On Sunday, I hit the mighty Ohio River for the 14th annual Paddlefest. It’s a 3-day outdoor celebration, culminating in an 8-mile jaunt down the river in kayaks, canoes, standup paddleboards and other hand-powered watercraft. The river is closed to barge and motorboat traffic for a few hours, making for a very peaceful journey, and a chance to see Cincinnati and Northern Kentucky from a unique perspective as you make your way down the river.
Photo courtesy of WCPO-TV
This was my 5th consecutive Paddlefest, and my 4th in a row with my friend and co-worker Matt. More than 1,400 folks made the trek, and nary a special friend of Ned Beatty in sight. The weather was perfect, the water was calm, and the scene was serene.
My friend Phil organizes a late-night bicycle ride every month on the night of the full moon, and every time I’m able to attend I thoroughly enjoy it, even though I stay out waaay past my bedtime and miss out on my much-needed beauty sleep.
Phil calls it the “Fool Moon” ride because the folks that go are a hearty (and hardy) band of court jesters from all walks of life: teachers, lawyers, engineers, writers, builders, publishers, social workers…even an air care nurse. We meet at 8PM, leisurely ride for 10 miles on a bike path and pull off to a spot near the Little Miami River where a large tree has fallen. The tree serves as a makeshift buffet table for the nibbles that everyone brings. Last night kimchi soup and venison were on the menu. We build a fire (and by “we” I mean “folks other than me because I’m not much of an outdoorsman”), eat, drink some adult beverages and engage in very lively (albeit sometimes rather juvenile) conversations. In the wee hours, we’ll put out the fire, pack up and head back to our cars.
Phil has been organizing the ride for years, and will go in pretty much any weather, year ’round. I’m a wimp, so I typically only ride in the warmer months, and only if full moon falls on a weekend. Last night was a blue moon, and it was a picture-perfect evening for a ride – not many clouds, and a temperature in the low 60s. 11 cyclists made the trip, from folks in their 30s to septuagenarians. There’s something very peaceful – and very primal – about being outdoors, in a secluded area of a forest, next to a river, near a fire, under the light of a full moon. It engages all your senses in a way that few other experiences can. Laughs ensue. Time flies.
On the ride back, there are a few clearings on the bike path where you can turn off your bike’s headlight and just let the moon be your beacon back home. It’s mystical. Magical. I find myself wishing the full moon happened more often. But if it did, it wouldn’t be as special.
My good friend Jacqui continues to eloquently chronicle how her family is coping as her husband Dave begins his second battle with Lymphoma. Worth a read. Deserving of a million prayers.
Eons ago, I worked at a now-defunct ad agency (R.I.P. B&G) with my friend Jacqui, who is one of the nicest folks you could ever hope to meet. (She’s so nice she actually befriended me.) Even though we haven’t been co-workers in almost 2 decades, Jacqui and I have managed to keep in touch pretty well. Jacqui’s husband Dave is a college professor and a rock band drummer (and you thought those two categories were mutually exclusive). Nearly 5 years ago, he battled Lymphoma (or as Jacqui and Dave named it “Roger”). Now, just a few steps from the “clean and clear” mark that anyone who has ever had cancer hopes to reach, Roger is back. Damn you, Roger!
Happy Father’s Day! Sure, we only get one day a year but this year it’s the longest day of the year.
I’m thrilled, blessed and grateful to be the father of four great kids. On Father’s Day in particular, I think of my own father, Herbert, who also was the father of four. His wife died at age 33, of leukemia, just a few months after the diagnosis. Dad was left to raise four children under the age of 7 all by his lonesome. How do you survive that gut punch, that heartbreak, that total meltdown of your world? In many ways, my dad never did fully recover. But he did the best he could. We moved from Jersey City, NJ to Hagarville, Arkansas – from the big city to the tiniest speck on the map in the foothills of the Ozarks. “Culture shock” doesn’t do it justice. However, it was a great place for us to grow up with a single parent, and has made my life experiences richer.
We were dirt poor, but our dad bestowed gifts upon us that were priceless: kindness, integrity, compassion.
Herb passed away in 2010. I miss him every day. To anyone who has lost a father, this beautiful song by Billy Bragg is for you.
Yesterday I had to renew my annual membership at my local rec center, and because I’m now 50, I get a discounted rate. The $10 in savings doesn’t come close to making up for the humiliation of hearing the teenager behind the counter chirping “you get a senior discount!”
Funny thing is, they originally had an incorrect date of birth for me – 4/15/75 – so they thought I was 40, not 50. Must be that Grecian Formula that I’ve been using.
I’m OK with being 50 though. Heck, I have another decade and a half to go before I’m officially part of “Older Americans Month” (which is every May for Americans who are 65 or older). Not that there’s anything wrong with growing old… it certainly beats the alternative. However, listening to this gorgeous Courtney Barnett song about growing up and growing old will make you want to stop the clock.
Alright, enough of this newfangled blogging business. I’m going to have some prunes, watch “Murder, She Wrote” and take a nap. Get off my lawn!
Kevin Sullivan on Life advice from a man who lived it: “A good one Damian. Bring our lens into focus after the long weekend or our long life journey.” Jul 7, 09:38
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