Package Delivery

Package Delivery

I live next door to a lovely lady who is a music professor at our local university. During the year she takes time to lead workshops, give recitals, and appear as a guest artist in various orchestras around the world.

I am her designated house caretaker whenever she’s traveling, whether it’s to Interlochen in Michigan, or southern Italy. Besides tending her plants inside and out, I also collect her mail from the community mail boxes, which I sort into piles of advertising, bulk rate, and first class. She also tends to do a fair amount of shopping online, which means the occasional UPS dropoff on her porch. On longer trips, she has been known to mail manuscripts and scores no longer needed back to herself. read more ➤

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Artisan Lettuce (Really!)

Artisan Lettuce (Really!)

In the past decade, food producers large and small began to add seeds and nuts and dried fruit to their products, then slapped the Artisan label on it, and concomitantly raised the price in the expectation that the unwary consumer would be thrilled at the thought of purchasing something of greater value, if not a bit of snob appeal.

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Two Stories on the Death of Camping

LATE FOR THE TRAIN: This guy usually drives up the road around midnight in a car whose muffler has seen better days, with high beams on looking for an empty site. Drives around two or three times, finally settles on site across the road. Proceeds to fire up at least two Coleman kerosene lanterns, creating daylight conditions for 30 yards in each direction.

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Fathers’ Frolics

Back in the 50s when I was in Jr. High in Los Altos, the town had a Dad’s Club for men. Their main purpose was to put on a charitable musical revue each year called the Fathers’ Frolics. The cast was liberally filled with well-known local businessmen, teachers, doctors and regular dads. I really enjoyed going to these and watching these normally-staid and serious men display their musical and comedic talents. The whole thing was run by a theatre guy named Leroy Stransky.

We had a band teacher at Covington Jr High named Harry Miracle. He was the orchestra leader in the revues. The program notes indicated that the orchestra was “under the Miracle Whip of Harry.” I could easily have written that. read more ➤

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