Month: February 2021

Charlie and I are on a diet.

We’re both about 20 pounds over our fighting weight, thanks to the pandemic and having to hang around the house doing nothing for a year. Our family doctor said, “Everyone has gained weight during the pandemic!”, so we’re normal, at least in that respect. I have probably been eating 3,500 calories a day for the past six months!

Charlie asked me if I would be her “diet buddy”.

The diet plan we’re on is called “NutriSystem”. It costs about $300 every two weeks for the two of us. That’s less than I normally spend, so no problem there. The food comes in breakfast, lunch, dinner and snacks which range from 150 to 270 calories apiece.

Most of the food tastes good, and there is a large menu to choose from.

We eat something six times a day, so we’re never hungry. The portions are small, but get the job done, I guess. Yesterday, I had the following: Waffle for breakfast, 160 calories; Snack for brunch, 160 calories; Hamburger for lunch, 240 calories; Snack in afternoon, 150 calories; Pizza bowl for dinner, 270 calories; and Snack after dinner, 150 calories. No celery, no carrot sticks, and no green tea.

That is 1,130 calories for the whole day, and I was never hungry. Amazing!

I figure that the normal calorie requirement for someone my size (normally, 5’10”, 180) living an “active” lifestyle would be about 2,500 calories per day. My lifestyle includes doing chores in the house, working in the yard, and walking each dog 1 mile per day.

Charlie always loses weight slower than I, so I will have to keep cheering her up. Our metabolisms are different, and I am more active. Charlie spends most days, particularly at this time of the year, in her home office doing taxes and helping clients out with banking issues, Covid “lifeline” loans, etc.

She wants to lose some weight so she will look good when it’s time for her Las Vegas fling (after tax season) with friend Karin.

I started the diet at 197 pounds. It’s the most I’ve ever weighed.

 I’m estimating that I will lose about 2 pounds per week, and that it will take me perhaps ten weeks to get me down the 180- pound range.

We are a couple of weeks into the diet already and I’ve lost about 8 pounds. Nothing to get excited about because a bunch of that was probably water: it’s always easy to lose the first five pounds.

We dieted about four years ago while on an extended RV trip of three months. I think our “plan” then was having a Zone bar at lunch, Weight Watchers TV dinners, no food after 6: 30 p.m., and no desserts. I got down to 170 pounds (from 184), which was too much: I looked and felt like a skeleton.

If I can get to 177 pounds, that would be excellent.

Got to run: it’s time time for my snack! See ya.

It is beginning to look a lot like…Spring-mas. Hip, hip, hooray!

Finally, the weather is beginning to warm up to the low-70’s. It has been pretty cold around here for the past month or so…28 to 32 degrees in the morning…and we’re tired of it. It’s time for things to grow and sprout flowers, and we’re beyond ready to enjoy outdoor living and some patio parties with our friends.

Charlie and I, and most of our neighbor friends, have our first Covid-19 vaccines, with the prospect of getting the booster shot in the next week or so. Hallelujah! So, even though we are still wearing facemasks and observing social distancing, etc., when out about town, we feel pretty safe here in our Sun City Mesquite retirement community. Most folks here have been in a “bubble” state for about a year now, and don’t take chances with the coronavirus.

It is simply amazing that only one year ago there were just a few known cases of the coronavirus in the United States and we were told that there was nothing to worry about, “it’s just the flu” and “will go away by Spring”. This past week, America achieved a horrific milestone: 500,000 people dead from Covid-19.

That horrific total doesn’t even come close to describing the impact of the scourge on our Nation.

Every person, every business, and virtually every aspect of society has been dealt a demoralizing blow. The impact upon marriages, families, schools, hospitals and staff, livelihoods related to the hospitality industry, and government has been enormous…and we’re not out of the woods yet, by a longshot. It is likely that we will be into 2022 before this catastrophe ebbs. The effect upon the U.S. economy could last many years beyond that.

However, if Americans are responsible (observing public health measures and getting vaccinated as soon as possible), some normalcy can finally begin to emerge in 2021. Wouldn’t that be great?

Charlie and her best friend from So Calif, Karin, plan to do a several day Las Vegas whirlwind tour after tax season, beginning on April 16^th. She deserves the down time, for sure. The girls will shop, enjoy a show, eat and drink, and get dressed up. Just what Charlie needs.

Charlie and I are planning some RV trips this Spring and Summer. We are planning to visit our adopted 5^th son, Jason, in Colorado in May. We may bring our good friend Lloyd along with us, so that the three guys can do some hiking in the Rockies. We plan on camping on Jason’s property, where he has electrical hook-up for us, and Charlie can sun herself in the great outdoors with the dogs while we hike.

We may do another RV trip in late May/early June, possibly to So Calif to visit old friends and our children. I haven’t planned that one yet.

On June June 27^th we will leave Mesquite for a 2-month jaunt up to the Oregon Coast. We will be in Coos Bay for a month and in Brookings for two-weeks. We love it up there, and we’ll be avoiding the brutal heat here in Mesquite in July/August (100 to 115 every day). We will return home in early September, just in time for great golfing and hiking weather.

We are doing some minor remodeling this Spring. First, we will be putting some cabinets in our laundry room. Then, we want to completely re-fashion our master bedroom walk-in wardrobe. Hopefully, we can afford the latter.

The rest of our property, inside and out, is looking good, although homeowners are always fidgeting with something. Our landscaping is beginning to fill-in; eventually, the property will look like a desert arboretum.

Charlie and I created a Memorial Garden in the back corner of our lot for our deceased, wonderful Boston Terriers, Booger and JayJay.

We actually purchased the large lot so that our dogs would have lots of room to sniff and patrol, because our previous home only had a very small space for them to lord over. Booger and JayJay loved our Mesquite backyard.

Today, we are going out to the patio to enjoy the warm sun and hoist some adult beverages to our departed friends.

We miss them every day.

I spent most of the past three days with some old friends yukking it up, eating and drinking, and pretending to golf.

Clark Pace, my neighbor in So Calif for twenty years, semi-organized this adventure. Clark, bless his heart, tries to plan events but just can’t seem to close the loop: there’s always some unanticipated hiccup that knocks things off kilter.

Like the time we were stepping up to the Southwest Airlines terminal in San Diego, about to fly off to  Mazatlan, Mexico for a week’s vacation, when Clark turned to his wife Karin and said, “You have the passports, right?” Nope. Charlie and I flew, they didn’t (until the next day).

Or the time our four-man golf group was returning from BajaMar Resort near Ensenada, Mexico and a Federale motorcycle cop pulled us out of line just before the U.S. border in Tijuana to shake us down. He closely inspected everything on my car, looking for something/anything to cite us for. Nada, we were clean: it was a brand new Mercury Mountaineer. The Frito Bandido then walks up to the front passenger window, looks Clark over real good, and says, “Senor, you aren’t wearing a seat belt. That is a serious crime in our country. I will have to impound this car and take you four gringos to jail.” Or, of course, you could hand the stinking bastard $100, which is what Clark had to do. Serves him right for being a scofflaw.

Or the time that a bunch of couples rented a limo to take us to the Mission Inn for a fancy Christmas feast in their gourmet dining room. It was a 45-minute drive. During that time, Clark imbibed half a bottle of Scotch. Then we trooped into the dining room, were sat down at the premier front table, and we ordered our $60 per person ribeye, filet, and prime rib dinners. Clark turned green and headed for the restroom to vomit. He was gone for 25 minutes, and during that time his dinner was brought to the table. We all began to eat; it was delicious. Clark eventually showed up, sick as a dog, and then complained to the staff that his prime rib was cold. They offered to bring him a warm dinner but he refused: he demanded his money back. What a jerk; he was too sick to eat anyway!

Or the time at his Palm Springs golf tournament (with about 60 golfers and lots of prize money) that he personally vouched for some guy that he didn’t know, giving the stranger a “temporary” 15 shot handicap. That supposedly mediocre golfer shot a scratch 69 the first day and a 70 on the second day, winning the tournament by about 25 strokes and gobbling up most of the hundreds of dollars in prize money. That was the last time that I, and my of my friends, played in the Pace Memorial Tournament.

Anyway, my friend Clark is a piece of work. I love the guy, but…sheesh!

So, we (Clark, “Fred”, Clark’s brother “J.P.”, and me) were scheduled by Pace Productions to go to the local Casablanca Casino (here in Mesquite, Nevada) on Sunday afternoon for a big “Super Bowl Extravaganza”. Oh, boy, we could hardly wait! We arrived to find a fairly small, dimly lit room featuring maybe ten small tables facing the “big screen”…all of the tables “reserved” and full to capacity. There was no standing room, either, because of Covid-19 restrictions. And the game was being shown on a 20’ wide projection screen that must have been twenty-five years old. The image was so dark that one could hardly make out the teams, the players, and their jersey numbers. What a disaster! We were screwed: Clark hadn’t done his homework, as usual.

Except that we were in my town, and there in my living room, three miles away, is a magnificent 75″ high def TV, comfortable seating for four, a refrig with beer, and lots of appetizers that we could air fry for the game. And the best news was that my wife Charlie and the dogs were at a neighbors’ home for the Super Bowl shwo.

So, the four of us quickly opted for Plan B and hightailed it over to Buggy Whip Court. We only missed a couple of minutes of the game, which turned out to be a real good one, as the Tampa Bay Bucs asswhipped the Kansas City Chiefs 31-9. (Of course, Tampa Bay has a pretty good quarterback who only touched the grass once in the game when he fell on a bad hike from center. I was rooting for Tom Brady because he still has a few fingers on his mitts that don’t sport Super Bowl Champion rings.)

Clark, J.P., and Fred stayed the night at the Casablanca Casino/Hotel, and the next morning the four of us motored 45 miles north to St. George, Utah where we were going to play golf and stay the night.

We actually checked into our room early (at the Red Roof Inn), before golfing. When we did, Clark surprised all of us and the hotel clerk by announcing that we were only staying one night, instead of the two that he had booked. WTF! (Clark had decided, without telling anyone, that he intended to drive home to So Calif after golf the next day, so there would be no need for an extra night’s stay. That surprised all of us, particularly his brother J.P., who would have to haul his ass about 300 miles north to Salt Lake on Tuesday after golfing into the afternoon.)

Same old shit, different day.

We had a real nice time in St. George at the Sky Mountain Golf Course. I played like dog doo (might have lost eight golf balls) but had a great time with my buddies. My cart mate was Fred Weisinger, who retired long ago from the L.A. County Sheriff’s Dept. Fred spent a lot of the day bitching that he thought he’d left his loaded pistol (!) in his Casablanca hotel room. WTF! (Of course, Fred is 83, and we suspected that his gun was probably at his home in So Calif.)

Nobody played all that good at Sky Mountain, but it was a beautiful course and we all had a couple of shots that we were proud of.

That evening J.P. (who used to live in St. George) took Clark and I (Fred stayed in the hotel to catch some sleep) to the Texas Roadhouse, his favorite joint, for dinner. It must be in the Pace family genes not to plan ahead for anything, because we arrived there with no reservations…and had to stand in a crowded waiting room for 45 minutes before we got a table. We then ordered our food (I chose the St. George Ribeye). And we waited, and waited, and waited. Finally, after about 30 minutes, our food arrived.

Oh, boy, my 16-oz ribeye was perhaps the best I’ve ever had: I inhaled that tasty specimen. Yummy!

Clark got his BBQ ribs…and immediately complained that they were overdone. J.P. got his filet mignon…and immediately complained that it was “rubbery”. WTF, those Paces are picky sonsofbitches! It took them ten minutes to flag down our waiter, and then another ten minutes or so to get replacement food. Jesus, I was done with my steak and baked potato before they dug into their “properly cooked” meat. All in all, we spent a couple of hours at that joint, mostly waiting on things.

Clark made amends by picking up the check. What a guy!

Today (Tuesday) we drove the 45-minutes south on I-15 back to Mesquite to play the Casablanca Golf Course. I had never played it before, so I was looking forward to it.

Before arriving at the course, we detoured over to the Casino/Hotel where Fred insisted he’d left his loaded gun in his room on Sunday night. He talked to the counter staff, to management, to Security, etc., telling them that his pistol had to be in his room (which had probably been cleaned and occupied by other guests!). Anyway, that gun wasn’t in Lost and Found, for sure, and hotel staff sent Fred packing.

We got to Casablanca Golf Course at 10:30 and checked in at the Pro Shop. Once again, the Pace family had screwed up the reservation…we were charged $110 apiece, not the $80 that those Pace jokers had promised Fred and I. Man, that is some high priced golf for these parts…normally I pay $65 at my Sun City Mesquite course (“Conestoga”), which is a very sweet layout.

Anyway, we reluctantly paid and headed off to the first tee. Fred reached into his golf bag for some balls and tees and…found his friggin’ loaded pistol. Jeezus, he could have shot himself…or me! What a doofus! (And why is he carrying a pistol anyway? There’s no crime around here. Maybe he intends to cap anyone’s ass who makes fun of his topped tee shots out on the course?)

It turned out that Casablanca Golf Course is a very nice golf course, much nicer than I had suspected. Good to know, because it is only about five miles from my house. (Then, again, I’m not paying $110 to golf unless it is at St. Andrews or Augusta National.)

Again, I played like a rank amateur but only lost a couple of balls. The greens were tricky. I hit my second shot on a par five over the green by ten yards and ended up with a six. That was typical: no touch, lousy form, couldn’t do anything right all day.

But we had fun.

And no one got shot.

With heavy hearts, Charlie and I said our goodbyes yesterday to the finest dog we have ever known and let Booger, our 13-year-old Boston Terrier, take her final walk, alone, over the Rainbow Bridge.

Poor Booger seemed to run out of gas this past month, laboring to walk, huffing and puffing after minimal exercise, and sleeping most of the day. She stopped eating. And then, she showed no interest in “going for a walk”, which was always her top priority. Today, Booger didn’t want to harass the vacuum cleaner, which is her all-time favorite indoor game.

Alas, she was done; it was time. A dog owner knows the signs. As do her “sister” Boston Terriers, Baby and BonBon, who have been walking around like zombies for a couple of days.

My wife Charlie was not a “dog person” early in our marriage. She had endured a dog (her husband’s) in her earlier, failed marriage, and our four sons had a mixed breed dog (“Chewy”) when they were teens, but my wife never warmed up to that animal. Then, we went a long time, almost twenty years, before Booger came into our lives.

Charlie surprised me on my 60^th birthday with a tiny Boston Terrier puppy. I was bowled over by the living gift, just what I needed at the time (early retirement). I had been spending quite a bit of time babysitting our grandchild Craig for about 5 years, and now he was off to kindergarten. There was a hole in my life…and Charlie filled it.

“Booger”…Where did that name come from? Not from Charlie, that’s for sure. Actually, she would have preferred a more traditional, feminine name like Bella, or something. However, something in my gut told me that this little perky puppy was going to be a Hell on wheels mischief maker, so she needed a one-of-a-kind name. “Booger” popped into my mind, and that was it.

We both fell hard for our new family member. Booger was smart, full of life, and affectionate. She loved to go on walks, ride in the car, play with toys, socialize, and follow me everywhere. She aced Obedience School, Parts 1 and 2, embarrassing the other dogs with her learning speed.

We knew we had a winner.

Booger was quite the athlete for most of her years. She was fast and agile, and absolutely loved chasing and retrieving objects in the house, at the park, or on the beach. She became notorious, at the Bear Creek park, for dominating the place which was typically populated by many larger dogs chasing things thrown by their masters. When little Booger came into the park, I would hear, “Uh, oh, here comes Booger!”, because she would set about dominating the chase and retrieve games. She would even take the ball out of larger dogs’ mouths, like Thor, the 150-pound Mastiff.

Booger was a ball-retrieving machine. I could throw a ball one hundred yards, she would race off at break-neck speed, grab it, and return it, and every single time drop it at my feet. She would do this even in a crowded park or at Dog Beach in Del Mar, California…with fifty other dogs in her path. Other dog owners would say, “How did you train her to do that?” I would answer, “She trained herself.”(Later in her life, Booger trained our third Boston Terrier “Baby” to do the very same thing.)

When Booger was a 2-year-old, Charlie and I decided to adopt a 3-year-old Boston Terrier named JayJay. Those two bonded immediately and became inseparable best buddies. They loved riding in the car, protecting us from dangerous noises (like the trash truck or FedEx deliveryman at the door), playing noisy tug of war, getting sprayed by the garden hose, lounging in their infant swimming pool, cuddling with us on the couch, and sleeping with us at night. They were opposites that attracted. Booger loved JayJay.

One of our favorite memories was the very first time that Booger and JayJay went to the ocean. It was in Ventura, where we were staying for a couple of days. We took the dogs across the sand toward the surf and it was like, “Oh my God, we’re at Disneyland!”…they were so excited. We let them off leash and they ran around like crazy fools, digging in the sand, chasing each other in circles, and then running headlong into the surf. Oh, they liked that!

Booger’s favorite place in the world was the beach at Oceanside RV Resort in Charleston, Oregon. There she could run up and down the strand, chase thrown objects, run into the ocean, play “keep away” with her adopted brother JayJay, and investigate the distinctive smells of seaweed, shells, driftwood, dead fish, and whatnot. There is a rocky spit that juts out into the Pacific Ocean at that location, and Booger loved to examine all of the tide pools with crabs and sea anenomies.

I was always proud to take Booger on walks around the neighborhood. She was a beautiful specimen of a dog and always enjoyed meeting other dogs and their owners. Booger had a very wonderful disposition which got better as she aged; she always gave strange dogs the benefit of the doubt by being open to a friendly sniff.

However, she refused to be punked by any dog. A chihuahua named Rambo picked on her a couple of times, sneaking up behind Booger and nipping her hind legs while she was walking on leash with Charlie. The next time it happened, Booger body-slammed the asshole Rambo and he acted like he was mortally wounded. “I’m not taking any shit from you!” was Booger’s attitude.

Booger was a sun worshipper: she loved to sunbathe on real grass or on the artificial stuff. For about ten years, she had to satisfy her urge on a tiny area of fake grass in our small backyard at Bear Creek. But she was in Hound Dog Heaven when we moved to Mesquite, Nevada and landscaped a 5,000 s.f. backyard with all manner of interesting plants, trees, cacti, walking paths, and a 250 square foot artificial grass lounging area for her sunbathing pleasure. Booger loved to access the backyard via her doggie door and wander the property at her leisure. And occasionally take a dip in the pool with friends.

We got into the RV life later in our marriage, and Booger loved to travel with us. At every stop she found new smells, friends, and experiences.

Booger performed an errand of mercy in her later years, helping our friends, the Quinn’s, get over the loss of their two Boston Terriers. We allowed Booger to do “sleepovers” in the Quinn’s RV when we would meet them during our annual RV road trip and I think that Booger’s compassionate and fun-loving disposition perhaps encouraged the Quinn’s to give dog ownership another go. They now have a young Boston Terrier named Katie and seem to be very much in love with her.

Time rolls on and, sadly, our furry friends don’t live forever. When our male dog JayJay was in his final years, we brought a third Boston Terrier into the house. Her name is Baby, and we named her that because Booger had never had a puppy of her own. Booger was about 9 years old at that time, and she set about teaching little Baby how to be a dog.

The experience was a success, and Baby is now “paying it forward” with our newest addition, “BonBon”.

It all started with Booger, the best little dog in the world.

We will miss her immensely.