A good Saturday morning to everyone.

One reason or other, can’t remember which came first, the one or the other. But this week, for Marcia and I it’s been a ‘Foodie’ extravaganza.

“Seize the moment. Remember all those women on the ‘Titanic’ who waved off the desert cart.” ~ Erma Bombeck

But, more on that shortly.

First:

Middle finger last digit – on my right hand, there lives my ‘droopy’ finger end. ‘Droopy’ ever since I guillotined it with a large double-hung window. I had a session with one of the ‘Nati’s premier hand surgeons.

Right on time I showed up for the office visit; some preliminary stuff and then ‘quiet’ time in a private cubicle. Mid-way through a months-old Sports Illustrated article on how this could be the season that the Bengals would make the Super Bowl there were voices and a slight knock on the door.

I had barely lifted my eyes from the page when the door burst open and the great man entered. On his heels were two interns. The surgeon took a chair across from me and rolled up a little tray on which I placed my hand. The two interns stood in a sort-of semi-circle.

My hand was splayed, turned palm up, turned palm down, sideways, and looked at as a fist. I had to squeeze his hand, and so it went.

The interns were questioned as various corrective procedures were discussed. I had no idea what each was. However, I did detect that one by one each ‘solution’ was being discarded. Finally the one remaining term – which I did understand – was “fusion”.

Already, before I was brought into the discussion, my mind was racing. Did I really need the middle finger of my right hand be permanently fixed in a straight out position? How would that work if I, say, was stopped for some minor traffic infraction? Or, if I stood at a hotel registration desk and tried to negotiate a room upgrade? See where this is going?

I saw trouble ahead, double trouble. And so, the answer to the fusion question was a resounding; “NO”.

In the future, if you want to pick me out of a crowd, just look for a droopy finger.

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Living the urban life – Last weekend Marcia and I made certain we had our Super-Deal (geezer) bus passes and took the metro bus downtown – boarding it 30-feet from our front door.

The bus rolled up right on the minute. The ‘chip’ in the card was read by the little reader and 85-cents requested on the machine’s screen. Twenty minutes later we were dropped off at the north end of the city center – at the start of the entertainment and restaurant areas. 0123162031a

Reservations had been made at Washington Platform a long standing local restaurant and pub, serving amazing Cajun style foods and offering a wide array of live jazz music.

After dinner we walked around our downtown fountain square with its ice rink and stopped at Panera’s for an evening coffee and scone; then a quick bus-ride home. How good does it get?

 

But there is more – Last evening we met Cathy and Jason and the kids for dinner at a DSCF2528 packed and lively hole-in-the-wall pub called Nation – in part to celebrate Cathy’s birthday earlier in the week. The place has a slogan: “All Nations welcome but Carrie.” And here is how that slogan came to be:

”At the turn of the 20th century, 6′ tall Kentucky-born Carrie Nation ravaged bars across America. Wielding a hatchet, she claimed a divine ordinance to promote temperance by smashing any tavern and saloon that crossed her path. The slogan All Nations welcome but Carrie became a bar-room staple.
Between 1900 and 1910, Carrie was arrested 30 times for her ‘hatchetations’ until she arrived in Cincinnati. Receiving word of her impending visit, Over-The-Rhine bar owners braced for the worst. Yet upon her arrival Carrie took one step onto Vine street, turned around and left.

When asked why she did not follow her usual path of destruction, Carrie’s response was; “I would have dropped from exhaustion before I went one block for all the bars in this city.””

I can’t remember ever having a better burger and accompanying Sweet Potato Tots.

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Even more – Our meal at Nation finished we walked two blocks to the Pendleton Arts Center (where Jason has his studio). I never knew what a big deal the “last weekend of the month” arts tour is. Valet parking, wine, beer, music and art; much, much art.

Jason’s studio is in the annex. The main studio area is what had been a massive 8-story warehouse. Every nook and cranny packed with strolling people and every so often you’d find yourself chatting away with a stranger.

Marcia and I did not think things through too well. Logic would have had us ride the large freight elevator to the 8th floor and then walk down floor by florr. We did it in reverse.

Not only that, but we set out to walk straight up the eight floors and then stroll our way down.

Floor six and I detected a certain ‘paleness’ creep in Marcia’s face. That is where she sat for a while. She recovered nicely.

Three hours later we were beat.

It’s a good thing that she was with me or I would have left the place with several pieces tucked under my arm.

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Fini – Just prior to heading out last evening my Costco robo-call advised me that my new eyeglasses were ready for pick-up. Guess where I’m going.

Then it’s time for Marcia and I to spring into action to prepare the place for the mid-week arrival of brother George, niece Heather and daughters Adriana and little Eli. Sis-in-law Sandy will arrive on Friday.

Make it a great week everyone, stay safe.

Cheers.

Dirk

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