Opening Of Rumbi, Yet Another Expensive Fast Food Restaurant

We go into this fast food place that just opened in Idaho Falls. A few students raved about the food here, so we thought we would give it a try.

It was a perfect evening. As it has been the entire month of June, the weather was wet and cold, but we were all excited. It was just a few days before Lydia, Tommy and Sammy would arrive at Salt Lake City International from Florida.

I take my camera.

Now I hate it when someone takes my picture. But when it comes to my Annie, she always loved that kind of moment. That changed. Without a fish whacker, she will not pose.

Annie puts her hand over her face or in front of the camera or pulls a face. It's impossible to get a good picture of her. But I began trying.

The first time she moved and shut her eyes. Jack laughed hysterically after I did the whole Donald Duck temper thing.

The second picture worked, but it was a miracle, because Jack blinked on purpose after I took it. My eyes are not able to check the small screen to see if the snapshot worked, so I continue.

For the third one, Jack smiles, until I take the shot. Then he stops smiling. He laughs. Grandma laughs.

Pop Pop doesn't see the humor in it at the time, but the picture shows Jack's blue eyes, so it worked out best.

Meanwhile I try the next pose, thinking that eventually I will find the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. It's a Celtic thing. OK. I know it's an Irish deal, and we're mostly Welsh with some English thrown into the mix, and even a little Viking stuff too, so I guess I'll only refer to it as a figurative expression, since I'm not Irish. And I'm too big to be a leprechaun.

I snap the picture.

Jack pulls a face. Annie and Kristin laugh. I didn't see the humor in it the first time. Jack is now enjoying the moment. He's thinking of every time I teased him, calling him Pooky Bear or Whaskewy Wabbit or whatever. Those blue eyes of his dance in the joy of the moment.

 So I tried again. Grandma blinked. By this time, I'm almost at my wit's end. But I try again anyway.

I should have shouted out for joy, but no one cries out like that--except occasionally during a moment of rapture at a Waffle House. Maybe that was Pop Pop, because I loved the waffles there, sprinkled with a thick layer of pecans and served with warm maple syrup.

The meal was expensive. The food was mediocre at best. But the photographic moments were fun memories to remember for years, as long as it doesn't take me seven shots to get a good picture of two people I love so much.

Disneyland 2011--A Ride On Grizzly Rapids

Jack loves this ride, which is funny when you consider that a few years ago, he was upset when we insisted he try it with us. It's sad when grandchildren begin to get older. They suddenly feel that some things are designed for small children. Ironically, small children feel this way about some of those rides, because I really don't see a second grader as a sage in any sense of the word.

But occasionally I talk Jack into riding certain things with me. 

Dumbo is one that takes work, but I can usually talk Jack into riding on it at least once; however, then it is an instance of his being able to ride alone.

But he still was ahead of me. He is only tall enough to see him above the back seat of the ride, yet my Jack feels the ride is not meant for older children. I see it this way. If he is to ride, I know how to persuade him to go with me, and whatever it takes, I usually manage to be effective. We ride it, and then there is the inevitable--knowledge that the most recent ride might just be our last one.

 

A Tribute to My High School Football Coach

In the summer of '69, we wondered about our new coach. It was not long before the local paper published a few articles about him. I remember reading he was a key player as a defensive lineman for Weber State's football team. It was an exciting time.


An older coach had worked in the school district since the early 50's. He retired in '67. They hired a new coach to do basketball and football, and although everyone thought things would go well, it didn't. 


We were excited to see Coach Schmidt arrive.


Shortly before the beginning of two-a-day practices, I began to worry about being out of shape, which is funny--especially considering the amount of work my father and I did on the farm. There was always rocks to haul, fences to fix.  Those things required a lot of lifting, so I was in good shape. Our family arrived in Malad on a Saturday night, just before the beginning of practices the next week.


I put on sweats and jogged a fast pace to the football field, where I ran 10 sprints of 100 yards. It was a beautiful night, starry sky and no wind. The temperature was warm, but not anything that seemed to be too severe. I then ran three 400 meter sprints. After resting, I jogged one mile, and then I did a quick dash to our home on Bannock Street. 


The run satisfied me. I felt strangely euphoric somehow and wasn't tired at all. My parents showed immediate concern, and I remember my dad asking how much I ran. I told him.


He quoted my maternal grandfather's line that you heard a lot in our family, especially when I repeated my tendency to "overdo" things. "You know Jon, you can scratch your ass, but you don't have to make it bleed."


We all laughed. It was late, and we went to bed. 


The next morning found me sick with a massive headache. I couldn't move, and I missed the first day of practice. My parents took me to Logan. My knee surgeon was also the Aggie team doctor. He examined me, and even wondered about doing a spinal tap to see if something was seriously wrong, but he decided to see if I would respond to some medication. There was to be no additional practice or working out on my own for that week. According to Dr. Worely, I broke a blood vessel in my brain.


I have a difficult time believing that now. And it's not because I don't listen to doctors, but Dr. Worley--as much as I liked him--sometimes was wrong. I missed practices. It was not a good way to begin my junior year. It was not a good way to make an impression on our new coach, who had a strong work ethic.


For me, it was a year to prove that I could play after reconstructive surgery on my left knee. Getting a chance to play was important to me, and after returning I began at the bottom, but I worked hard.


I finally was able to dress for a game at Soda Springs, but I didn't get any playing time. The next week was a home game as I remember. I stood on the sidelines at the beginning of the game.


"Ward!" I heard Coach call my name. I ran forward. He gave me a play to send into the huddle, one that required me, as an offensive guard, to pull. We went up to the line, and instead of staying in position for the bootleg play, I had in mind that it was a quarterback keep to the left side. The quarterback and right guard stepped once to the left and turned to the right to run. I pulled, running into the guard and knocking the quarterback to the ground. I heard my name again. I ran to the sideline, embarrassed and disappointed at my first try.


"Ward!" I heard my name again. Coach put his arm around my shoulder. He said nothing about my mistake. I felt badly enough for everyone. Two plays happen, and then he says to me, "Are you calmed down yet?" He sent me in. That was the beginning of my becoming a starter on the offensive line as a junior. 


The last game happened at Aberdeen. That school never was competitive in football. Still in the first quarter, I blocked a linebacker. He had this huge pads on his forearms. I watched him pull it over his fist, and after our center hiked the ball, I moved forward to block him out of the play. He sidestepped me and struck me with his fist on the back of my helmet and neck. I dropped to the ground. 


I'm pretty sure I blacked out for a few moments, but before I could stand to my feet, Coach was there. He yelled at the ref. "That player can't use those pads as weapons." Then he told me to remove my helmet. 


"I'm alright," I said. I stepped toward the huddle. Coach wouldn't have it. 


"I need you strong for next year," he said to me. 


It was upsetting to miss the last game of the season, but it was not many years afterward that I realized how his players were more important than anything else. Our team beat Aberdeen that day.

There are so many stories I remember about Coach Schmidt, a remarkable educator and coach. He changed our lives, and he made the process challenging and fun at the same time. It wasn't just about football or wrestling or track. He expected students in his U.S. History class to excel too.


In my own life, he's one of the individuals, who taught me never to give up. 

Life is What Happens, When You Least Expect It

The memory of my career concerns seem a world away now. I was young. I was physically active.

More importantly my concerns spoke volumes about what was important at that point in my life. Going to Germany at least every other year if not yearly was what happened.

It was an expense in so many ways. I didn't see my family for a month to five weeks. It cost us thousands of dollars, which we didn't have at the time.

The whole thing was a mixture of wanting to show students why foreign language was important and gaining language expertise on my own. I was something you couldn't do by merely taking a class. Being in Germany meant hearing the language and experiencing the culture. And it also meant that I had the opportunity to notice dialects in various regions of the country.

Then my life changed. I always knew that family was important. Getting older meant seeing my children reach an age, where I could take them to Germany to experience what I once did in the early 70's. It was the only way to learn the language, to assimilate the culture, to absorb and to embrace the different aspects of foreign living. Eventually, it was a situation that also allowed me to take Ann continually as well. But then came grandchildren.

I examined my life. I noted that there were things I wanted to change. It wasn't important for me any longer to worry about trivial things. No one cared if I possessed native speaking skills or even that I taught students competent language skills.

The trips to Germany became a luxury I could do without.

It wasn't that I didn't enjoy seeing the wonder in the eyes of young people, when we first stepped off a plane in Germany and encountered the language the first time.

It was about the wonder I found in the eyes of my grandchildren.

Suddenly, we had two small boys I could spoil with sports shirts of teams I liked: Chicago Blackhawks and Chicago Bears. Hearing the laughter of a little one changed me in so many ways, but most importantly, I realized what I lost as a young father. It wasn't that I didn't want to be around my children.

There were distractions: things that not only meant that I spent the majority of the summer away from them, but it also controlled my weekends and free time. I refused to allow that to happen to me as a grandparent.

There was to be an exchange in the summer of 2003, but the world erupted into war. It happened once before when the U.S. military entered Kuwait to drive out Iraqi forces. The experience in Germany was less than ideal. Maybe it was my living overseas during the Viet Nam era, a time when many in Germany referred to us as "Ami's." It was a word that always irritated me.

I cancelled the trip, and I felt strongly about it too. Something wasn't right. Besides, being near new little grandsons was more important at the time. At the end of school in May of '03, Lydia and Kristin brought Jack and Tommy to Rigby High one late afternoon.

I cradled both boys in my arms and headed to the office to show off my prize possessions.

Then Ann noticed my increasing pain in my hip. We visited a surgeon. Repair was to happen in July of '03. I had horrible feelings about the whole thing, and feeling that way was not something that hadn't happened before in my life. I had a sense of something about to happen.

I worried I wouldn't survive the surgery. I soon came to realize that the hip replacement was not what I had to fear. Cancer reared its ugly once more in our family. It is what happens at that stage of life, when you come from Malad. My hometown that the government contaminated with radiation in the 60's and 70's with both open air nuclear testing: the bombs in Nevada and atomic devices in the skies above us. Whole streets of the town had examples of situations where every home had victims of the disease--colon cancer, liver cancer, brain and thyroid cancers, leukemia.

Leukemia AML took control of my life. The time between 2003 and 2005 was a pivotal moment in my life. It defined me. It defined my family.

August of '03 was the advent of the whole chemotherapy thing. I appeared at the oncology clinic in a wheel chair. No one thought I would survive. I nurse later told me that patients were to be like that during the process rather than at the beginning of it. I finished in January or February of '04.

I swam. I walked. I tried to build my strength, and in March, I returned to work. My doctor talked to me about taking medical retirement, but I wouldn't hear of it. Ann asked him to convince me to change my view. His answer was simple: "The man needs to work toward something. It's important to him."

The lessons I thought I learned were now just distant reminders of how I eventually would have time to spend with family in my "retirement period of life."

The first lesson came my first day of school. There was a faculty meeting. I had been fighting cancer for seven months, but there was no welcome back or mention of my being in the meeting. Four or five of my colleagues dropped in to say how happy they were to see my return. Others shocked me with the callous way they looked at me.

During lunch the first day, one looked at me and told me that I would soon see how difficult things were from standing all day. I never liked him after that. It was like my absence had opened my eyes to what the man really was. Another tried to sell me something he peddled for a fundraising program for his program. That situation reminded me of my own single-mindedness regarding teaching German.

Some students were ecstatic that I returned. A few, however, were angry. They wanted to continue watching videos or just remain able to sit with their head on their desk. That didn't happen in my classroom. We occasionally watched a video in the German language, but it had a purpose--to allow students the chance to hear German spoken the way it is in Germany.

But the biggest thing--the dumbest thing--was my beginning to get students ready to go to Germany in the summer of '05. I had learned nothing.

I finished the year. Having used all my days of sick leave, it cost a considerable amount of money to "purchase" days of sick leave. I refused to call in sick a single day, and there were many days, when I was not well. A new problem surfaced, severe leg swelling. To treat it, my doctor gave me water pills. He mentioned that I could wrap my legs nightly, allowing compression to improve severe lymphedema, which at some points became so bad that my skin burst. The sores continued to require medication to prevent further infection.

The positive thing about having returned was that all my classes did very well. Those taking dual credit classes in German at all levels surpassed the competency of those who studied on campus in Pocatello. English students experienced great things too. A member of ISU's Department of English dropped in unexpectedly for an observation. He was not only impressed, but he was also intrigued by how well high school students functioned in class. "They are doing exactly what students on campus do when taking this class," he said. The professor was thrilled.

Top students were excited, average ones too. But there were a handful of young minds, who wanted to do nothing but find a class, where they could play or just sleep with their head on a desk. That didn't happen in my class, so one negative thing happened that changed everything.

A young man's mother sent me this three page rant. I could read it, in spite of the poor grammar and spelling. According to this woman, I was unfeeling. I was harsh. I was not a great teacher like the substitute, who allowed students the chance to learn by watching videos.

A handful of negative feedback after my return convinced me that I had made an incorrect decision. I swore never to do it a second time.

In the last week of school, I mentioned to my principal that I had saved my sick leave days for the next year. He told me I should call and check the district policy.

We were waiting for the end of school to take off for Disneyland. Ann and I and my two daughters and Jack and Tommy. The call was not good.

The large amount of money I spent of additional sick leave was wasted. In spite of not using them, they would vanish at the end of the current school year. As soon as I hung up the phone, I told the secretary that I was sick and would not be returning for the last four or five days.

The trip to California began early, and I forgot all the bad things. Experiencing Jack and Tommy at the park for their first visit was something I will never forget.

We stayed in a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. They just opened the California Park's hotel, and the price was very good. Just the view from the window was phenomenal.

Playing in the curtains in the hotel was as much fun as the rides, but the two little ones liked the rides too.

I spent the day walking. It was extremely tiring, but I didn't rent an electric cart. When everyone returned to the hotel, I made an additional stop at a store in Downtown Disney and bought a number of animal characters for the boys.

Every day was full of discovery. It was the beginning of learning to love Disneyland.

The boys loved the rides. They looked forward to seeing Disney characters in the park. Both boys were like tiny sponges, absorbing everything.

We returned from Disneyland. We spent an additional day with Kristin and Jack in California before we drove back in the car.

The summer progressed. Ann and I traveled to The Black Hills in early August. It was then, that I noticed things were not right again.

In August, I was at Rigby High. My room was ready. I sat and typed a resume to begin teaching additional night classes. My experience with cancer had taught me nothing. Here I was returning to that wallow I often found, one where I worked continually and say little of my family.

My principal at Rigby High called me to his office from my classroom. It was Dr. Mulvey. My cancer had returned.

It was different this time. I retired from teaching in November. The fight was just beginning. In January of '05, my doctor told me I had two weeks to two months to live.

To say that the disease defined me is such an understated fact. It says nothing about what you suffer, what you think, what you become. You examine your life. You begin to see things you want to change, and most importantly, you recognize what is most important.

I surrounded myself with family. My fears materialized in a number of different ways: my realizing that my grandsons would never remember me, my accepting the fact that a granddaughter would never know me in anything but old pictures. Thoughts like that make you realize how badly you want to live.

You embrace your faith in God, your hope in Christ. A belief system becomes more than just dressing up on Sunday morning.

Being the greatest German teacher in the world was nothing but some narcissistic wish for fame. When you plead with God every night in prayer for one more day, one more month, one more year, you realize what you missed. You want more.

I live to be with family, and I seek out those places from the past that allow me to wallow in memories of past times with my wife, children and grandchildren.

And every night and morning, I plead for one more day, one more month, one more year.

But even if my time runs free, like stream water through a child's cupped hands, and I finally "hear my train a comin'." At some point, I will shut my eyes and know how blessed my life has been, because of the choices I made during a dark time of my life and because of the connection I realized they had with me. I was a husband, a father, a Pop Pop. There is nothing better.

It might not land me in Idaho's Hall of Fame, but since a visit to a restroom in Minneapolis did that for Larry Craig after the Gem State's current governor said that he had to induct Larry quickly, before people heard about the sordid news, I figure I would rather remain anonymous to those outside of my family.

Jack's First Day Camp

The excitement began as soon as Jack began thinking about the whole concept of "day camp." He initially talked about it just in passing, thinking that it was something that he wouldn't do, but when we told him that he would be going, he began getting excited.

A run to the store on the eve of leaving for Krupp Scout Hollow meant getting things for his lunch: chips, sandwiches, gatorade. These were things that made him so excited.

Ann spent hours getting patches attached to the shirt. The "iron-on" deal didn't work in an ideal way. I sat in my chair "out of the way," while Ann and Kristin worked on the shirt. Panic only happens, when Ann thinks that something is less-than-perfect.

We had the whole assignment thing worked out for Saturday morning. I would cook breakfast. Ann would retrieve the order from Bountiful Baskets, an online opportunity to get fresh fruits and vegetables all year long.

The time came close that morning, but some patches didn't work with the whole "iron-on" thing. Ann gets the sewing machine out of the garage and begins working feverishly. I picked up the Bountiful Baskets thing.

By the time I returned, Ann had finished the shirt, and Jack had left with a carload of ecstatic eight-year-old cub scouts.

I spent the day worrying that Jack would stay away from the river, which is in flood stage. The door opened at 3:15 p.m. Jack's jeans showed the remnants of the fun he and his friends had had that day.

It was another milestone. It was another good day to be remembered.

Tommy's Birthday--A Day for Noisemakers and Song (. . . even if Sammy things everyone is crazy)

I think what I love most about this clip is the look on Sammy's face, but the fact, that she finds it unbelievable, when adults do this type of thing is nothing short of absolute fun.

Tradition

There are traditions that seem archaic, while others are fun in so many ways.

Christmas is a prime example. Everyone has certain things they have done for generations in some cases: opening one gift, having children and adults do some sort of talent presentation during a family Christmas program, eating turkey or ham or both.

Traditions make life interesting.

Disneyland was no exception. As long as I remember, Jack would go to the tiny house near the Alice In Wonderland ride and knock on it, and interestingly enough, other children shared that tradition.

In fact, during one visit, we saw the actor Edward Burns wait for his little one to knock on the door. We still have the pictures somewhere, and it was fun to see him and his family momentarily. He's one of those actors, who didn't seem to be wallowed down in fame, although I could tell he preferred to be left alone. People began bothering him for autographs.

For me, I can't imagine how horrible it would be to have to cater to situations like that, when you have a brief moment to share fun times with your own children.

I am a fan, but I prefer to let him and others enjoy their privacy.

What is fun to realize, however, is that everyone has similar traditions. Knocking on that door wasn't just something we enjoyed having our grandchildren do on a visit.

I am a slave to memories and the smile they awaken in me. Those memories evoke something intangible.

It's a combination of sensory things. There is the music, some infectious. There are the warm, comforting scent of an interesting combination of smells: cotton candy, cookies, burgers, churros.

These are things, that I love to wallow in during every trip to LA. Few outside my family circle understand the whole thing. It's about remembering life: past and present, yet future also plays a role.

Rarely is there a time, when I don't think about the next trip. You do that on the last day before returning home. It's a day of crowding all the activities into a few hours, but you realize that Disneyland is only 12 hours away by car.

That is a long distance for some, but for me, it's a trip through a magnificent desert. It's a voyage of sorts, listening to music that reminds me of similar journeys and thinking about times when I spent moments with my family in the land of Mickey and Goofy and friends.

My Sweetie

Before my oncologist determined that I had leukemia AML, we had several years of travel that Ann and I did together.

On one of those trips, we had the chance to go to Nauvoo to see the temple there before its dedication. It was an incredible trip, especially given the fact that Ann and I both had relatives there at that difficult time for members of our church.

We were on a bus.

The first morning, the tour guide asked every couple or family to have one person introduce their group of participants. Ann made a mistake, that few usually make.

"You do it." She looked at me for a moment, and seemed shocked that I didn't offer any resistance at all. I moved toward the front of the bus.

"My name is Jon Ward, and my wife's name is Ann. She's that beautiful woman in the back in the green bluse and tan slacks." Ann's face turned a bit crimson. She rolled those brown eyes of hers, and every woman on the bus sighed and looked at her.

Annie doesn't like to be noticed like that, but I meant what I said.

Thirty-seven years sounds like a long time, but it really isn't. It went by so quickly.

Being my age is recognizing how foolish I was not to savor every moment, every day, every year. That kind of wisdom only arrives when you have become old, when you realize how you have blessed, when you realize what means so much to you in your life.

It's about realizing that having a soulmate is what makes life worth living.

When children and grandchildren are young, you can talk them into just about anything--wearing a Santa hat, putting on a Utah State mascot bull helmet. Then between six and eight years of age, they get this sense of style. Maybe it's just an attitude.

They know what they want, and anything else is out of the question, so when I spotted this Yoda beanie in the Star Tours store at Disneyland, Jack refused to think about trying it on, even momentarily.

What's funny is the fact that I planned to buy it for myself and even have a picture, so that I could use it as my status picture on facebook, but that's because old people often don't have inhibitions. We smell like soap or worse. Without realizing, men stand with their mouths agape. Women giggle about wetting their pants when they laugh at something funny. We just get weird.

Hair grows in our ears and noses. Masses of it show up on our backs, on our stomachs. It grows everywhere, except of course where you want it to appear. Even eyebrows look like something in an old Lon Chaney movie, where the man howls at the moon and chases country folk in the darkness.

I'm not much of a runner, but I can howl with the best of them.

Old people do stuff like that, because we smell like soap, sometimes like plastic and ammonia. Inhibitions are concessions we make. You accept what you are.

But youth, now that's something special. It's a time when you find yourself.

And to help the process, there is this store in Disneyland called The Mad Hatter. All the hats are there, and it's fun to experiment, and on the day I took these pictures, for just one more time, I was able to get some great shots of Jack wearing hats that he normally would have refused to wear.

It was a magical moment.

It was pure fun.

First, we did the R2-D2 Mickey Mouse ears. It was a great start.

Jack has always been a Star Wars fan, especially a fan of that little droid. When Jack was three, I bought this large robotic version. It has a number of cues, and the small machine reacts by whistling or shaking or moving forward or backward, to the right or left.

As a three-year-old, Jack believed that the little toy was real, and he would bend over and talk to it. That's something I would love to have had on camera, but we didn't.

Needless to say, Jack didn't have trouble with this hat.

The next one was a logical choice. Jack loves the muppet thing. Kermit was a favorite, although he likes the other characters as well.

Personally, I liked the dude that ate the cookies. It's an easy choice for me. What do you find appetizing--flies, assorted bugs, white chocolate macadamia cookies?

How can you even consider making an ecological choice like accepting the role of keeping bugs at an acceptable population level. I'll help control the number of cookies any day--chocolate chip, raisin, macadamia white, or any combination with walnuts or pecans.

Stuff like that just needs to be controlled.

Once we completed the initial Mickey Mouse hat pictures, I began looking at other options. The huge Mickey Mouse Fantasia deal was a first move. The Mad Hatter thing was out of the question.

I made the mistake of blogging that hat after our last visit, so a repeat would not happen, although I plan to do it next time.

The problem, however, is that Jack does not forget. I keep hoping he will, and that I can coax him into my web of being in another cute picture, but it just isn't going to happen.

That's why I probably won't let him see this blog until he is old and smells like soap.

Pictures of grandchildren like this are just plain cute, but the little ones reach a point, where being cute is not what they want to do any more.

They want an identity of their own. They want to be cool.

But then comes the last hat. My mission is complete. I came to The Mad Hatter. I brought my camera with my grandson. I conquered.

I ended up with another cute picture.

Another Great Day At the Disney Resort

I couldn't resist putting these pictures on the site. It was a great day, although I never remember the end of May being a time, when I had to wear a jacket early in the morning.

At noon, it was still a bit cold. But you notice that more when you spend time on Splash Mountain, even when you find a plastic parka to protect yourself from the water.

The park's inside temperatures feel wonderful in July and as late as August and early September, when the heat is unbearable, but today was not a day like that.

It was, however, a great day for some pictures, and by this time, we were at Toontown. The temperatures were suddenly like summer, and I feel asleep in my electric cart waiting to get a picture.

I woke up suddenly. It's that feeling you get, when you have the impression that someone is watching you, and Jack and Kristin were in a spot in line, where they could see me--head bent back, mouth open, body leaning dangerously to one side of the cart.

It was a relief to know that I never once almost fell from that seat to the hard asphalt, yet I probably would not have known the difference. Kristin and Jack would have had to shake me awake.

I took a couple of pictures. The day was a wonderful time. Blue skies, bright sunlight all combined to show us something we haven't seen in a long time.

It's been a long winter in Idaho, a land where the politics is like the weather: cold, indifferent, pretty much crappy and unpleasant.

Finding summer is worth the trip.

June 1, 2011--The Day After Our Anniversary

I think my Annie thought she could do this and prevent me from putting the picture on this site. But I did it anyway, until of course, she lets me take a picture of her.

It was never a problem, when we were young. Annie loved having a picture taken. I think she thinks that she isn't as pretty. I beg to differ. She is as pretty now as I ever remember her, although today, we all looked a bit haggard--a full day of travel to Disneyland, a late evening at the park, and the second long day riding rides.

I have it easy. An electric cart simplifies things. It's easy to be chipper for me.

On top of everything else today, Annie

and Jack left Disneyland to ride the monorail to Downtown Disney. I took the electric cart. Kristin walked with me.

We arrive first. The park had only one monorail running, which is a major reduction. In spite of that, it didn't take too long for them to get to the restaurant.

It gave us enough time to get a table, take a few pictures of the inside, and order a few things.

It was a great day, but the waitress did get one thing wrong on the menu. The upside about going to a place like this is that the food is "the real thing," or at least close enough that it doesn't taste like some Americanized version. The bad part is sometimes they don't understand.

Telling the waitress I would wait to order guacamole after our other two people arrived meant that I wanted the "made at the table version." It has onions, jalapenos, tomatoes, cilantro. The one she brought is something they make for those who don't like a little "spice" in their life, and although it tasted fantastic too, it wasn't anything like what I wanted. Tomorrow is another day, and we'll be back for more.

The third picture of Annie was not the charm.

This time I felt the whole paparazzi thing--hand in the picture, tense voice. It was time to find someone, who liked the camera, so I chose to photograph Jack for a bit.

He was still in a good mood. It was at least 15 minutes before he established a record: the most consecutive spilled glasses of water in a dining establishment performed by someone under the age of nine. But at least I only teased him. I didn't say, "Holy shit, Tarzan. Sit down and relax," or "Holy shit, Tarzan. Sit down and stop putting your face against a full glass of water for the millionth damn time."

But after having been shown a notorious gesture, I didn't say, "Hey baby! Do you give rain checks for that?"

I am a 58-year-old guy, who has to go for all he can get sometimes when it comes to my Annie.

The meal was great. I wish, by the way, I could have captured the look of surprise on Jack's face, when he spilled an entire 16 ounce glass of ice water into his lap--cold, refreshing, embarrassing. What can I add? I mean really.

It is, however, the simple things in daily life that keep everything going. Relationships are only complicated, if you let them get that way. We have fun together, and I hope family members enjoy being around me, in spite of my keen, razor-sharp wit. My father had another euphemism for that whole "razor-sharp sense of humor thing.

We'll be back tomorrow, ordering the guacamole and other wonderful things at that restaurant, but I'll make sure I keep my camera in my bag and my comments to myself. Besides, the best part is posting this, when I know my Sweetie will never look at it, but if she does, I'll awaken one morning. A beautiful Welsh damsel will stand above me, chocolate eyes ablaze. She'll "damn me all to hell," and she may shake her finger at me for posting this, but I'll smile about it later--once my heart stops pounding in my chest. I love her. I've loved her for 37 years, and she tolerates my teasing, my own Welsh-Viking temper, my OCD tendencies or eccentricities.

It's all in the way you want to define it.

Tomorrow will be another day, another chance to see Disneyland and deal with masses of people crowding in front of you in lines or taunting you somehow in a small way--sometimes in a big way.

I refuse to allow it to ruin my trip or to dampen the feelings I have of that park. It's where Ann and I brought our children once a year, when they were small. It was a time, when an occasional Disney employee would cuss youngsters running to the ride after the initial morning opening, and oh, they say this to me: "Sir, that goes for you too."

My three children still laugh about that. I was just trying to get to the incredible restaurant near the Mark Twain Steamboat to get a table. It would fill quickly, and we liked having breakfast there before running from ride to ride for the rest of the day.

Memories is what we have that make future trips to the Disney Resort so appealing, in spite of any little irritating thing that might haunt us briefly. It's a wonderful place.

I could sit in my electric cart on Main Street and absorb the vibes: listen to laughter of children, smell pancakes and cookies and popcorn and cotton candy, see old cars and horse-drawn trolleys. I savor the taste of memories from the past, but making new ones is pretty fun too--especially when surrounded by my soul mate, my children, my grandchildren . . . even when they're a bit grumpy.