Half Yearly Meeting - 2011

I attended this year's Southeastern Yearly Meeting's Half Yearly Meeting, an annual affair that takes place each Thanksgiving weekend. While I have been in Florida and an active member of the Sarasota Friends Meeting (Quakers) for the past five years, I had never attended HYM before. It was held at Wekiva Springs State Park, north of Orlando. Preferring not to drive up by myself, I found that a couple of my friends, Jen and Nate--first-timers as well--were planning on going, so we decided to carpool together.

At 9 AM on Thursday, Jen and Nate came to the house and we packed up and got underway. Jen had volunteered to assist with the preparations for the Thanksgiving dinner that evening, so we headed out that morning. It took us a couple hours to get up to Apopka, the city where the park is located. The drive up I-75 to Tampa wasn't too bad, but I-4 was a completely different story. That highway was thick with cars headed toward Orlando. I suspect a lot of the traffic was headed up to the Disney theme parks. Anyway, when we got to Apopka, the first order of business was to find someplace to eat. Unfortunately, on Thanksgiving there are not a whole lot of places open, so we drove down the main drag and came upon a bodega, Mi Mexico, in a Latino strip mall. There was a small restaurant section so we stopped in and each of us had a fantastic dinner at prices probably half what one would pay in a conventional Mexican restaurant.

Arriving at the HYM, eager to help out, we found that there was nothing to be done, as the turkeys were already in the oven, so the three of us drove down to the springs in the main part of the park and did some exploring. Wikeva Springs is the head of the Wikewa River and is enclosed within a large concrete ring. The weather was a bit cool--possibly in the mid-70s--but there were a few people, mainly Muslems, swimming and enjoying themselves. We walked on a boardwalk nature trail, which wound through the marshy part of the area with all nature of palms and gradually moved up to the area where deciduous trees prevailed. Returning to the camp area, we enjoyed a traditional Thanksgiving dinner. That evening it was fun and games, with me winning the first of the three Trivial Pursuit games I played throughout the weekend.

Friday was another day of schmoozing and enjoying each other's company. I had brought along several tomes and did quite a bit of reading. There were several workshops offered and I chose to attend one on centering prayer. That evening several of us gathered around a campfire which was initiated by Jen. She brought up some firewood and invited those in attendance to join her. It was the first time I can recall sitting at a campfire since I was a youngster and I really enjoyed telling and listening to others' stories.

Saturday was pretty similar to Friday, although several of those in attendance opted to rent canoes and go canoeing down the Wikewa River, including Jen and Nate. I wasn't up for such an adventure, so I satisfied myself with doing some more reading and listening to my iPod. After lunch, as I was enjoying others' company a member of my home meeting, Ann Sundberg, asked me if I had seen Jen and Nate, which I hadn't. We were quite concerned, since the other canoeists had returned while they had not. There is a path down to the springs which terminates near the area in which we were staying, so I suggested I walk down that path while Ann and her husband, Rolf, drove down to the main parking lot to look for them. They found Jen and Nate, who had taken a longer canoe trip than the others. Jen was content to hike back to the camp, while Nate felt discretion was the better part of valor and rode back with Ann and Rolf. As I got to the place where the path I was on crossed the road, I saw their car waiting for me, so I gladly accepted a ride back to camp, myself.

Sunday morning, as I was getting dressed, I happened to look out the cabin window and saw eight wild turkeys walking through the cabin area, apparently in search of food. Obviously, these guys escaped the Thanksgiving festivities and felt it safe to make their presence known. After breakfast, it was clean-up time. Of the 60 or so who had been at the weekend retreat, perhaps 20-30 remained, so it was up to us to make sure everything was in ship shape. That was accomplished in short order and, after getting the thumbs-up from the park ranger, we retired for Meeting for Worship and then headed home.

Rather than fighting Interstate traffic on Thanksgiving Sunday, I happened to have the original GPS device in my car, aka a map, which I checked out and found an alternative, cross-country way back to Bradenton. Sure, it took a bit longer but I didn't have the headache of dodging other cars on the way back. It was so good to get back home. Unfortunately, the nights were fairly cool and I ended up contracting a cold. I'm doing a bit of sniffling and sneezing but, it was well worth it. Now that I know what Half Yearly Meeting is all about, I amadding it to my list for future years.

Visiting Mom

Finally, after a year of not seeing Mom, I was able to make it back up to Panama City, FL for a couple days. It's not that I haven't wanted to go up. It's simply that my overly protective wife, Pam, has been reluctant to let me make the trip, even tho' my cardiologist said it's okay.

Mom had an infection that was taking a toll on her. Taking antibiotics for it didn't set well with her body and she couldn't hold down her lunch or dinner. Playing the sympathy card, I was finally able to get Pam to set me free for a few days. I drove up on Monday, a very beautiful day for driving. The only hangup I encountered was crossing Tampa Bay between St. Petersburg and Tampa. The rush hour was pretty much over, but traffic came to a crawl. A ride that would normally take about the minutes ended up taking a half hour. Having to take the airport exit to get to the Veterans Expressway, as I got up to it, I then found out what the problem was--an accident that blocked one of the two exit lanes.

Once I made it past that, it was clear sailing. I had packed a sandwich to eat along the way and I was on a 40-mile stretch of highway between Cross City and Perry, FL. I knew there were no rest areas along the way, so I was hoping for someplace to pull off--a church; a ranger station; a gas station; anyplace. Unfortunately, such was not to be or about 25 miles. Finally, I came upon the Salem, FL post office which sat next to a derelict gas station--no doors, windows, or roof. Of course there was no place to relieve myself, so I went inside the station, walking over the crackling floor tiles and weeds which had taken over the floor in order to take care of business. After eating and getting back onto the road, I had an uneventful remainder of a trip and spent a couple hours with Mom when I got to P City.

Tuesday morning I stopped in to see her and plan the day. We decided that I'd return around noon and we'd head out to Carrabba's Italian Restaurant, a place she had never been. As I had picked up quite a few lovebugs on my way north, I knew I had to go to a car wash, so I did that before going over to visit my sister who also lives there (more about the car wash later). I picked up Mom at noon and we headed out to Panama City Beach and Carrabba's. Unfortunately, they weren't open for lunch, so we continued on to Pier Park, a large shopping center, to check out what might be available there for lunch. We spotted the Hofbrau, a German Bier Garten, so we decided that looked like a good place to eat. The weather was so beautiful--in the low 80s--we decided to eat on the patio. Mom had a couple of sausages (she could only eat one) and I had a weinerschnitzel. Each of us washed lunch down with a half liter of a great dark German bier. Neither of us could eat dinner that evening.

Wednesday was an off-day, as Mom was afraid she was catching a cold, as she was sneezing her her head was stopped up, so she just stayed inside and rested all day long. I killed the morning exploring a couple of large antique stores in beautiful downtown Panama City and polished off a chili-slaw dog (one of my college-day favorites) at Tom's Hot Dogs, a local institution. The rest of the day was spent, just chilling. That evening, after dinner, I stopped back at Glen Cove Nursing Pavilion, where Mom lives, and visited with her for a while before saying our goodbyes.

Thursday, heading back to Bradenton, I was reaching for my digital voice recorder, which I keep in the car to make notes. I couldn't find it in its usual spot, so I waited until I had a break to look further for it. I still couldn't find it, so I tore the car apart looking for it once I got back home around 5 PM, or so. No doubt it had been copped by one of the young persons who had dried off my car at the carwash, since it had been in its spot on the way up and only Mom and my brother, Gene along with his wife, Regina, had been in the car. I was a bit pissed because I've never had it missing when going through the local carwash here in Bradenton. I wrote a review of Waterworx Car Wash, which was not flattering at all, as well as calling the manager this morning to let him know of my experience and how pissed I was. I know he can not do anything about it, but at least I got to vent.

I'm now back in my usual routine and so very happy I was able to get up to see Mom. I had called her when I got home and she told me she was feeling great and feels it may have been her allergies kicking up. She stays inside, for the most part, and I suspect her problems stemmed from being outside for an extended period of time on Wednesday. After lunching on the Hofbrau patio, I pushed her around the shopping area in her wheelchair, and I imagine all that time outside took its toll on her sinuses. So happy she's feeling good once again.

Reflections on Troy Davis and the Death Penalty

Gandhi once said, "An eye for an eye leaves the whole world blind." Killing someone who may have killed another solves nothing. It does not deter anyone from taking someone else's life. There are those who say society has the right to put someone to death who has killed someone else. To those people I ask, "What right?" Just because a society might give itself the legal right to kill another does not make it right. No one has the moral right to take another's life.

American culture rejects the Middle Eastern practices of lopping off of a person's hand if they steal a loaf of bread or the stoning of an adulteress. We were disturbed when Kunta Kinte's foot was chopped off by his master after he managed to escape and was recaptureed. Are these practices any more barbaric than the taking of a human life? I submit they are not.

Death sentences, especially those in which there is serious doubt as to a person's guilt after they have been convicted, are reprehensible to every fiber of my being. Our legal system is rife with cases involving wrongly-convicted persons being sentenced to death. In January 2003 outgoing Illinois governor, George Ryan, commuted the death sentences of 167 persons on death row, largely because of the conduct of the Chicago Police Department and their lack of thorough investigations and targeted prosecutions in getting convictions and the death penalty in quite a few cases, many of which involving persons they simply didn't want to deal with any longer.

This summer I attended a presentation by the Innocence Project of Florida. The featured speaker was a man from Puerto Rico who had been convicted of the 1983 rape and murder of a 56 year old woman. The police had no leads or evidence point to anyone. However, a youngster made mention of a male he had seen in the area around the time of the murder. A junior high principal, overhearing the child's comment, said it sounded like Anthony Caravella, a student who attended his junior high school. The police eventually arrested Caravella and, after extensive interrogation, apparently involving sleep deprivation, charged him with the murder. His case was railroaded through the court system and he was convicted.

When the Floirida Innocence Project became involved, they read through all the police files and discovered there were several interviews with persons who vouched for Caravella's whereabouts at the time of the murder (in a nearby town, as I recall), but these interviews were never turned over to the district attorney's office. In addition, although there was no extensive DNA testing available in 1983, semen smears had been taken and preserved along with the other evidence. The DNA testing proved conclusively that Caravella could be excluded as a suspect in the rape and murder. That being the case, the court vacated his conviction and the State of Florida dropped all charges against him.

The point being that our system of justice is seriously flawed and these flaws result in the legalized murder of innocent persons. There was, and still are, serious doubts as to the culpability of Troy Davis for the murder for which he was put to death. While that makes no difference to Mr. Davis now, it does make a difference to me and should to all who believe in the American system. The death of a person cannot be undone. The legalized murder of an innocent person is particularly grievous and should never be tolerated.

Finally Connecting the Dots

(Composed on July 12, 2011)

I am sitting at home, right now, getting ready to watch the 2011 All Star Game. A year ago I was sitting at my sister-in-law's house in Seattle doing the same thing. This morning I met with my cardiologist who, in effect, discharged me. I don't have to see him until mid-November. My wife, Pam, was with me and we got to talking about how crappy I felt when watching the All Star Game llast year.

The day before, I went to the Boeing Museum of Flight. I remember getting a veggie wrap for lunch, but felt a bit bloated afterwards, not thinking anything about it. The next day I went to the Boeing Aircraft plant for a tour. I was feeling quite bloated and uncomfortable and, quite honestly, cannot recall if I even ate lunch. I really felt like crap and, as I was leaving, I asked one of the customer service reps if there was a pharmacy nearby. He directed me to one about a mile away, which I stopped at. Asking the pharmacist what he'd recommend for bloating, he suggested Gaviscon, as I recall. I took and chewed about 3 of the tablets and made my way back to Beth's house. That evening I called the Seattle V.A. hospital to get some advice, but was unable to get much. I just sat around and watched the game, uncomfortable though I was.

I had no further problems until early December when Pam and I were in Miami. I had put the Seattle experience completely out of my mind until this morning. In Miami I had the same bloated feeling, only worse this time. Acceding to Pam's wishes, I called 911 and was hospitalized whereupon I was diagnosed with atrial fibrilation. The rest is history.

While discussing matters with my cardiologist, Dr. Akella, this morning Pam brought up the Seattle episode and all of a sudden it hit me--the bloated feeling I had in Seattle was identical to the bloated feeling I had in Miami only not nearly as bad. I have had stomach problems all my life and I simply attributed the bloating to indigestion. Now, I know better.

Anyway, I was given a clean bill of health by Dr. Akella this morning and plan to be much more judicious in my choice of food.

Reflections on Casey and Caylee

The center ring of the 3 year old media circus has finally been cleared and the nation can (hopefully) get on with things that matter, really matter to all of us, not just the fate of one young woman. It is such a tragic shame that little Caylee met such a deplorable end. She appeared to be a happy and much-loved child and her life was cut way too short. Something like that should never happen to a young child.

People were shocked and stunned at the Not Guilty verdict rendered by the jury. I'll admit I was too. But, everyone seems to forget that the verdict by a jury of Ms. Anthony's peers exhibited the American system of jurisprudence worked as it should have. The state has the burden of proof. Ms. Anthony does not have to prove her innocence. If anything failed, it was the State of Florida and its prosecution of the case against her. They could not prove how little Caylee died; when she died; or who was responsible for her death. That was the basis of "Reasonable Doubt". Unless someone was caught red-handed or admitted killing the little one, then it is up to the state to prove to prove she died when, where and by what means she met her fate. True, the circumstantial evidence was enormous, but the state failed to carry its burden of proof.

Personally, I feel Casey probably did do it. But, it is now history. She had a smart attorney who, incidentally, had only been practicing for three years or so before taking on the case. Sure, he may have used what some would term "dirty tricks" in his defense of Casey, but his job was to create "reasonable doubt". That he did. He was not being paid to exonerate her. I also feel that O.J. probably hacked his wife and Ronald Goldman to death. But... he was also acquitted. Like it or not, that is the way our system works! The burden of proof is on the state, not on the accused. Like it or not, that is the way our system works and, for my money, it is still be best damn system ever devised by the mind of man.

Setting the Record Straight, Part 2

At last night's Marauders game my buddy, Jared, told me of the fallout from my confrontation with the Marauders pitching coach, Mike Steele. He (Jared) had told Trfevor Gooby, the Pirates Big Kahuna in Florida, of the "discussion" I had with Steele. Gooby then let Steele know that confrontation with the fans is unacceptable. Further, Steele had to relay that on to the team, telling them that any violations of the policy would lead to a demotion to the Pirates Low A team, the West Virginia Power, from Charleston, WV.

As far as I'm concerned, the incident is now history.

Setting the Record Straight with a Pitching Coach

As a retiree, one of the great loves I have is watching the Pittsburgh Pirates' High Class A farm team, the Bradenton Marauders, play. I purchased a season ticked and have been to practically all the games this season. Part of my support for the Marauders is teaming with my good buddy, Craig, in cheering the Marauders on and heckling the opposition . The way I figure it, if the players can't take the heckling at this level, they surely cannot take it when they hit the Major Leagues, should they make it that far.

The day before yesterday an incident occurred that really got under my skin. Craig and I were sitting in our usual spots behind home plate, doing what we've done for the past two seasons--letting the opposition, in this case the Palm Beach Cardinals, have it. We enjoy what we do, as do the fans around us. One of the razzes I am known for is to march a batter, who has struck out, back to the dugout with a "left, right, left, right... sit down sucker!" cadence and the fans love it. I have had many compliments on my heckling, both inside the ballpark and on the way back to my car afterwards. Craig was exercising his First Amendment right of free speech and taunting the opposing batters, as well.

However, in about the third inning, as the Marauders were preparing to bat, their pitching coach, Mike Steele, came over to Craig and told him to take it easy in his heckling of the opposition. He said nothing to me and was specifically targeting Craig. Both of us, as well as Craig's girlfriend who was sitting between us, were at a loss as to why he took it upon himself to talk to Craig. Yesterday, before the ballgame, Trevor Gooby, the Pirates' Director of Florida Operations, searched me out and apologized on behalf of the Marauders. I told him I was not the person Steele was talking to, but my buddy Craig, a season ticket holder for the past two seasons and who purchased two season tickets this year.

Today I received an email from Craig, telling me he was through with the Marauders--no more games for the rest of the season and no season tickets for next year. I wrote him back and tried to convince him that it was not his fault; that Steele had no business admonishing him, since it wasn't his job. I did a slow burn on my way to the ballpark and when I got there I proceeded to search Steele out and got in his face, telling him he had no business getting on Craig's case and that he was paid to coach the players; not to police the fans. I further told him that, if he has a problem with any of the fans, he should contact Gooby or someone else in the front office and let them handle it. He seemed to be a bit stunned at being called out and all he could muster was an "Okay". One of my other buddies, Jared was there and told me that, as I was leaving, one of the pitchers told me to take a [friggin'] hike. That's fine. I love it because it tells me that there is a sense of camaraderie on the team. Hopefully, Steele will realize that his priorities are the players and not the fans.

In the meantime, GO MARAUDERS!!!

Why I Detest War

Being a child of World War II, I was taught from early on that wars--just wars in particular--are necessary facts of life. My father was a veteran of World War II. One of his brothers was killed in the war, a victim of the only fatal airplane crash in Australian history. My earliest memory of any war was the Korean War. I knew not when or why it started. I only knew it was on the "Camel News Caravan" with John Cameron Swayze every evening. When a truce was declared, one of the most vivid memories I have was of a group of recently released POWs being asked if they wanted to return to the U.S., the answer being a resounding "No!" I could never reconcile myself as to why they wanted to stay in North Korea

Of course, all throughout my formative and teenage years the Cold War was a fact of life. Living in the Washington, DC suburbs was such an idyllic area for a young student of history. However, that changed in October 1962 with the Cuban Missle Crisis. While a lot had gone on in the background and in secret, President Kennedy gave a speech on Oct 22nd "of the highest national urgency." In Mr. Kane's U.S. Government class in high school, that was the main, and probably only, topic of discussion. At home, it was also the main topic of discussion. My maternal grandparents lived deep in the mountains of West Virginia and we made plans to go there in the event of an emergency. I now know that there would have been only 30 minutes warning in the event of an attack. That is terribly frightening now that I look back on it. If it had happened, very few 0f us would be around to talk about it.

A scant four years later, as the Vietnam War was escalating in the summer of 1966, I received notice to go for my draft physical on July 14th while living in Chicagoland. I recall the date because, as I was on my way to work afterwards, I saw the newspaper headlines telling of the eight student nurses who had been murdered on the south side by Richard Speck. I knew I had passed the physical and that the next step would be my draft notice. To forestall such, I ended up enlisting in thre Air Force, figuring that sooner or later I'd end up in Vietnam. I figured that, if I had to go to Vietnam, it would be on my terms and not those dictated by any draft board. My first assignment out of tech school was Patrick Air Force Base, FL--a cush assignment on the Atlantic that served NASA and the Kennedy Space Center. Unfortunately, that good fortune lasted for only four months before I was transferred to Tan Son Nhut Air Base in Saigon. As far as I was concerned, I was on a glorious crusade to make the world safe from communism.

While the first few months were uneventful, once the Tet Offensive began things changed markedly for me. Working in a building on the fightline as an air freight in-country load planner, I was on duty the night the offensive started and it was one of the most traumatic things I have ever experienced in my life, especially when bullets started striking the building as I was standing 0ut back with some of my buddies at daybreak. I got a bit used to expect the attacks, both while on duty or back at the barracks.

However, one night a couple weeks later I had the most seminal moment in my life. I was sleeping in my bunk on the second floor of the barracks when we came under attack with rockets and mortars. Those of us upstairs had to run down the outside stairway for cover and, as I was doing so, I happened to see a poor dog, running hellbent for election, down the street, scared out of its wits and wondering what the hell was going on and knowing it was certainly something he wanted no part of. Feeling compassion for that poor animal, I realized at that moment that war is so damn useless and so damn immoral. Nothing gives anyone the right to take another's life. While there may be a legal right to take another's life, such does not equate to a moral right. I don't care if it's war, capital punishment, justifiable homicide, or whatever. It's simply wrong.

Vietnam was an undeclared war, as was the Gulf War and the invasions of Afghanistan and Iraq. Granted, some wars may be justified such as the American Revolution or World War II, both of which were fought to rid the oppressed of despots. However, this is not to say I am in favor of certain wars. I am against all wars, not only because they are immoral but also because all end up as rich men's wars but poor men's battles.

Cardiac Ablasion: Week One

I went into Blake Medical Center on Monday, Feb 7^th fully pumped, not for the impending ablasion, but because the Green Bay Packers had vanquished the Pittsburgh Steelers the night before. I play softball with a bunch of guys from western Pennsylvania and wanted so much to go out and see them, wearing my Packers tee shirt and ballcap. Unfortunately my cardiologist, Dr. Akella, had different plans for me.

I got to the hospital as 8:30, as instructed, got jabbed a few times and prepped for the procedure. It got started later than expected because Dr. Akella was involved in an open heart procedure at the other hospital in town and got delayed because of complications in that session. Anyway, everything went well. I guess I was out for about five and a half hours, according to Pam. That evening I was getting along fine until later on when I tried to urinate, but it was too painful. The spigot just shut down because of the pain and I couldn't do anything at all. The nurse ended up catheterizing me, something I don't want to go through twice in my life. On a scale of 1-10, the pain was about a 12 or 13 when she inserted the catheter. After that was done, it was still painful to urinate but I was able to get past the pain with each ensuing whiz. I really didn't sleep much that night, and got sprung shortly before noon on Tuesday.

I've only had one bad day--last Thursday when I tossed and turned all night long. I felt sluggish as all get out, so I went in and took a nap for a couple of hours and that really recharged the batteries. I was out of A-Fib the day after the procedure, so I imagine they may have shocked the heart back into normal rhythm before doing the ablasion. Other than that one day, I have felt pretty good. Hoping it will continue.

I've just been chilling around the house, for the most part ever since. We went to do some grocery shopping late last week, with Pam doing all the driving (she hates to drive). I was unable to make Meeting for Worship on Sunday. I wasn't going to go, but decided Saturday I would like to go with a friend who lives nearby. However when I called her, she had a house guest and was not going. So I just sat home and watched a PBS documentary on the life and legacy of the Buddha. In fact, I ended up watching documentaries all day long, save for one movie. Yesterday we did some more grocery shopping and I drove for the first time. Today I headed back to class--a mini course at the Univ of South Fla on chamber music, a class I really love. It goes for another month and I had to miss last Tuesday's session. Afterwards I went to see Dr. Akella for a Coumadin check and follow-up. He told me that he did the cardioversion, shocking the heart back into normal sinus rhythm, so that he could do the ablasion without the heart sort of vibrating and beating irregularly. I’m still in normal rhythm, although we won’t know for sure if the procedure worked for about 2-3 months. We’ll have to wait that long to determine if scar tissue has formed to block the stray impulses in the heart. I'm also planning on resuming my hospice volunteering (Thursday at Hospice House and Friday with a patient at his house). In the meantime, I'm preparing an agenda for the Sarasota Friends Meeting for Business this Sunday.

So, in sum, I guess I'm getting back into the swing of things. Looking forward to Spring Training starting up. The Pirates train here in Bradenton and the Orioles train in Sarasota. Let the games begin! I’ve already got my tickets.

Letter to to the Editor re: Extremist Rhetoric

Dear Editor:

Senator Barry Goldwater, while running for President in 1964, stated: "Extremism in the defense of liberty is no vice." On Saturday morning in his beloved Arizona, extremism was shown to be a vice.

Political rhetoric has reached a fever pitch in recent years with extreme conservatives and extreme liberals sniping at each other, putting those they oppose in crosshairs, and telling their followers that they want them "armed and dangerous". This not the America I grew up in and certainly not the one I wish to leave for my grandchildren. What needs to be done is to tone down the rhetoric and speak to rather than at each other. President Obama has been skewered by liberals for his agreeing to a tax cut extension for everyone, including the rich. The fact of the matter is that he did so in order not to let the tax cuts expire for those who need them most. This country was built on and matured based on compromise. The President has moved to a more centrist position and, in so doing, exhibited his willingness to talk out differences with the opposition and move the country forward.

May we all take a lesson. Rather than spewing vitriol and hatred, let us all come together and talk out our differences. In the end, even though we may not get all we want, at least we will get more than we would if we only turn up the volume and fail to hear what the other has to contribute.

Dave Hilsheimer

A Grand Family Event

2010 ended a very eventful year for Pam and me—two hospitalizations (pneumonia and heart problems); a trip to Seattle; my college reunion in North Carolina; a trip to deliver our second car to David; and, best of all, a trip back to Madison for our son, David’s, wedding. I had met his new wife, Johanna (Schultz) when I took the car up to him in September but only saw her for an hour, or so at that time. Pam had never met her.

We flew out of Tampa Wednesday afternoon and arrived in Milwaukee after a three hour flight. Renting a car, we proceeded on to Madison where we stayed at the Hilton Monona Terrace in a $599 per night room which looked out on the state capitol dome. Fortunately, David got the wedding guests a special deal and the room rate was only 20% of the usual daily charge—a charge which, I assume, is for business people with nice expense accounts. Pam’s sister, Beth Kashner and her husband, Lennie, had already arrived and were in the room next door. We enjoyed each other’s company over an expense account priced dinner.

The following day Pam had plans to have lunch with her former workmate, Marilyn Kozak, which left Beth, Lennie, and me on our own. We decided to go to one of Len’s favorite local restaurants, Noodles & Co, for a nice sit down lunch. I had made arrangements to meet David for my final tux fitting on the far west side of Madison, so I left the two of them at the restaurant while I made my way west. David and his son, Matthew Farr, arrived shortly after I did and I was so amazed at Matty’s growth since we last saw him, some four plus years ago. Then, he came up to my chin. Now, I have to look up to him at about six feet tall. My brother, Gene, arrived from Panama City in the afternoon and was in the room on the other side of us. That evening was the rehearsal at Grace Episcopal Church on the Capitol Square. It was there that Pam met Johanna for the first time. After about an hour, we all adjourned to Gino’s Italian Restaurant, a staple of State Street in Madison. There were about fifty people at the dinner, for which Pam and I footed the bill and which was not as expensive as we had expected. I’m just thanking goodness I have a healthy credit limit on my card.

Friday was the big day. It started out with my having to drive out to David’s place in Lake Mills, about 25 miles east of Madison, to retrieve a fleece-lined hoodie I had bought in September but had no room for it in my carry-on bag, so I left it at David’s. Trouble was that David kept forgetting to bring it into town so I could get it, knowing I would probably need it when leaving Madison. Gene and Lennie accompanied me out to his place. Not having had breakfast, the three of us stopped at a restaurant near David’s place and had something to eat. It was then back to Mad City for The Event. After showering and resting for a while, it was time to get to the church, about a three block walk from the hotel.

As we arrived at the church we saw David’s two other children, Lynnea and Evan (whom Pam and I never had met) along with their mother Angelica. We were able to visit with them for about 45 minutes before the ceremony started. David, knowing of my love for classical music and especially Johannes Sebastian Bach, had told me they had selected a piece of music with me in mind, but would not tell me what it was. I was so pleased to hear one of my favorites, “Jesu, Joy of Man’s Desiring”, as the processional. Johanna’s parents led the parade down the aisle, followed by Pam and me, with David, Evan, and Lynnea behind us and then the rest of the wedding party. The kids sat with Pam and me throughout the ceremony. Evan, becoming a bit bored with the proceedings, became a bit restless. The poor kid was so disappointed to discover that hymnals don’t have pictures in them.

The ceremony, itself, was grand. It was a non-denominational service performed by a co-worker of David’s half-sister, Christy Jackson. To say that Johanna was a beautiful bride is an understatement. She was simply a knockout and both she and David were beaming all throughout the ceremony. There were probably 100-150 people in attendance. After pictures following the ceremony, we adjourned to The Madison Club, the club in Madison, for the reception and dinner. All had a great time and the meal was delicious—filet mignon with veggies and a great salad. All danced and drank the night away and, in the end, celebrated New Years twice—once for us Easterners with the Times Square ball drop and an hour later for the Midwesterners.

Besides meeting David’s new in-laws, Pam and I were able to meet his two half-sisters: Christy and Misty Jackson. Christy is a realtor in Madison and she and David have developed a great sibling relationship. We are so happy he has been able to meet and become friends with his siblings. Misty is in the Army and, consequently, he has not been able to see her all that often. Both women along with their mother, Christine Doud, are great people and we were so happy that all three were able to attend.

It was very foggy the whole time we were in Madison. However, when we woke up on Saturday the fog was gone and it looked to be clear as a bell. At the same time, the temperature had dropped markedly and, as we were driving through our former town, Sun Prairie, we spotted a bank time/temperature sign which told us it was 11 degrees. It felt so great to hear the temperature in Tampa was 74 degrees when we landed. Now, it’s a matter of recouping and get back to somewhat of a normal life, once again.