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I leave in 4 days for my 9th trip north (TN9), to Massachusetts to see family and friends. It will be different that most previous trips north in that (1) it will be an auto trip rather than an RV trip and (2) it will be less rigidly planned. The use of the auto is due to it being a relatively short stay in MA (4 weeks), the high cost of diesel fuel and doubts about the condition of my rig (the truck needs major brake work, I am told). The minimal planning is due to me making the trip alone. I won’t even have a dog with me. As a solo traveler I have more freedom to go where I want, when I want.
But I do have some specific plans. I will visit Jett’s family in VA. And I will see some old friends in both Charleston SC and in the New York City area. The planned (sort of) route is as shown here.
The trip will be about 1,600 miles in (probably) 4 hops over a total of 10 days/9 nights. Long days of driving but with breaks in Charleston SC (2 nights), Montclair VA (3 nights) and Greenwich CT (2 nights). I will be making lunch stops in Sanford FL and Rhinebeck NY to see old friends.
I will stay in MA for 4 weeks. My son Tony will join me for 4 days in the third week and Marlene will join me for the final week. She and I will then drive back to FL together, arriving just 4 or 5 days before we embark on our 30-night trans-pacific cruise. I am packing for TN9 in anticipation of the cruise. I will pack a single suitcase weighing no more than 50 pounds (which is the limit for checked baggage on airlines) and pre-packaging all of my medications (because I won’t be able to get any meds on the cruise).
Like any of my other trips, I will provide frequent updates.
Oh… almost forgot. There is one other thing that will be different on this trip: I won’t be shaving. Marlene wants me to grow a beard, so I have promised to not shave until we return from the cruise. I am not wild about this. The last time I grew a beard – back when I was about 30, so 45 years ago – I found it annoying. Worse, it is blond and when I shaved it no one would believe I had ever had a beard. I had to show them my driver’s license to prove that I had had one. Embarrassing. I guess I will have to provide occasional selfies to keep you updated on the progress of my facial growth.
After Jett’s death almost 3 years ago I kept her phone on my T-Mobile account. It was used to communicate with my printer (silly), as a backup hotspot (occasionally useful) and (mainly) because I was on a 55+ discount plan that required 2 lines. But Marlene needed to change her plan and it made sense to swap out Jett’s phone (which I discovered was bulging and was probably on its last legs anyway) and add hers. Simple, right? Well, not so much.
First I went to the T-Mobile store to find out what I would need to do to swap the lines. Marlene was on Metro, which is now a T-Mobile subsidiary, and her phone was already unlocked, so they said all that was needed was to call Metro and get a “Transfer PIN”. Sounded simple. Even simpler when we discovered that the PIN could be obtained online via the Metro website. So, armed with the PIN we went to the T-Mobile store. About 10 minutes there and we walked out with a phone that had been switched over to T-Mobile.
Or so we thought.
The process wasn’t quite complete as the store was unable to drop Jett’s line; I would have to call T-Mobile to make that happen. No problem. I would do that when I got home.
About 10 minutes after leaving the store I received a call, on my line, from T-Mobile “customer service” (the phrase seems wildly inappropriate now). He said he needed to complete the transfer. Huh? I was just told, in the store, that the transfer was complete and the salesperson there had even placed a call from Marlene’s phone to prove it. Her internet access was also working fine. What that salesperson DIDN’T test was the ability of her phone to receive calls and text. They were not working.
So what needed to be done? He said he needed her Metro account number to complete the process. Well, this was contrary to what I had been told initially – that the Transfer PIN was all that was required. I tried to reason, saying that the PIN was from her account and surely they could get the account from that. And why was the account number needed? He said that the account number we had provided was incorrect.
Huh? we had never provided an account number. I finally extracted the fact that the bad account number was “in their system.” Apparently this is the T-Mobile system, not the Metro system which obviously had the right account number as they had been billing Marlene for 10 years.
Annoying. Apparently, it was my responsibility to fix their problem.
Well, we were out doing errands and did not have the account number with us. I tried to access her account online but it tried to send a text message to her phone to verify her identity and, of course, the text message was not received. Catch-22 – need the account number to receive text messages, need the text message to get the account number. He got a Metro person on the line but she, too, had to send a text message to verify her identity. Same problem. OK, just answer some “simple” questions, such as “in which month did you activate your phone?” You must be kiddiing – that was 10 years ago! We took a wild guess and said “July”. Wrong. So the “service” person said she needed to go to a Metro store, show her ID, and they would give her the account number. There was a Metro store just a half mile away so we went there. And learned that they couldn’t access her account “because the system T-Mobile provided us is locked”. That was said with a bit of animosity. Apparently this T-Mobile/Metro merger is not without its problems.
A business that is unable to access its customer accounts? Unbelievable.
Back to the T-Mobile store. We got a supervisor who listened to our horror story and managed to fix it all in about 5 minutes. Without the account number.
Don’t ask me why this couldn’t have been done on the first visit. I guess they wanted us to experience the joy of T-Mobile/Metro customer service.
That gave us a working phone for Marlene. All that remained was dropping Jett’s line, which I was told required another call to T-Mobile. I placed that call about 15 minutes after leaving the store. The line was dropped. But I was informed that my bill for this month would be higher because I had “added a line.” Whoa, I said. I didn’t ADD a line, I SWAPPED a line. But they were adamant that I had to pay more because I had added the line first, with the implication that I had done something wrong. I protested that I had been given no other option and insisted on speaking to a supervisor. After a 5-minute wait on hold she returned and said “I see what you SHOULD have done” (again implying that it was my fault). But I didn’t care whose fault it was so long as the billing problem was fixed. It was. So, to confirm that everything was correct I asked what my bill would be. She said $80. That was a surprise as my monthly bill had been $95 and I had added a $5 option so I was expecting $100. I mentioned this and she looked at my account and said, no, it will be $80.
I wasn’t going to argue about a surprise $20 per month saving. But I have this gnawing feeling that somehow something in my account has been messed up.
After this horrible experience why would I think otherwise?
When I drive the golf cart for my weekly volunteer gig at the regional cancer center, I like to use the knob that attaches to the steering wheel. It makes turning easier. But recently, when starting my shift, I was asked if I wanted the “suicide knob.” Huh? I had no clue why this helpful knob was called a “suicide” knob. The explanation that I received is that a long-distance big rig driver, when trying to make a sharp turn to avoid a collision, turned the wheel only to have the knob snag in his shirt. A collision ensued. The driver survived but blamed the knob for the accident. He called it a “suicide knob” and the name stuck.
I am not deterred. I use the suicide knob when driving my golf cart. Might be bravado. Or maybe I am simply resigned to my fate. If death by golf cart is my destiny I doubt that my use of the suicide knob will be a contributing factor.
The fiber optic upgrade in the resort – a project which has caused nothing but construction annoyances to date – is now beginning to pay off. As one of the few summer residents, I am one of the first to actually experience the new service. I have to say that it was worth the annoyances. Internet speed is vastly better (the vendor claims 10x faster but I think it is more like 3x) and I now get 69 cable channels rather than the 40 that were provided previously. And because the old signal was so poor I only got about half of those reliably. I am having some difficulty with 10 of the new channels, so the net upgrade to date is 10 to 59. Not bad. I am pretty sure I will get all 69 eventually.
Including ESPN! I will now get to watch some sports! Golf Channel too!
Hydraulic jack lifting the corner of the shed
The installation was pretty smooth, but did have a few bumps. The new router was put in the shed, like the old one, but low on the wall rather than high (because the fiber optic line was too short to reach the high shelf). And the shed door started to fall off its hinges while the technician was coming and going. I don’t think he was the cause, just the final straw. I suspect the door had some hidden damage from Hurricane Ian 10 months ago. In any case, I put new screws in two of the hinges to fix the “falling off the hinges” problem. But the door didn’t close smoothly or latch at all. Again, not the technician’s fault. The shed had been settling on the corner where I neglected to put a solid footing and that skewed the door enough to create the problem which probably was masked for months by loose hinges. In any case, I have been meaning to raise that corner and finally did so today. About half an inch. The door closes smoothly now and latches.
The fiber optic cable running through the skirt.
There was one minor installation-related problem. I asked the technician to run the fiber optic line under the shed skirt if possible. That was either not possible or (more likely) fell into the “custom installation” category. In any case, the request was ignored. So I had to cut a hole in the skirt. The blemish is barely noticeable but will be one of those things that will annoy me forever.
Bottom line: I got upgraded WiFi and cable TV with minimal disruption. And I got my shed leveled again after months of procrastination.
I hadn’t thought of this as one of a series, but it is. It is #3 of 5, according to Amazon.com. The series features world-renowned symbologist Robert Langdon. The second in the series was the wildly popular The Da Vinci Code, published in 2003. So 6 years between installments. Brown is not Agatha Christie. But he is a damn fine writer. This book is 640 pages long and it never got boring. Brown knows how to keep the reader on the edge of his seat.
The “lost symbol” is a fabled word or possibly cache of books that contains the ancient Masonic secrets that purportedly would give the person possessing them unfathomable power and wisdom. They are buried, so the story goes, somewhere in Washington DC. Does this treasure exist at all? Landon is skeptical. But many years ago a 33-degree Mason friend entrusted him with a small, sealed package and told him to keep it safe. He did so. But when his friend – the director of the Smithsonian Institution – called him to request that he give a lecture in the rotunda of the US Capitol and requested that he bring the package with him, he did so willingly. But there was no lecture. Instead, he found his friend’s severed right hand, mounted on a spike and pointing to the ceiling. He then got a phone call from a man who said he was holding Langdon’s friend hostage and would kill him unless he was given the small package.
What is a guy to do? Save his friend or be true to his promise and keep the package safe? Before he could decide the CIA gets involved and threatens to arrest him. Soon Langdon is running for his life, his freedom and to find a way to save his friend.
It is a non-stop chase through the streets and buildings of DC. The entire story – all 640 pages – occurs in the span of about 12 hours. A lot happens in a short period of time. Never a dull moment.
The secret is revealed, though it turns out to be somewhat different than what the madman was seeking. The package that Langdon had was the key to unlocking the secret.
If you have been following this blog, you know that I have been spending a LOT of time this year attending concerts. This is entirely due to my relationship with Marlene who continues to amaze me. She is not a musician but she knows music and appreciates good dancing music. One of her favorite groups is Pure Country, a 6-piece band that plays (as you might have guessed) pure country music. And they do it in a solid, high energy, no-break 3-hour show. The leader of the band and the lead vocalist is Ed Feehan. But the other members – two lead guitars, a bass guitar, a drummer and a fiddler – are all very skilled. The fiddler – Renee – impresses me the most. She is incredible. But the entire band is amazing. You have to experience them to understand.
Pure Country at Twisted Fork
Marlene has been following the band since its inception about 3 years ago. In the time since I met her we have attended at least a half dozen Pure Country concerts. She considers Ed and his wife Kim to be friends (she has Kim’s cell phone number) and I guess they feel the same about her as we were invited to sit with Kim, near the stage, a few days ago for the Pure Country concert at the Twisted Fork in Port Charlotte FL. It was nice, of course, to be “VIPs” but the best thing about the evening is that we had seats near the dance floor right in front of the stage at this very large venue. And we danced. A lot.
EdReneeKim and Marlene
As always, it was a wonderful concert and Marlene and I had a lot of fun dancing. Many thanks to Ed and Kim for making us feel, for an evening, like we were part of the Pure Country family.
The usual disclaimer: David Benjamin is a lifelong friend.
I started reading Witness to the Crucifixion with the expectation that it would be written with the same whimsy that characterizes Benjamin’s other books. I expected a fun read. But a quarter of the way into it I realized that this book was devoid of whimsy. It was a serious book. A mystery, like his Jim Otis books (e.g., Woman Trouble), but heavier. I was disappointed. I occasionally read a serious book, but it is always non-fiction. When I read a mystery I want to be entertained.
I put the book aside and started another. But the question kept nagging me: where was Benjamin headed with this most unusual book? I picked it up again. And finished it today.
Now I have to characterize and evaluate the book. This is going to be very difficult.
Yes, it is a mystery. But the “detective” is the apostle Paul. He is, 10 years after the death of Jesus on the cross, tormented by his role in his death (he was a spy who fed information to the men in power) and tortured by a growing belief that Jesus was, indeed, the Son of God. He is driven to understand fully what happened at the crucifixion as he believes that a great secret was revealed to the few who witnessed his death.
I won’t reveal that secret but will say that it is a whopper. A mystery with a Big Reveal is always satisfying. But in this case I think the characters are even more interesting than the Big Reveal. As chronicled by Benjamin, the characters were:
Peter, a brute of a disciple who was more brawn than brain.
Mary, a weak woman with severe dementia at 60
Judas Iscariot, Jesus’ most trusted disciple and the only man Jesus would trust to carry out the necessary betrayal
Mary Magdalene, an unabashedly slutty woman who bedded all of Jesus’ disciples (but not Jesus)
James, Jesus’ half-brother and effectively his Chief of Staff
James is particularly interesting. He is credited with engineering all of Jesus’ so-called miracles.
This is a work of fiction, but a well-researched one. The historical detail is astounding. The plot, which is undoubtedly blasphemous to some, is nevertheless plausible. And thought-provoking.
As I read this book I found myself thinking more about Christ and the origins of Christianity than I have at any point in my life. That is quite an accomplishment.
It isn’t a fun read, but it is fascinating and thought-provoking.
Rusty, my sweet companion for the past 11 years and my only RV companion since Jett’s passing, crossed that “rainbow bridge” on May 30. He had been slowly declining for years. He was unable to hop onto the bed and exhibited little interest in the stuffed toys that he would have ripped apart in 5 minutes in his youth. But he seemed relatively healthy. Until my return from the overnight trip to Mount Dora.
He seemed a bit lethargic when I got him into the car for the trip back from Marlene’s house (where her friend cared for him overnight). But I wasn’t alarmed until we got to the RV and, for the first time in his life, he was unable to climb the steps. I carried him into the RV then left to do some shopping. When I returned I couldn’t find him. I searched everywhere (which doesn’t take long in an RV) and found him curled up behind the recliner. He had NEVER slept there before. Dogs, when sick, find places to hide, so that was a big red flag.
I was unable to get him to eat. He even turned up his nose at his favorite treat. And he seemed to be unable to see much (and had been mostly deaf for years). I decided to let him rest overnight and see how he was doing in the morning.
Morning came and he was the same. Disoriented, trying to find corners to hide in. I called his local vet who was unable to take him. But he referred me to another animal hospital. The vet examined him, found nothing seriously wrong (but did find a contusion on his spine, probably the result of a fall, but who knows when?). He said he could administer some palliative care but no promise that it would help. He looked at me knowingly and said “he is 15.” So I made the decision – always difficult – that it was time to say goodbye.
Sleep well, gentle boy. I will miss you. I hope you are with Jett.
No, not my birthday – Marlene’s brother, Mike, turned 69. He drove over from Fort Lauderdale to spend 4 days with his sister and me. Marlene’s friend Dottie joined in on most of the activities, too.
On Thursday we dined out at Skip One 41 in South Fort Myers. Marlene called it a “hole in the wall” restaurant and I think that is pretty accurate. The decor is basic. Even the presentation of the food – served on what appears to be aluminum trays from a toaster oven – was downscale. But the food itself was terrific.
Our Friday entertainment was Deb and the Dynamics at Dolphin Key Resort in Cape Coral. This is one of our favorite dance bands and we did some dancing, for sure. But we also liked the half-price drinks before the music started. Good food, good music and cheap drinks – a great combination.
After we left the Dolphin Key, on a whim, we stopped at the World Famous Cigar Bar. I don’t smoke cigars – too many bad memories of smoke from the cheap cigars my grandfather smoked – but am tolerant of smokers. Mike had a cigar and the rest of us had a couple of very good drinks. Plus we met some great folks and generally had a wonderful time.
For Saturday dinner we dined and danced at Harpoon Harry’s in Punta Gorda. The band there was good, but we left when Pure Country started playing on the beach. We LOVE Pure Country – a great country band that plays for hours without a break. The lead singer, Ed, often roams through the crowd while singing. Again, we danced, but learned quickly that dancing on the beach is not easy. Once we learned that lesson we confined most of our dancing to the paved walkway. We were treated to a wonderful sunset.
Ed in the crowdThe sunsetMarlene, Ed and DottieMike and his birthday pancake
Saturday morning we decided to drive to Mt Dora – over 3 hours away, north of Orlando – for an overnight, the hotel courtesy of Marlene and Dottie. We stopped at the Log Cabin on our way out of town for a great breakfast. The cook prepared a special pancake for the birthday boy.
Mt Dora is a very pretty little town. We spent some time admiring the beauty of Lake Dora, but I think the highlight of the trip was the Magical Meat Boutique, which, despite the cute name, is actually a very fine and very authentic British pub. We went in to get a drink and after seeing some of the dishes being consumed by other nearby patrons decided to dine there. I had the cod fish and chips while Marlene and Dottie split the HUGE haddock fish and chips. Mike, being adventurous, chose the bangers and mashed, nicely presented in a round Yorkshire pudding bowl. We all share a huge slice of cake for dessert. Everything was delicious and the draft English and Irish ales were superb. Excellent!
Mt DoraMike and the shared dessertDinner musicLake Dora
We had a free Monday (Memorial Day) breakfast at the Comfort Inn in Tavares and stopped in Arcadia for lunch at Beef O’Brady’s. The pub fare there was perfectly fine, but suffered by comparison to the Magical Meat Boutique.
Mike went home soon after we got back to Ft Myers. Hopefully he enjoyed his long birthday weekend. I know I did.
One of the music venues that I have become more familiar with, post-banishment from the Buckingham Blues Bar, is Redbones. A variety of music is played there, but Marlene likes going when Zydegatorz is playing. This band, which contains several musicians that also play at the BBB, is a zydeco band. I had never heard of zydeco before listening to this band. It is lively and danceable. And probably the only music featuring an accordion that I can tolerate.
Anyway, I dropped in there recently to join Marlene and her friend Dottie and had a lovely evening with a few drinks, some appetizers and, of course, some dancing.
Marlene and Dottie showing their dance moves at Redbones
Suicide knob
When I drive the golf cart for my weekly volunteer gig at the regional cancer center, I like to use the knob that attaches to the steering wheel. It makes turning easier. But recently, when starting my shift, I was asked if I wanted the “suicide knob.” Huh? I had no clue why this helpful knob was called a “suicide” knob. The explanation that I received is that a long-distance big rig driver, when trying to make a sharp turn to avoid a collision, turned the wheel only to have the knob snag in his shirt. A collision ensued. The driver survived but blamed the knob for the accident. He called it a “suicide knob” and the name stuck.
I am not deterred. I use the suicide knob when driving my golf cart. Might be bravado. Or maybe I am simply resigned to my fate. If death by golf cart is my destiny I doubt that my use of the suicide knob will be a contributing factor.