question. But is it?

Nearing the end of our recent extended visit with our granddaughters in California, Smirker (now 6) jumped into my arms gave me a huge hug and said without hesitation - 

“You smell like Chicago.”

While I don’t live in the city of Chicago, it is close enough that when Smirker and Love Monster come for a visit, that is where they say they are going. So to them, Chicago is where we live.

My mind raced back and forth between a variety of both unpleasant and wonderful smells that remind me of Chicago. There is the stink of the Chicago River in the heat of the summer sun. Whew, not so good, Smirker. Ah, but then there is the distinctive breeze off Lake Michigan - part fog, part fish and part wind. I love standing at the end of Navy Pier, mesmerized by the living lake, the passing sail boats and tourist ships, the long breakwater and the lighthouse standing at it’s gate. And then again there is the Lincoln Park Zoo - pungent, certainly not fragrant, but an aromatic invitation to explore the wonders of the wider world. Really, Smirker, I smell like Chicago? Is that what you smell when I am around? Then I think of the sweet aroma as we pass the corner where Garrett’s Popcorn Store commands a line out the door. An invitation to sample this savory fare. But then again, there is the constant flow of traffic - trains, cars, motorcycles, buses and trucks spewing their emissions as they carry us through the city. Oh, but then there is the indescribable fragrance, if the wind is blowing in just the right direction in the early morning hours, coming from the Bloomer Chocolate factory.  Hmmmm, there are no words. And the neighborhoods, an amalgam of odors from ethnic restaurants, dry cleaners, florists, bakeries, taverns, laundromats and, of course, the people from all cultures. 

So what in the world does Chicago smell like to Smirker, knowing they really don’t spend much time in the city? And how does she connect me with those olfactory senses? 

I smell like Chicago. (Admittedly, one of the things that popped into my mind when she said this was the title of the Nirvana song, “Smells Like Teen Spirit”! That must say something about me but we won’t go there.)

In the end it’s very obvious that to Smirker and Love Monster, I smell like our home, where they come to visit. Their home away from home. It must have a very distinctive smell like all homes do. I remember one of my brothers saying, after a long absence from our family home, “it smells like home!” He felt at home. To him it was contentment, familiarity, intimacy. 

Do you notice how a home has a unique/particular smell? A Fingerprint, only with an odor. Scientists have confirmed this. There are a lot of places for an odor to hide - couch, carpet, pillows, drapes. They all capture smells. Smells that remind you of the past - they can make you relax and, in some cases, they make people depressed, which is so sad for a home to have this imprint on someone. 

What does a home smell like? It’s hard to put your finger on it but it’s a combination of scents. I think of the house I grew up in and the sensory associations I have with it:

• Mom’s perfume and hairspray
• Dad’s after shave, coffee
• Books - old and new
• Fireplace ashes and smoke embedded in the wallpaper
• Old furniture, carrying the remnants of family, friends and visitors. 
• Food - undertones of cooking, baked goods - family recipes lingering in the curtains, fabric of the furniture - tuna noodle casserole, roast beef, mashed potatoes, meat loaf, coffee, sugar cookies and on and on. 
• Cleaning supplies and detergent
• Piano keys and sheet music
• Carpet - from years of traffic made a part of the carpet nap
• Animals/pets

The smells of life - our family’s life. The linger to this day even as we are no longer physically in that house. 

There is an emotional connection with the smells of a home. Smirker definitely knows this even at such a young age. Her sister, Love Monster (9) also made this connection. Last year we were in the basement after the tornado sirens sounded during a bad storm. We called our daughter and the girls to let them know. Love Monster told her mom after we called that, “I am worried sick! Their house is my favorite place in the world  and I don’t want it to get destroyed and they will be poor”! She was reassured that we were fine. (I like the part that she was also concerned we would end up poor. But that’s Love Monster.) But I also like that our house is her favorite place in the whole world. What grandparent wouldn’t love to hear this. 

Papa Ron

How does a grandson deal with the loss of a grandfather? 

Ball Boy was not yet 2 when this occurred just one year ago, so he was much less able to understand this tragedy than his older brother. Spiderman, however, had just turned 4 and at a stage where he could begin to grasp the idea of the loss of a loved one. His parents and his other Nana were so good in helping him through what must have seemed to him a very chaotic and scary time. Suddenly, there were lots of people around their house and around his Nana’s, many who they had never seen before. People were sad. People were crying. People seemed so serious. And with all the activity going on - no Papa Ron around to give them a hug. You just knew that Spiderman felt something was not right. We all just gave them both all the love we could muster. 

The boys were the light of Papa Ron’s life. You could see the joy in his eyes and voice when he talked about being with them and what they had done together. He often related the nice things others said about the boys when they were out together. He was so proud of them. They loved to play at the park, go the pumpkin farm searching for the perfect pumpkin, read stories and ride the train at the mall. Both Spiderman and Ball Boy loved to watch videos of trains on the computer with Papa Ron. They also watched musical videos - Puff the Magic Dragon by Peter, Paul and Mary, being one of their favorites. But then again, they simply love dragons. There are so many wonderful pictures of Spiderman and Ball Boy with Papa Ron. This one with both of them cuddled in Papa Ron’s arms is one of my favorites. Their love for each other was evident and ever lasting. 

A year later pictures of Papa Ron are all around. He is always there as a reminder of what love is. Spiderman says he is in heaven. Ball Boy will come to understand. We all know that Papa Ron looks down on them every day - still very proud of the young boys they have come to be. 

Spiderman and Ball Boy were lucky to have 2 Papas as they grew from babies into toddlers. We all wish they would have had the chance to get to know and experience so much more with Papa Ron. 

Un-Forgetting

Losing a credit card leaves one with an empty feeling in the pit of the stomach. Unfortunately, I have gone through this time consuming and stressful experience. And then, recently, my wife was having dinner with a friend and left her credit card at the restaurant. Luckily, she quickly realized it and called the manager, who told her that her card would be kept in their safe until she was able to reclaim it. Whew! Disaster averted. 

Spiderman and Ball Boy happened to be with us when we stopped at the restaurant to pick up our credit card. Superman asked why and Nana explained that she had forgotten the credit card when she left the restaurant. He thought about it for a second and said very matter-of-factly, “well, you just have to un-forget it, Nana!” He wasn’t judging. He was simply stating the obvious: Remember your credit card, Nana. 

A life lesson from a 5 year old. 

Un-forgetting is really another way of saying - remembering. But I really like “un-forgetting” better. It’s like erasing the original act of forgetting. Not that that can actually be done. As we get older the likelihood of forgetting something on any given day has better odds than the next Pope being Catholic. 

But it’s Christmas and thanks to Spiderman’s wisdom and the true meaning of Christmas, it’s time to:

• un-forget keeping others foremost in my thoughts and being less selfish.
• un-forget the half full glass rather than the half empty one. 
• un-forget to smile more.
• un-forget to be more patient. 
• un-forget to be a less aggressive driver (cheers from Nana!). 
• un-forget that I have been blessed with this life for which I am very grateful.

Our unforgettable grandchildren - Love Monster, Smirker, Spiderman and Ball Boy - help me realize that every day. 

Merry Christmas to all!

Boys and Sticks

What is it with boys and sticks? Spiderman and Ball Boy can’t seem to walk past a stick without picking one up. And the bigger the better. But even the smallest twig is not lost on their eagle eyes. They examine it as if it’s a wand from Hogwarts, mesmerized by the length, thickness, curvature and texture. They immediately start prodding dirt, tree trunks, each other and waving it around menacingly. Makes me think of The Christmas Story line: “You’ll poke your eye with that!”. 

I admit I was drawn to sticks as a young boy, too. Perhaps I should be more restrained when they grab a stick. 

What is the attraction?

Is it that they see themselves as Luke Skywalker and Darth Vader (having no clue who these classic characters are), dueling in the park, good against evil. Light sabers, these puny rods of cellulose, are not.

Maybe it is because they love to dig and a stick is a great digging tool, especially in the sand. They begin hollowing out an opening in the sand and it soon takes a whole new meaning. So they keep digging. I can see the wheels turning in their heads and I imagine what’s running through their minds: they are entering a new universe through a time warp (Spiderman is really into space these days), or they are excavating a gold mine somewhere in the desert. Or maybe, Papa, it’s just to see how far they can dig with their stick! 

Or perhaps they see people walking around with canes or walking sticks and want to see why on earth anyone would want to do that. (Most would rather not have to rely on cane but then there is the cool John Steed of The Avengers!)

Or, they see themselves as the next Jack Nicklaus, Jordan Spieth or Nick Faldo (for my English friends) learning at a young age how to swing a club and hear those timeless (but annoying) words: “In the hole!”. Ah, but then again they have yet to learn the not so insignificant issue about hitting a small round ball with a long angular “stick” into a 2” opening in the ground 400 yards away. I digress - knowing that I understand this all too well. 

Along those same lines, they may see themselves as future baseball players with a sweet swing that will provide them a $5M ($3,283,000 GBP) a year contract - and that’s if you get a hit only once out of every 4 times you come to the plate. Like golf, it’s good that this is all lost on them at this age. 

I know this may be a long shot, but perhaps they are thirsty from playing and recall hearing somewhere (not from their Papa I am sure) that sticks can be used as divining rods which will help them quench their thirst more quickly. I picture myself explaining this to Spiderman and Ball Boy and watching them look at each other and then at me with an expression on their face that says - are you ok, Papa?

Let’s be honest, most boys tend to see sticks as fighting implements first. But that’s not such a bad thing as long as they know the rules and the consequences. If they do, that sword is merely a twig, sprig or branch for the imagination that soon finds itself tossed back to the earth to treasure and take back. 

But if not...it could put your eye out!

I think I will just bite my lip the next time Spiderman or Ball Boy pick up a stick. 

The Usual

I’ll have “the usual”, please.

A common request at a diner by a frequent customer. The waitress doesn’t hesitate - she knows - and places the order. (Ok, it could be a bar and probably works better but this is for a different audience!) 

Have you ever ordered “the usual”? Better yet, have you ever been simply given “the usual” without ever having to say anything? Now that is the best.  A number of years ago, I would religiously stop into a Dunkin Donuts on the way into work. Eventually, I never had to place my order. It was always waiting for me - large cream and sugar with 2 chocolate donuts. She knew my “usual”. Today, it’s still a daily occurrence but at a different location and no donuts - except on special occasions (Monday, Tuesday and Friday...maybe Sunday), and only one. 

I hadn’t thought about it until we started spending more time with our grandsons and they are perfect examples of this phenomena. 

Twice a week for 2 years, Spiderman has requested “the usual” for his lunch. Ok, he doesn’t actually get a menu or says he wants “the usual”, but we know what he wants: 1 slice of liverwurst with a mayonnaise happy face (2 if he's really hungry), 2 sweet pickles, a slice of American cheese and milk. For dessert: 1 scoop of mint chocolate chip, 1 scoop of vanilla and 2 chocolate covered banana nuggets. There can be some surprise requests - cinnamon raisin toast or apples with peanut butter. While those are rare, substitutes are gladly accepted. 

Ball Boy, alias Batman, on the other hand is a little more open to his luncheon fare. He will usually go for a PB&J sandwich, mandarin orange slices, 2 American cheese slices and cinnamon toast. He prefers a cookie for dessert, although has been known to try a scoop of vanilla when we’ve forgotten to get cookies at the bakery. 

Just when you think you have figured out how toddlers consume, we found out that “the usual” is different depending upon which restaurant....er grandparents’ house is serving lunch. What?!

Yes, their other Nana advised us that Spiderman will not touch liverwurst at her house. He flat refuses to eat what we thought is his favorite. He has her version of an egg mcmuffin most days with an alternate of crackers with butter and a separate piece of American cheese. Ball Boy has plain ritz crackers with American cheese (he spit out the swiss cheese - too many holes?), yogurt and watermelon. He likes most fruit. A little more adventuresome. 

I asked their parents what they like at home and they said it is a combination of what they eat at our houses, along with an occasional corn dog or side of apples with peanut butter. Ball Boy tends to at least be willing to try new things every so often. Oh, and they love pizza. Who doesn't!

So why is it that they like certain foods at certain places? And why do they stick with  “the usual” generally at the respective homes? The more burning question: how did we ever get Superman to try liverwurst in the first place? 

The answers:

-I don’t know 

-I will never know 
-It’s delicious, of course!

I believe it’s simply a matter of being comfortable in a particular environment - Comfort Food. 

That’s why tomorrow I think we will offer Spiderman a pastrami sandwich on rye and Ball Boy a chicken cobb salad. 

Gotta keep them on their toes. 

The Sandwich Generation

Did you know that July is National Sandwich Generation Month? I had no idea. (I know, it’s now August but July got away from me!)

This is not to be confused with National Sandwich Month (August), National Grilled Cheese Sandwich Month (April) or National Bacon Lettuce and Tomato (BLT) Sandwich Month (also April). 

I don’t know about you, but whenever I hear the word “sandwich” I think of the memorable diner scene in Five Easy Pieces, the 1970 film starring Jack Nicholson as Robert “Bobby” Dupea.

Dupea: I'd like a, uh, plain omelette, uh, no potatoes, tomatoes instead, a cup of coffee, and wheat toast.

Waitress: No substitutions.

Dupea: What do you mean? You don't have any tomatoes?

Waitress: Only what's on the menu. You can have a number two - a plain omelette. It comes with cottage fries and rolls.

Dupea: Yeah, I know what it comes with, but it's not what I want.

Waitress: Well, I'll come back when you make up your mind.

Dupea: Wait a minute. I have made up my mind. I'd like a plain omelette, no potatoes on the plate, a cup of coffee, and a side order of wheat toast.

Waitress: I'm sorry. We don't have any side orders of toast. I'll give you an English muffin or a coffee roll.

Dupea: What do you mean you don't make side orders of toast? You make sandwiches, don't you?

Waitress: Would you like to talk to the manager?

Palm Apodaca: Hey, Mac . . .

Dupea: [to Apodaca] Shut up. [to the waitress] You've got bread and a toaster of some kind?

Waitress: I don't make the rules.

Dupea: Okay, I'll make it as easy for you as I can. I'd like an omelette, plain, and a chicken salad sandwich on wheat toast, no mayonnaise, no butter, no lettuce, and a cup of coffee.

Waitress: A number two, chicken sal san, hold the butter, the lettuce, and the mayonnaise, and a cup of coffee. Anything else?

Dupea: Yeah. Now all you have to do is hold the chicken, bring me the toast, give me a check for the chicken salad sandwich, and you haven't broken any rules.

Waitress: You want me to hold the chicken, huh?

Dupea: I want you to hold it between your knees. 

Love that scene.

National Sandwich Generation Month. 

Thanks to Carol Abaya, a leading educator in this field, the “sandwich generation” term became part of Webster’s Dictionary in 2006, although it was originally coined by Dorothy A. Miller in 1981. Sandwich Generation Month was established in 2007 and is officially registered within the National Special Events Registry as an annual national observation, occurring each July. It was created and sponsored by Griswold Special Care, a placement agency for specialized caregivers, to bring community awareness and support to those caring for both children as well as their own aging parents. This is the traditional definition of the term. 

Then with the Baby Boomers retiring, their parents living longer (and not always with the quality of life they desired) and Boomer’s children looking to them to help care for their young kids - the  “Club Sandwich” generation was born - caring for aging parents and grandchildren. 

Ironically, I had a club sandwich the other day. Served in precise layers, tested over time - toast, mayonnaise, lettuce, tomato, bacon and then repeated with a toothpick holding everything together - it is perfect. But once the toothpick is removed all hell breaks loose. First of all, it’s way too big to actually put the entire quarter section in my mouth. I attempt it anyway, which results in tomatoes shooting across the table, lettuce falling in my lap and mayonnaise dripping down my chin. I look like our 2 1/2 year old grandson after he has finished his peanut butter and jelly sandwich. The difference being that he could care less about his appearance while I am in the middle of a restaurant trying to clean up the mess before those at the next table notice and wonder why I didn’t just order a plain omelet and wheat toast like Jack Nicholson’s character. 

This got me to thinking about the Club Sandwich social dynamic in a new light. Helping to care for two other generations is like eating a club sandwich. It can be messy and the parts may not always stay intact but it is worth experiencing none the less. Let’s face it, for all who are going through this time, life becomes a balancing act. We have to learn how to manage our new found freedoms in retirement with these new responsibilities. There is the caring and nurturing of grandchildren within the context of their parents style and approach. The last part is very important. Sure, I would rather just cave-in to their hourly cookies and ice cream demands but that’s probably not going to go over too well on the home front - “Papa always says ok!”. Boy! And now with aging parent(s), there is a completely different need. They have given up their car (thankfully) and need to be taken to doctor’s appointments, the grocery store, church, the mall and to family events. They have lost their independence, which can be difficult for them to accept. While this can be challenging along with everything else going on in our lives, it’s good to remember one very important thing - they care and nurtured us for many years. Now - it’s our turn. 

At times one can feel pulled in many directions or our lives squeezed between one generation and the other. In the end, it’s all about family.

Someone said:

Life is like a sandwich - the more you add to it, the better it becomes. 

Pool Time

When my brothers and me were young, my Grandpa H. took us to the Masonic Temple in a small town in northeastern Iowa. It was like stepping into another world. The strange Freemason symbol above the door - The Square and the Compass - was just the beginning. The narrow entry opened up to a large, dimly-lit room, lined with book shelves filled with what I imagined to be ancient writings that only those wearing a red fez were permitted to be read. Thinking back it reminds me of what Hogwarts in the Harry Potter series would look like. Was there magic in this place?

Grandpa led us down a stairway to a room on the lower level. There, under low hanging lights was a mammoth oak pool table. It must have weighed a ton. It wasn’t going anywhere. 

The 6 pockets were made out of worn, criss-crossed leather pieces and stationed at the 4 corners of the table and half way on each side of it’s length. The green felt top was soft and, although it showed signs it was well used, looked magnificent. The 15 striped and solid balls were cradled in a triangular wooden rack at one end of the table. Had we known at the time that these balls were made of ivory (a practice that fortunately stopped in the early 1900s) we wouldn’t have wanted to play. Then again, we were in elementary school. 

He removed the rack with a deft precision leaving the balls clustered like a herd of sheep waiting for the shepherd to guide them on their way. It seemed as if they were shaking, huddled together knowing what was soon to come. 

The pool cues stood upright in a wooden wall rack. They were smooth and tapered like an enormous candle, the larger end wrapped in well-worn leather. How many hands held these mighty sticks over the years as the men talked about life in a small town while playing 8-ball? 

Grandpa removed one of the cues and seemed to admire it’s feel in his hands. This is the one, he seemed to say to himself. The white cue ball was placed at the opposite end of the table, just a shade to the right. He then moved it again, just slightly. We watched intently at his precision. 

Picking up a small square of soft, blue chalk that had been resting on the side of the table he carefully placed it over the tip of the pool cue, turning it in a familiar circular motion until it was perfect. The chalk was placed back on the side of the table.

He held the large end of the cue in his right hand and placed the small end between his forefinger and thumb, resting it on the middle finger. The tip of the cue slowly moved back and forth as he aimed at the cue ball. Without warning he struck it sharply. We jumped, not ready for the sound and ensuing chaos as the cue ball slammed into the waiting stripes and solids causing them to zig zag about the table at great speed. It was marvelous. When all the balls ceased moving, Grandpa asked us to look into each of the pockets. In all the madness of that first shot, we had missed seeing 3 balls end up in different pockets around the table - a red 3 ball, an orange and white striped 13 ball and a burgundy 7 ball. (Honestly I couldn't tell you how many or which balls were sunk. It was a very long time ago - so just go with me on this.) The remaining balls lay strewn about the green table - 4 solids (including the ominous black 8 ball), 5 stripes and the white cue ball. Game on. We were hooked. 

From then on, it was always one of the places we visited when seeing our grandparents. To this day, whenever I think of our many trips to this special place, I think of Meredith Willson's lyrics from The Music Man's, "Ya Got Trouble" - 

Ya got one, two, three, four, five, six pockets in a table.
Pockets that mark the diff'rence
Between a gentlemen and a bum,
With a capital "B,"
And that rhymes with "P" and that stands for pool! 

We were very lucky boys knowing the Grand Exalted and Lofty Poobah (Grandpa) that had keys to this magical world where he not only introduced us to the wonderful game of billiards, but also taught us how to be gentleman. Thanks Grandpa.