Spyglass Hill: Pebble Beach’s better half?

When you get the chance to play golf at Pebble Beach, you play there for the incredible scenery, for the amazing golf holes, and for the historic golf moments that have occurred there.  But once you have played the headline course, another great golf opportunity awaits at Spyglass Hill!

Pebble Beach’s main attraction can be “golf overload” for many a golfer the first time they play there. (Trust me on that one.)  Spyglass Hill tends to be a more relaxing golf day.

Spyglass offers a limited amount of the spectacular ocean scenery found at Pebble.  The visual background is nowhere near as dramatic; and once you get past the first five holes, you lose all view of the ocean.  Playing Spyglass is simply a more traditional, picture-perfect, immaculately manicured day of golf.

So the day after I almost choked over Pebble Beach, my brother and I set off for Round 2 at Spyglass Hill.  The weather started out very similar to the previous day at Pebble … cool, foggy, damp.

As we hit balls at the practice tee, the ocean layer fog and mist condensed on the trees overhead and dripped like rain.  As the day progressed the fog eased.  Though there was little sun, the day was comfortable, dry … perfect!

We met our caddy, Doug on the first tee and were paired with two friendly golfers, Pete and Tom, who maintained my perfect record of NEVER being paired with a jerk on a golf course!  Pete’s wife, Joanne, was our fifth and the groups’ unofficial photographer.

Yet another first … someone who walked through 18 holes of golf simply for the scenery and photo ops!

Your first impression of Spyglass Hill is how lush and wooded it is in contrast to the wide open ocean landscapes of its more famous neighbor.  The lush surroundings makes for better overall golf conditions.

At times Pebble Beach suffers from the effects of too much sun and not enough rain.  When we played there, some Pebble Beach fairways had recently gone through hair-plug-type treatments to remedy “pattern baldness” caused by a hot, dry summer.  No such issues were found at Spyglass.

Fairway on par 5 #1 (Treasure Island)  (Photo: J.Jarocewicz)

The first five holes at Spyglass are the most dramatic – scenery wise – of the circuit, with panoramic views of lush forest green against sandy waste areas and the ocean beyond.  After #5 the course moves inland and upwards into the Del Monte Forest.  It’s easy to see how Spyglass differs from Pebble in these first 5 holes.

Looking down #2 (Billy Bones) from the green.

Number 2 is a 349-yard uphill par 4 that requires precision to avoid trouble surrounding the fairway.  Once you get the green at #2, you get your first glimpse of the Pacific Ocean – Spyglass style, which is less dramatic than Pebble but just as beautiful.  The tee shot for the par 3 – 3rd hole (The Black Spot) is one of two Par 3s (#3 & #5) at Spyglass that play directly towards the ocean, although the Pacific is not in play on either hole.

Spyglass Hill was designed by Robert Trent Jones in the 1960s; and the 345-yard (White tees) par-4 fourth hole (Blind Pew) is said to have been his favorite.  And it’s easy to see why.

The hole is neither long or treacherous; but the green is unique and requires precision to set up and execute the best approach.  The green is an estimated 20 feet wide on the back-end; but is as narrow as 8-10 feet on the front side.  The putting surface stretches about 60-75 feet, and quite literally snakes between several dunes and hillocks.

Not only is it an easy green to miss; if you hit it in the wrong spot, you could be looking at a meandering, incredibly long putt, assuming you even have line-of-sight to the hole.  This was easily my favorite hole as it played that day with the pin located at the green’s narrowest spot – the front.

Caddy Doug made his first “stroke saving” contribution here by coaching me through a delicate and tricky chip shot that had to land well off the green to stay on the green!

The back – or “wide” – end of 4th green at Spyglass. Note the thinner lower end trails off to left. (Photo: J.Jarocewicz)

I hit one of my more memorable shots to the green at the par-3 #5 (Bird Rock) after chunking my tee shot into the sandy waste area short and left.  Caddy Doug talked me into an almost effortless recovery shot that resulted in a much appreciated bogey 4.

Spyglass Hill #5 (Bird Rock)

Part of my enjoyment for our round at Spyglass Hill was the fact that I was playing very well from the tees with driver in hand.  Out of 14 holes requiring driver or 3-wood off the tee, I hit 12 fairways; and one of those was a technical near-miss.  With woods all around, you need to be straight off the tees or frustration will reign!

My brother, Pat struggled a bit with his golf demon – the snap hook; but for the most part he was able to keep up with me.  Caddy Doug kept our heads in the game – especially on the back nine – by constantly hustling to position himself as fore caddy.

Many approach shots (more my undoing than those off the tees) have one – if not more – challenging aspects, be they an overabundance of sand or sentry duty performed by perniciously placed ponds.  That being said, I lost but a single ball to “water envelopment”, which for me was a minor accomplishment!

The greens are not full of the crazy, sea-driven breaks and bends found at Pebble Beach; but they present enough of a challenge that investing in a caddy can make a difference.  With that in mind, I highly recommend the services of our caddy, Douglas Allen Miller (dmiller52@live.com) should you go to either Pebble or Spyglass.  Doug is a real hustler; a great source of course information; and works hard to keep your head in the game.

His only drawback is that he’s a stinkin’ Yankees fan!

The gallery on #13 grazes on Pat’s pitch-in birdie!

Other golf highlights of the day were my stiff approach to the flag on the number one handicap hole, the par-4 #8 (Signal Hill), though I missed the par putt.  And brother, Pat thrilled the gallery (left) with a pitch-in birdie on #13 (Tom Morgan).

The deer population is a cute diversion from the “pressures” of golf at Spyglass.  The wildlife is neither frightened or especially put off their feeding by the presence of humans with their long shiny golf weapons.  It is possible to get quite close to the deer; if you take it slow and easy.  They are wary, but obviously used to humans playing stupid games in their midst!  They’ll let you know when you get too close by simply moving away.

The last real drama of the day occurred at another par 3, the 15th (Jim Hawkins).  The shortest hole at Spyglass; it plays to just 98 yards and downhill at that.  (See Pat’s picture above for a look at the shot to #15.)  I was hitting fourth in recognition of my superb snowman on the previous hole.  One of our partners, Tom, preceded me and promptly stuck the ball two feet from the hole; spun it back directly over the hole; ending up about 8 feet below the flag.

I followed that near ace by chosing my trusty 9-iron and stuck my tee shot just two feet past Bill’s quite visible ball mark on the green; but my ball simply trickled down the slope towards the hole, ending up; 4 feet from the hole.

Of course, I missed the birdie putt!

From there on out, and aside from pars by both Pat and I at the 17th (Ben Gunn), our Pebble Beach and Spyglass Hill experiences were coming to an end.

All kidding aside, Patrick played better than me both times; posting a 97 at Spy Glass that included two pars to go along with his stunning pitch-in birdie on #13.

Overall, I loved playing both courses.  Who wouldn’t?!?  But the experience at each course is quite different from the other.

Pebble is a must-do for any golfer who prizes the ultra golf experiences that come only at the sport’s premiere venues.  Spyglass Hill however, is simply golf at its purest, without the thrills and chills of crazy, sea-cliff golf.

Play Pebble Beach because you must.  Play Spyglass Hill simply because you LOVE golf!

More pics from Spyglass Hill:

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California trippin’: Headin’ North

Prologue:  We started our first California excursion in 9 years with a flight from Philly to LA with a stop in Denver.  If you never had the experience of flying into Denver, you should try it once.  The turbulence on approach, caused by winds coming off the Rockies, will give you several opportunities to re-examine your religious faith and fire off a quick Act of Contrition (assuming you are Catholic)!  But other than losing in Scrabble to my better half on the plane and being constantly ridiculed for losing tiny plastic travel Scrabble letters due to fat-finger-itis, it was an uneventful flight.

The objective of our trip was to help my brother, Pat celebrate his retirement.  Pat’s spousal unit would be our hostess and co-guide throughout our excursions, which would include a jaunt up north to the Monterey Peninsula to play two rounds of golf at the Pebble Beach Resort, followed by a leisurely drive south along the Pacific Coast Highway.

Day One:  Sunday … Woke up in the Shirley Temple Room.  ‘Twas a delightful repose!  But I can’t get used to rolling out of bed at the civilized of hour of 9:30 PDT (Suffering from reverse jet lag!) to find out I have only 30 minutes until the Eagles game comes on!  Sweet mother of Chuck Bednarik!  I barely get a toe-hold on my caffeine intake and I’m supposed to be pumped up for game time!?!  Who lives like this?!?

Day Two:  Monday … Up at oh-it’s-still-dark hundred hours (a repeating theme throughout the trip), but frankly you have to be up early to beat the LA morning rush-hour traffic, which was already extremely heavy going into the city at 6:30 as we headed out.  Can’t imagine what that looks like at 8:00!

As we head out of the city, the scenery begins to change.

Hills everywhere … houses perched on ridges, homes hanging from steep hillsides … hills in dry, brittle browns spotted with squat green trees … steep vertical slopes rising rapidly from winding roadways …

Quaint Danish architecture

We stop in a neat little village called Solvang, which touts itself as the Danish Capital of America.  Founded in 1911 by a group of Danish teachers looking to escape midwestern winters, the town sits in the Santa Ynez Valley and consists of shoppes, bakeries and restaurants, many in buildings of bright, colorful Danish design.

Ate breakfast at Paula’s Pancake House.  Great coffee … Have the Danish pancakes, they are fantastic … the size of dinner plates but thin, light and delicious!
 
Did the touristy thing for a while, then climbed back into the car for the sprint up Rt 101 to Carmel.  Our plan was to hit the Monterey Peninsula quickly, and enjoy the coastal sights on the return trip south.

obligatory Danish windmill

 
And so we made our sprint northward  …
 
Vineyards … everywhere vineyards … signs labeling types of wine made from specific grapes … farm country … dry, barren hills give way to green cultivated fields set on valley floors …  fields of produce worked by bent figures and large machinery … trucks full of lettuce, a trailer filled with butternut squash … dust clouds rising from fallow fields being prepped for planting off in the distance …
 
The number of vineyards is perhaps the biggest change I noticed from our last visit almost a decade ago.  In addition to the acres and acres of vines, you must – of course – have hundreds of outlets for wines.  And so it appears that the state’s official past time is now Wine Tastings!   
 
As we approach  Carmel, an ominous sign … a thick ocean layer blocks out the sun along wide swaths of the nearby coast. 
 
We get into Carmel, which is situated just south of the Monterey Peninsula, at mid-afternoon and check in at the Mission Ranch Resort, which was preserved and renovated by Clint Eastwood – actor, director and Carmel’s former mayor.  The resort is absolutely gorgeous, ten buildings in rustic design with incredible views of Point Lobos, the Carmel River and the Pacific.  You can enjoy these views from the restaurant and expansive patio (great for late afternoon cocktails) that overlook a large meadow complete with its own herd of grazing, well-mannered sheep.  
 

View from near the Mission Ranch restaurant patio

 Dinner at the restaurant that night was excellent!  I wouldn’t necessarily recommend the duck, but everyone clearly enjoyed their meals.  The service was excellent; the drinks strong; the atmosphere cozy, relaxed and pleasant.
 
One very nice amenity at Mission Ranch is the complimentary breakfast, served in the tennis court clubhouse.  Nothing fancy, just good, basic continental breakfast fare.
 
Day Three:  A Tuesday …  Played Pebble Beach!  (Click the link for a detailed description of that golf experience!) What a day!  We were reprimanded for wearing our hats inside The Tap Room, the renown post-round watering hole that sits less than 100 yards from the 1st tee.  Although the ambiance is impressive, the food was not much better than your average 19th hole found anywhere.  I hear the chili is very good, but I’m not a chili guy.  

Carol (left) enjoying the atmosphere at Pebble Beach Lodge

 
Day Four:  Wednesday … Played Spyglass Hill … another amazing golf experience!  If you ever go, you HAVE to play Pebble Beach for the history, scenic beauty and extraordinary golf holes.  But the best golf course – condition wise, for playability, and for the average golfer – is Spyglass Hill!  (A later post will be dedicated to playing Spyglass. And will be linked here once available.)
 
Formal Carmel canine presentation to Lady Lorri Ellen
 
Meanwhile, the women folk spent the day shopping, having lunch and enjoying a splendid afternoon in Carmel, where they were greeted by from a local canine representative (right).
 
That evening we drove up to the town of Monterey (situated north of the peninsula) for dinner and general touristy activity.  Cannery Row is your typical tourist magnet, dollar sucking locale; but every travelers’ haven has one.  We ate at an unremarkable sports bar-type establishment after we had hit the Pebble Beach (discount) store, which is a great place to find PB clothing bargains once you have recovered from the sticker shock of shopping at the Pebble Beach pro shop.
 
Day Five:  You guessed it … Thursday!  Our Pebble Beach experience 

Pat’s too sexy for his car; Too sexy for his car; Too sexy by far …

was coming to a close … until the someone brought up the Lexus freebie!  Apparently, if you stay at the PBR, you get a free excursion in one of their available Lexus automobiles.  And since it was a cool,  50-degree overcast day along the windy peninsula coast we opted – of course – for the sporty Lexus convertible coupe! 

So we took a leisurely joyride around the most scenic parts of the 17-mile drive.  It becomes obvious pretty quickly that the Monterey Peninsula must have the highest golf course-per-capita rating in the U.S.!  But it’s the ocean scenery and dramatic sea cliff topography that makes the area truly unforgettable. 

 
Rocky, forbidding beachfront … roiling surf … waves crashing over partially submerged rock formations … placid tides choked with clumps of kelp … trees bent permanently landward by ocean winds … beautiful homes perched on open hillsides … others hidden by steep drops and dense woods … spectacular ocean landscapes framed by a softening fog …   
 

Rocky shoreline along 17-mile drive

It wasn’t the best day for amateur photog work, unless you like barren, rocky sea beauty cloaked in fog.  As you wander along the drive there are ample opportunities for picture-taking or just staring at the kind of scenes you do not have on the east coast south of New England.   

The iconic symbol of Pebble Beach

 
Eventually we came upon the iconic symbol of Pebble Beach, the Lone Cypress well-preserved on a treacherous-looking outcropping of rock jutting out into the forbidding sea.  It serves as the symbol of Pebble Beach Quality, so it says on the corporate-looking signs posted at the entrance to its viewing area.  The fact that the tree is basically held together with anchored cables and duct tape – you would think – might suggest they find another symbol of Quality.  Just sayin’ …
 
Once we were finished with that Lexus POS, it was time to hi-tail it off the peninsula and return to our mundane daily lives.  But along our meander down the Pacific Coast Highway, we would spend a few relaxing days in Cambria, which will be the subject of our next California post!  
 
But I would be negligent not to recommend that, on your way out of the Pebble Beach area, you should take a leisurely drive south along Carmel Way.  Unique homes in a neighborhood setting and beautiful ocean views are plentiful there.  It is a bit disingenuous to refer to most areas of Pebble Beach and the 17-mile drive as “neighborhoods”, but Carmel Way has a different, more homey feel to it even if you’re just drivin’ through.     
 
For now I’ll leave you with a few additional pictures.  
 

Sheeples with demonic eyes in the Mission Ranch meadow

More stark beauty from the Monterey Peninsula

 

More traditional California beauty (Happy Anniversary, Hon!!)

Brownie points! 
 

Teaser photo for a later post on playing Spyglass Hill

Choking down a day at Pebble Beach

pearlpbLiterally, I was choking down my Pebble Beach experience.  My big chance to play one of the iconic golf courses in the country and the sport, and an hour-and-a-half before our tee-time my Anxiety-O-Meter was shutting down my internal organs!  I had NEVER felt like this before playing a round of golf.  As much as I tried to relax; to take in the surroundings; to enjoy my Eggs Benedict, I was very, very close to a Critical Mass Event!

There were several possible reasons.

  • We had left Mission Ranch, where we had stayed the night before with the woman folk, at 0-it’s-still-so-freakin’-dark hundred hours, so it felt like we were sneaking onto the most famous golf resort in America like a pair of illegals.  I half expected the immaculately uniformed attendants and valets to lay hands upon us and eject us from the premises!
  • Everything about this place is intimidating when you allow the mystique of Pebble Beach and the potential heights of its golf experience to get a stranglehold on your emotions.
  • And of course, every golfer can appreciate the phenomena of First Tee Jitters.  Now just multiply that by several orders of magnitude and suddenly those Eggs Benedict are like trying to swallow a chunk of fairway turf.  My biggest fear was cleaving a foot-sized divot from the first tee and seeing my golf ball mocking me from its perch, untouched by my TaylorMade!

Yes, that would explain a lot!  But eventually it passed, though I’m not sure exactly when or how.  After a ride out to the range and a bucket of balls, it was time to face the legacy of Pebble Beach and those golf legends that had played there before us.

Of course I had to make a few adjustments to my golf-playing expectations, given my surroundings, the difficulty of some of the holes we would play, and the fact that I was still battling the flight side of my fight-or-flight survival instincts.

  1. I knew – or at least expected – that unless I morphed into my Tiger Woods PGA Tour video game icon, the quality of my golf game was going to be a distant second to the overall aura of playing Pebble Beach.
  2. I was going to enjoy the atmosphere, scenery and uniqueness of what could be a once-in-a-lifetime experience, regardless of how well or poorly I played.
  3. I wasn’t about to permit the demons of my sporadic golf game to ruin such a monumental day!  But – may Johnny Miller forgive me – if I did chunk up a big piece of Pebble Beach fairway, it might just be ground-under-repair for a few months; because THAT hunk of turf would be heading back East with me if I had to wear it as a hair hat the rest of the trip!

And then we were on the first tee!  I think that the overload of panic I felt earlier that morning somehow mitigated the horrendous crush of first-tee jitters I had anticipated.  The first tee area wasn’t nearly as crowded as I had anticipated for our 9:00 a.m. tee time, which I’m sure helped.  And all the ancillary distractions of meeting our caddy, Josh (another first for me!), our playing partners, and even the relatively tame layout of the first hole allowed me to swing my driver without hurting anyone.

Of course, that dreaded high fade didn’t help.  But I wasn’t the only one who needed to hit a provisional ball off the 1st tee.  The second drive was much better; and I played the first two holes pretty well, including a bogie on the par 5 #2 hole.  On Hole #3 you get your first glimpse of the Pacific Ocean.  It’s just a teaser for what’s to follow; but it’s enough to make your putter take notice!

First glimpse of ocean at #3

At #4 my dastardly fade cost me my first ball on the first true ocean hole.  (I would only lose 6-8 for the day, which was far better than I expected!)  Then the REAL FUN began.  #5 is a par 3 that runs along the ocean cliffs; and I didn’t play that hole too badly, given the difficulty of finding my pulled tee shot after it bounded down the cart path.  My brother, Pat, deposited his tee shot off a tree and into what was purportedly Charles Schwab’s backyard!

Little bro, Pat putting on #4

Holes #6, 7 and 8 are three of the most beautiful holes in golf.  And I would say that #8 is indeed one of the greatest holes I’ve ever played!

The second shot up the hill to the second fairway and green of #6 is the first of those grip-grinding moments you face at Pebble, at least if you’re a short hitter like me and it looks like you have to clear a 8-story building to reach the upper portion of the fairway.  You have to marvel at those strong and brave enough to play right-to-left over the most dangerous portion of the sea cliff.

The par 3 #7 was the setting for my closest encounter with Pebble Beach greatness!  #7 is not particularly long at 106 yards; but the backdrop gives you much pause.  Golf jail here is in the form of a high, steep ocean cliff surrounding the green.  No one in our foursome found the green most likely due to an overabundance of caution.  Once I travelled down to the putting surface, I found my tee shot in the green-side bunker left of the pin.  In a classic “ugly but effective” moment, my semi-crisp sandwedge barely cleared the lip; was slowed by the thick grass lining the top of the trap; and tracked right at the hole.  (My cinematographer has the video evidence!)  Despite shouts of encouragement (“It’s right at the hole!”), the ball struck the edge of the cup and rolled away.  Of course I missed the comeback putt, but that couldn’t diminish the thrill of almost holing out from the sand of #7!

My “almost” sand shot position can be seen just pin high in the sand!

When we arrived on the tee of #8, Josh – our caddy for the day, warned us not to hit anything further than 200 yards off the tee.  His advice was timely given the amazing challenge awaiting us.  All four of us hit perfect tee shots to within 20 feet of the edge of the fairway, only to look down at one of the most awe-inspiring approach shots in golf.

The approach shot on the magnificent #8 at Pebble Beach

Two balls later, I had just missed clearing the yawning sea chasm.  My playing partners were more successful; but that was the kind of day it was for me.  Regardless, I was pumped at having played the kind of golf shot I might never see again!  The fascinating part of #8 is that there is no protection whatsoever – aside from politely placed signs warning of a steep drop – to keep an unsuspecting golfer (as difficult as that might be to imagine) from taking a slip ‘n slide dive into the most hazardous hazard known to the sport!

The above photo and those following show the dramatic changes in fog conditions we encountered resulting from the cool ocean layer.  Shortly before playing #8 in bright, clear sunshine, this was the view down #6 (below).  The fairway lies just left of the bunkers.

The fog was a minor nuisance.  But it did curtail the number of dramatic photo-ops we encountered, especially on those holes along the cliffs and lower shoreline (#17 & 18).

Infamous #18 along the beach from the green

This is what #18 looked like from the green down the fairway (left). You can make out the well-known seawall and sand trap that line the craggy shoreline that is death for any stray shots.  Off in the distance you can see the form of the two trees that mark the aiming point for drives off the tee.  My lone disappointment was not being able to appreciate the full incredible vista of #18 from the tee box.

It was just that kind of day on the Monterey peninsula!

The rest of our round from #10 through #16 – though devoid of spectacular vistas – was full of excellent golf holes and mind-boggling putts.  My one recommendation for anyone looking to experience Pebble Beach (or Spyglass Hill which will be posted later) is to spend the extra cash and arrange for a caddy to accompany you.  You cannot ride a cart up to your ball at Pebble as carts are always restricted to the cart paths; so the caddy (hauling both our bags) is advisable for getting the most out of your round.

In addition, the putts alone on some of the greens REQUIRE an experienced guide.  I could have easily 4 or 5-putted a number of greens without the assistance of Josh.  The first few times your caddy tries to give a read on some of the greens, your brain won’t allow you to follow his advice.  Your mind simply can’t overcome the difference between what the eye sees and what you’re being told to do.  After just one or two bad misses though, you learn to listen to your caddy and tell your brain to shut up, sit down, and enjoy the ride!

On #14, which we were told is shaved like cue ball for tournaments, I faced what looked like a severe uphill 20-foot putt.  Not so fast, counseled Josh.  It’s actually a DOWN HILL putt!  (Putting so near the ocean turns everything upside down.  Downhill can be “up”; and uphill “down” depending on your orientation to the sea.  The physics of which I cannot comprehend!)  Josh points to a spot barely 3-4 feet away from my ball and a good 8 feet – directionally – AWAY from the flag!  “Trust me.”, he says.  “Hit it here and gravity will do the rest!”  So I hit it where I’m told, then watch in disbelief as the putt breaks not once, not twice, but three times as the ball meanders UP the 8-inch slope.  The putt finishing just inches away from the hole!

Trust me, take a caddy!

Flying with Tennessee

Carol and I were heading home from a visit to relatives in California on a flight out of LAX.   As we settled into our seats, a man sat down next to me on what was to be a full flight.  He was a tad older than me and sported a definite southern accent.  He was headed to our intermediate point, Nashville.  (Details specific to him have been left out of this story to preserve his privacy.)

He was obviously alone, and we struck up a conversation … something with which I’m not always comfortable or likely to do normally on a crowded airline flight. 

Mr. Tennessee was on his way to family in Nashville, where he planned to make a new home after being forced – via eminent domain – to sell his house for a Southern California highway improvement.  He was quite happy with this situation as he felt he had received a very fair buyout.  He was a transplant who had settled in California out of the Vietnam-era military; and he was ready to use this life-changing opportunity to head back Home.

Tennessee told me at some point during our chat, he likes people and likes to talk until he runs out of interesting things to say.  He did not disappoint!

So Tennessee launched into an overview of places he had served in Vietnam and military units of which I could make little sense, let alone remember.  He spoke indirectly about some of the things he had seen there and of some of the things he did.  He also spoke of more peaceful experiences he had enjoyed while in-country and how he felt his service there had shaped his later life.  He expressed his admiration for those serving now, and spoke of how serving in the military has changed since he served as a volunteer in a draft-filled military. 

Needless to say, I was in full Listening Mode. 

Then as the conversation became more two-sided, we shared what our fathers did during World War II.  My dad serving in Alaska’s Aleutian Islands, then the Philippines preparing for the invasion of the Japanese home islands.  His dad getting destroyers shot out from beneath him in the Pacific.  Then Mr. Tennessee turned to what he did in his post-military work-a-day world.  How much he enjoyed his sideline craftsman’s hobby; how he looked forward to doing it more – as a man of retired leisure – in his still-to-be-determined Nashville locale; and how much he looked forward to his new life situation.

At one point during the 3 1/2 hours to Nashville, Carol leaned over and whispered, “Lucky you, you got the talker.”  But I was having perhaps the most enjoyable flight ever. (Let’s face it!  We’ve all looked around those departure gate waiting areas, picking out the people we don’t want to sit next to … especially not for a 4-hours flight!)  I was enjoying the passing of time with good, interesting conversation with someone whose life experience was very different from my own.

It’s puzzling to me the way certain normal, everyday interactions pique my interest more than other normal, everyday interactions.  Maybe I project something into them.  Maybe I focus on interactions that fit in some way my view of the world.  Maybe they just strike a chord in a place I value. 

In any case I was happy for him – a complete stranger – and for the comfort level he has found in his life.  He seemed to have “It” figured out for himself; and he was at a good place in his life.  He seemed genuinely satisfied with Life and happy for what the Future held.  And who wouldn’t want to live in that part of Tennessee?!?

Almost Empty Nest Syndrome

Today we moved our youngest son, Alex, into his new digs at Temple University for his freshman year of college.  A great step forward for him, another exercise in letting go for us. 

We’re not empty-nesters yet.  There’s always one who seems to hang around.  But that’s just fine by me.  I have realized I’m not quite ready for The Vacant Inn.

You hear it a lot from people our age.  How great it would be to have an empty nest.  How carefree life would become with no kids.  The freedom that’s enjoyed after nudging that last chick out of the nest.  Funny thing is, I don’t recall very many Mr. and Mrs. New Empty Nesters extolling the virtues of their hollow home.  No, it’s usually those whose lives seem way beyond full that enjoy the Empty Nest Vision that’s still way off in the distance.

You wonder how many feel the same way about it when they finally arrive at the bridge between The Vision and The Reality.

Alex and I have had this little “good night” ritual of high-fives and fist bumps.  Heck, we’re just guys trying to avoid the awkwardness of adult male displays of affection.  Mom still gets the kiss ‘n hug.  We give the fist bump.

Last night, the ritual was different.  Still a male salute for certain.  But this time the handshake, one that lingered a bit longer.  And for some reason I flashed back to Alex as child.  Nothing elaborate, just the size of his hands as an adolescent … then as a child. 

In an instant you realize how much has changed.  It’s all good though … or so you tell yourself.  More so to prevent that newfound hole from growing larger.

Empty nest?  Nah … I’m not really ready for that yet.

A Guide for Surviving your Type A spouse’s Vacation Assault Plan

Now that another summer is upon us, I offer advice for fellow Type B Personalities preparing for vacations with their Type A spouses.

Many have married Type A spouses upon whom we rely for all the high-intensity, detail-filled tasks that are essential to health and harmony.  The Type A in the family is the go-getter, the organizer, the protagonist for family involvement, the anti-couch potato … all good things.

Unfortunately, some Type As tend to transform into General Patton when it comes to the family vacation.  They plan and execute the summer get-aways like the D-Day invasion of Fortress Europe.

There are Objectives, Operational Plans, and Time Tables.  The pace of operations can be intense and unforgiving.  And if you tire; get “wounded”; or fall off the pace, you’re likely to be left by the side of the road like a piece of carrion for the buzzards.

OK … Just a bit of hyperbole there.  And maybe there’s nothing amiss with some high-intensity activity on a vacation.  Many seem not to mind …

But if YOU are the family couch potato – as am I – and come ill-prepared for the duration and intensity in this Theatre of Operations, a much-anticipated vacation could end up as your own personal version of the Donner Party.

So with my years of experience at being driven forward by my more energetic, highly motivated, hyper-vacationated spousal unit, allow me to offer some timely advice.  Keep in mind that each trial, hurdle, ache, and injury will be multiplied by the number of children you will be lunging around on wheels or strapped to your back like a rucksack full of rocks!

Hints for Type B Survival

  1. Get in touch with Type A reality:  Some people – or so I’m told – go on vacations to unwind, to regroup, to blow off steam, to reflect, to recharge the batteries … to RELAX!  But any Type A Vacation Survivor will tell you, you cannot spell R-E-L-A-X from V-A-C-A-T-I-O-N!  All you will get from your Type A partner is the “A” … and that “A” stands for Apathy!

Once rid of your Type B Vacation misapprehensions, you will understand and – more importantly – SURVIVE what is in store for you.

2. Cardiovascular health:  Make sure you are physically fit and ready for a grind.  Type A Vacations can include hand-to-hand combat, tests of agility, decision-making under extreme stress, and plenty of wind sprints.

And that’s just getting to the kiddies to breakfast!

  • So lose the excess weight.
  • Hit the elliptical trainer and the StairMaster.
  • Work on BOTH speed and endurance.

You’re going to need it!

I learned, a bit too late to save my naive impressions of what vacations are, that Carol and I were raised in families that lived at Polar Extremes of the Vacation Continuum of Leisure (VCL). 

When my family went on vacations we tended to gravitate towards the South Jersey shore points, where Leisure is spelled with a capital “L”.  What “stress” there was came in deciding where to eat; the too long/too late obligatory excursions on the boardwalk; and the occasional case of sunburn.

Not so my better-half’s family vacation experiences … 

Whereas my family’s vacations seemed geared towards resting and refreshing hard-working adults, her family’s vacations were about The Experience … Cramming in as much as they could into every trip … Trying not to miss a single offering or opportunity presented by whatever venue they visited … Hit the ground running and don’t stop until the money is gone or the hotel insists that your stay has ended!

Carol will claim it is not so; but I have the scars that prove otherwise!

3. Strength training:  You’ll want to bulk up normally for any vacation … all that baggage rustling, equipment stowage and deployment can test your back, arms and legs.

Many Type A’s look upon hotel check-in as an unnecessary hinderance to getting all the “fun” started.  If given their way, they would forego completely any hotel interaction until as late as possible on Vacation D-Day.

If given the choice, they would prefer to jump, tuck ‘n roll from the still-moving car and commence immediately with the festivities.  This is why my Type A always wore her bathing suit on our drives down to the South Jersey shore.

However, this tendency becomes a real problem when visiting far-flung, ridiculously large vacation sites like Disney World.  Dragging all those suitcases through The Magic Kingdom for hours on D-Day, before your Type A agrees to “waste time” checking-in, can be exhausting.  So make sure you pay extra attention to strengthening your large muscle groups of the legs and back!

It’s hard not to reflect on our earlier vacations to the beach when the boys were but wee lads.  The amount of equipment … strollers, porta-cribs, high chairs, toys … we had to drag along was mind-boggling. 

I can remember staring at the back of our Dodge Grand Caravan thinking, “I’ll never get all this crap in there or on the roof.” 

Of course just about then, General Patton would stick her head out the door and ask me why I was relaxing!!             

4. Get your rest before you go:  Yeah, I know … Get my rest BEFORE vacation?!?  Trust me!  As stated above, you cannot spell R-E-L-A-X …  Anyway, it’s simple.  Be prepared to GO GO GO from dawn to midnight!  You will be allowed to relax when you sleep or should you be lucky enough to eat at a food source where you can sit down and eat. (This usually depends on the progress of the Operational Plan vis-a-vis Time Tables.)

5. Know your rights!  This is the toughest part of being a Type B soul trapped in a Type A vacation.

Scenario: It’s been four days of hard-driving, high intensity, calf-burning activity.  You look longingly at the hotel pool, the water of which you fear will never get the chance to wash over your cramping, stressed-filled body.  You heard rumor that the tiki bar has been hopping the last two nights – while you were pushing four-year-old Gertrude and six-year-old Jeffrey in a double-wide dolphin stroller through 25 miles of SeaWorld until midnight.

You just want a few hours doing nothing more than read a book; float in the pool; or down a few mai tais.  But you know that the Operations Plan does not allow for idle time.  Failure to adhere to The Schedule will throw the entire expedition into chaos and anarchy.

What’s a Type B to do?!?

STRIKE!

That’s right, exercise your God-given right to refuse to do anything more than sit around and contemplate your navel!

Why should Teachers, Communication Workers, and Teamsters have all the fun?!?

Where’s the compassion?  Where’s the solidarity??  Where are the damn mai tais?!?

Now that being said, General Patton will be more than slightly miffed at your insubordination and temerity.  They will huff and puff; threaten and cajole; plead in the name of the Operations Schedule.

DO NOT LISTEN!

The sole purpose of such wheedling is to wring another day’s worth of blood from a turnip.  And oddly enough, turnips are what your knotted, cramped legs probably look like at this point of your Type A Vacation!

First off … NO TEARS!!  Crying is a sign of weakness to the Type A Personality.  They will roll over you like Hitler took the French!

If the Type A pressure persists, simply put on your Alec Guinness stiff upper lip; whistle the tune from The Bridge on the River Kwai; and stand your ground!

Simply state in your firmest, most reasonable voice that you will be taking a day off, and that you would be willing to watch the kids at the pool so that General Patton can dangle a foot off the dock for a few hours as well.

This strategy has worked for me in the past.  General Patton by this point accepts our labor standoffs with rolled eyes and an exasperated huff.  One year she actually chose to forego the pool day and went solo into The Magic Kingdom just to reconnoiter the next day’s Mission.

Like many typical Type A Vacation Generalissimos …

The Next Mission is what vacation is all about!

Quest for PERFECTION

Perhaps it’s the time of year, maybe it’s the time of man; but baby, there are times when I feel all of my age and then some!  Of course watching prime time TV does little to assuage my anguish.

ED-living-with-matching-bathtubs … High triglycerides?!?  Where’s my Lovasa? …  Are you feeling a bit Low-T there, fella?!?  …  High cholesterol?  …  Maybe you just need to color that hair!  

Reality dictates that it’s just a natural part of the process  …  That vague awareness that some physical tasks used to be easier to perform  …  The sometimes achy process of unfolding yourself from that a-little-too-comfy spot on the couch …  

Fahgettaboutit!, your Psyche says.  You’ll get over it.  You’ll rebound.  Just drop a few pounds; get back to the gym; remember how well you felt when you worked your program?  Of course I told you to keep working.  I told you not to take the easy way out.  I told you that summertime wasn’t a reason to skip the early morning gym sessions.  I told you not to …. 

Enough with the GUILT already!!  It’s already depressing to think that so much work has to go into wringing every possible ounce of utility out of this  aging machine.  Do I really need to be reminded of all the woulda, coulda, shouldas?!?

Certainly, having my younger brother around the last two weeks ain’t helping!  Only two years younger, he can crank a golf ball much, much farther than I with a ridiculous ability to coil and uncoil it makes my back hurt just watching.  And he claims he’s not coloring HIS hair … Pffttt … To top it off, HE retired this year!  Ugh …

Time to rededicate!  Recalibrate … Inculcate … Without so much as a whisper to remonstrate …

Only this time take it seriously!  Treat it like a life decision, not a life sentence!  Only of course it is a sentence without parole … For to stop, to let up, to take even a little time off …

Insidious is this sense of doom!!  This feeling of impinging gloom … How does anyone keep up the struggle, when all I want are naps to juggle?!?

Nattering nabobs of negativity; Cease betraying my need for alacrity!  Just get me over this imposing ridge!  Or geez, just get my eyes off the ‘fridge!

A bed & breakfast and a graduation

It’s been busy time for Cranky Man the past week or so.  Our youngest, Alex, graduated this week from Hatboro-Horsham HS; and my brother and his wife are in from the Left Coast to visit and pay homage to the graduate.  My brother, Pat was able to retire this year; and since he’s two years YOUNGER, it’s been a cranky time for me.  Coveting will do that.  On Saturday this weekend, we hosted the obligatory graduation blowout.

Alex finished in the Top 10% of his class; has decided to attend Temple University’s  Honor Program; and has received several offers of scholarship assistance.  He has a bright future ahead of him. 

A very proud time, and a very busy time …  As a result, I have neglected my blog duties.  I must be both motivated and topically inspired to be effective.

I love having Pat and his wife here.  Pat left for a hitch in the Air Force at 18, right after his graduation from high school (Father Judge ’76).  Since he left at an early age and ended up staying out on the Left Coast when he met his spousal unit, it seems we missed doing a lot of the normal 20-something and 30-something stuff together as we raised our families in separate worlds.  We try to catch up on what was missed whenever we get together. 

So much for what’s been keeping me from my appointed rounds.  Here are a few news bits to hold you over ’til the smoke clears.

  • Kudos for Cranky Man from fellow no-airport-at-JRB-WG warriors at http://www.noairportinhorsham.org/, who have noticed my constant and unending anti-airport tirades.  Check out my first internet referral at the bottom of their homepage.  Thanks for noticing, neighbors!
  • If you haven’t yet, please register your opposition to an airport – if you’re so inclined – at the aforementioned www.noairportinhorsham.org!  They wish to document all Horsham neighbors who stand opposed to an airport at the JRB.  Make sure YOUR voice is heard, especially if you cannot attend HLRA meetings!
  • My one indelible image from the HLRA community charrette on Friday, June 10 was this one clear pro-airport individual, who had the temerity to interrupt what was a rather productive group exercise.  He just HAD to let us know that as the owner of a scuba equipment shop on Rt 611 (as if THAT made his opinion carry more weight) just how “wonderful” an airport would be for the people of Horsham.  Then – just as quickly – he hopped off to the next group to spout his personal opinion.  Not once did he present even a pretense of caring one twit what THE REAL COMMUNITY was trying to accomplish that day.  Nope … It was all about him, his opinions, his self-interests.  There’s a lesson there for those of us who really care about the broader Horsham picture, more than just hobbies and financial gain.
  • My other impressions of the Day of Charrette (Sounds like a wine tasting!) were frustration – initially; a begrudging – at times – effort to LISTEN to the views of others; the slow-to-emerge impression that this charrette process was interesting, helpful, and productive.  There was a clear majority of no-airport over pro-airport attendees.  Unfortunately, I was indisposed on Saturday and unable to attend the wrap-up session.

With the Day of Charrette – a critical but preliminary – community effort now out of the way, I hope to get back to some of my regular blogging subject matter.  I do expect to return often to the matter of the JRB’s future, since I’m convinced the issue will not be settled for some time to come.

Also, I’ve made one change in an effort to make reader discussion less complicated here.  You will no longer be required to submit an e-mail address to comment.  All comments will still be subject to review before being added to the discussion thread however.

For my Horsham neighbors, make sure you stay informed; look at the FACTS behind the claims; cull facts from suppositions and wishful projections; and consider the motives of those who want to advise you on matters affecting the community!

Life in a Country Western Exclusion Zone

My buddy, Bob, almost jumped from my moving car a few weeks ago.  I had offended his city slicker-trained ear; and I had placed my friend in jeopardy.  I had dared to play country music in a Country Western Exclusion Zone (CWEZ).  

You’da thought I stole his wife and shot his dog  … perhaps that’s the other way around.

It was a rainy Friday; and I had spent the day ridin’ fences (CWEZ translation: Honey, Do … List); punchin’ cows (Took the dog to the groomers.); and balin’ hay (Picked the mower up from the repair shop.).  The country music playlist on the iPod was fitting in nicely with the weather, the chores, and my mood.  And it was giving me a few good laughs along the way. 

Why?!?

‘Cause nobody tells a story like a cowboy!  

Actually, I think the cowgals tell a much more entertaining story, since they inevitably get around to how their man is behavin’ like the south end of a northbound horse.  

I reside in the Philadelphia CWEZ.  CWEZs blanket the east coast north of Baltimore.  The typical CWEZ extends for miles from the center of every major northeastern city.  Larger cities – like Philadelphia and New York – have larger CWEZs. 

There are those who will flaunt CWEZ convention, and listen to these contraband music stylings.  But they are few.  They are hardy.  And they keep their anti-establishment behavior to themselves, like resistance fighters in German-held France during WWII. 

So while growing up I never listened to country music, as is required of all people born within a CWEZ.  The requirements also include loyalty to NFL teams as opposed to college or high school football, minivans in lieu of pickup trucks, and white sneakers instead of a good pair of shit-kickin’ boots.

Of course, there was a time when country music was THE Thing.  That was back in the ’80s, I think.  Suddenly country music was OK.  City folk wore checkered shirts, blue jeans with HUGE belt buckles, boots, and went around yelling, “Yee haw!!”  They went line dancing; had square dances.  But it was just a John Travolta-Urban Cowboy fad, which soon faded away like disco.  Suddenly it was forbidden once again …  Never to be spoken of again by respectable CWEZ types.   

My country music dalliance began when I heard my neighbor listening to some alien, nasally twang as he pulled into his driveway in his Ford F-150. (Always the rebel he!)  When I yelled out in my best CWEZ, “Yo, homey … Whatcha listenin’ to?!?” , he all too quickly reached over and flipped off the car stereo.  “Nothin’, buddy … How ’bout them Eagles?!?”, he responded as he glanced nervously around to see who else might have been listening.

But the damage was done.  My curiosity piqued, I was a man set on skirting CWEZ compliance and the ultimate ridicule of friends and family.  Rumor has it they have huge, clandestine CWEZ Renditioning Centers for the likes of me.  They break you; destroy your spirit; turn you into *shudder* Jay Z and Adam Lambert fans!  My life would never be the same.

Due in no small part to my CWEZ upbringing, to this day I do not  listen to most of the older, more established masters of the country genre.  No Hank Williams, Patsy Cline … No Merle Haggard, Tammy Wynette or Conway Twitty …  And yet, I get a mighty hankerin’ for Johnny Cash; and really enjoy the diverse talents of Willie Nelson!

Thus far my favorites consist of relative little-knowns – to me anyway – like Sarah Johns (Favorite song: The One in the Middle), Justin Townes Earle (bluegrass influence), Lyle Lovett, Faith Hill, Delbert McClinton (also blues rock, electric blues) and Elizabeth Cook (Fav: Sometimes It Takes Balls to be a Woman).  Both Jones and Cook can really get down on a man bent to make a fool of himself! 

What I love about their music is their ability to simplify the challenges, goals, and disappointments of life to a level which anyone listening can easily relate.  There is little self-import or complexity.  A scoundrel of a husband (or wife) is just that.  Life is what surrounds you. Who you are defined by the kind of life you lead.  

The kicker is, you can get a good laugh while you’re listening!  

I’m looking for some good suggestions, if you have any.  Just stay away from country western artists who are all hat, no cattle!