My boy and his dog

For most of her doggy days, Sassy the Labrador/chow mix was a land locked canine. She came into my son's life in north St. Louis County, where she was part of a menagerie of three dogs, one adult cat, two kittens, and two ferrets. We won't count water bugs in the basement of this house. There was also a wife, with two children, so the house was pretty full, and this poor dog was most likely in competition for space, food, and probably air.

After fourteen months of a marriage nobody thought would last, except for the groom of course, she packed up her kids, and one dog, and moved in with husband number four. J.B. was left holding the bag, and it was full of kittens. There was also a bag full of ferrets. He found somebody who wanted the ferrets - so that bag was never dropped off a bridge. He took the kittens back to the adoption agency where they had come from, nominally to play with the daughter's adult cat. That "left behind" cat also found a new home. My son found a home for his American Eskimo dog, knowing he couldn't keep the house on one income, and rentals never allow more than one dog.

Sassy, the landlocked Labrador, would move with her master from St. Louis to Indianapolis, where she would live with his grandmother and hide up in his room during the day. He ultimately moved in with his step-cousin, and Sassy got a doggie friend named Arnie to spend her day alongside - plus a fenced yard in which to frolic. But it wasn't until the cousin was facing marriage that J.B. knew this housing arrangement couldn't last. So, he packed up the Jeep and moved again - this time to Florida. He'll soon be in an apartment of his own, living perhaps ten miles from our place, and ten miles (if that) from his new restaurant. But before he moved, he had use of our island condo, with the Sarasota Bay just 50 yards away.

Sassy the Labrador discovered her "inner Lab" and she loves to run on the tidal flat behind the condos and chase the seabirds. Labrador retrievers love water - and the world loves a lover. Sassy is no longer sharing space with a menagerie, she's got the world as her oyster, and she likes Florida as much as her master and his parents.

Packing to Leave

On Wednesday, the packers came and found us well along in terms of being ready. They were there to wrap up the really valuable stuff that we'd probably break, like the electronics and the kitchen. I was responsible for the lower level, which included the "man cave" and the two car garage, and my wife was responsible for the uppermost level with two bedrooms, two bathrooms, closets and laundry area. We shared responsibility for the main level, although I'll admit she was far more focused on doing it right and I was reduced to packing up books and VHS tapes and DVD's. You're welcome to ask "why" on the VHS tapes (I also saved reel-to-reel tapes and cassettes), but let it suffice that I'm willing to admit being somewhat of a pack rat.

I had one much better picture of how the main level looked the morning the moving van arrived, but in the middle of it was a view of my wife sitting at the table and drinking coffee while barely awake. Those are the kinds of pictures you don't publish, for fear of your life. I did include my garage shot, with things that I'll soon be asking myself "why the hell did I pay to move this?". That would include the golf clubs, which I haven't used in at least ten years, and the Schwinn World Traveler bicycle, which I only rode once in the last five years with the exception of the ride from the free air pump at the gas station across the highway. Riding that bike uphill into the condo complex was breathtaking, but not in the picturesque use of the word. Also included was the dog carrier - never used for the last three beagles, but one of those "someday we might need this" type items. Perhaps someday there will be a new puppy that will need to be caged during the housebreaking phase. We will need the 8 foot ladder, as the new house does indeed have tall ceilings as did the Missouri condo, and as for the workbench (not shown), my only justification is that "I built it, and considering my limited ability with tools, I'm too proud to discard it".

The following day, the moving van showed up and we took up less space than I expected, and after being weighed we found our cost to move was $500 less than the estimate. So, I guess if you consider success as being defined by limiting the crap factor, we were above average for a cross country move. And that's not so bad, to be above average in the world - it beats my high school academic record where I wasn't above average but took pride in making the upper half of the class possible.

One final comment - we used Wheaton Van Lines in St. Louis, and Patrick Hazzard was the third generation of his family to carry the affiliation. I cannot say enough good things about our moving experience, and I actually look forward to the unloading phase to take place here in Florida in two days. If you gotta go, go with a professional.

Five years and counting

Before I left Missouri, I had the opportunity to take some "cold weather" clothing out to my daughter's home, so when we visit in the future, and come by air, she could meet us at the airport with warm coats. Why feel obligated to keep cold weather gear in Florida, where the lowest temperatures are always above freezing. Of course, this required going out during the day and dropping off stuff at her house. That included the kind of stuff we couldn't take with us, since the U.S. Department of Agriculture forbids moving live plants and vegetables into Florida (and several other southern states) by moving van. My wife offered up our planters that used to sit on the porch rail at the condo in Wildwood - hopefully they'll survive my daughter's care in her new suburb.

Following our delivery chores, we took advantage of her lunch hour, where I got my first look at my daughter's new office, following her promotion to Assistant Manager.

I spotted her Five Year award, so I snapped a picture of it. Five years in one place is a lifetime for people in her generation, but she reminded me that the bank had paid for her Masters degree and if she didn't stay, she'd owe them big time. During that five years, she's worked for three different banks, all of them connected by merger or acquisition. She was hired by a local bank following college, which was subsequently gobbled up by a relatively small regional bank, which in turn was consumed by an even bigger regional bank. She tells me her new bank is the nation's fourth or fifth largest. I sure hope she doesn't get lost in there. All I'm certain of is that in the banking world, the best job is that of the printing firms that do letterhead and business cards.

In the days immediately following these "snaps", I would find myself packing up the Missouri condo and awaiting the moving van. We are taking our stuff south to a new house, but left some with our daughter and son-in-law, who were considerate enough to purchase a four bedroom home with plenty of room in the basement for a mother-in-law apartment when babies come. The nice thing about down-sizing is that your children are always happy to take some of your furniture.

Road Trip

How much can you cram into a Jeep Liberty? Depends on who's doing the packing. In the past ten or twelve days, I've driven to Florida by way of Indianapolis, and carried down items which the moving vans would not take. That includes my son, who has also decided to move to Florida and pursue his career in the hospitality industry.

That's his Jeep, which is crammed to the top with my stuff and his. We took the picture in my garage after a straight through drive where we took turns trying to keep from having an accident without the use of a rear view mirror.

Of course, for me the trip started in St. Louis, loading up one of my wife's cars with stuff, then transferring it to his Jeep, so he could add a 42 inch television, a bicycle, an X-Box 360, a huge Rubbermaid bin full of shoes (must have gotten that habit from his mother) and other stuff crammed into nooks and crannies. Upon arrival, we offloaded the stuff and spent the next four days dodging rain showers before returning north. He did confirm his new position, and will return to Florida next week with his Jeep and a rented trailer in tow. In two months, my wife and I will move full time to Florida, and my son will live only 40 minutes away, instead of four hours. The trip back north was much more interesting.........read on.

Out Late and in Trouble

Last night, I ignored man's best friend, and she was not happy. I had gone to dinner with friends, and straightaway had come home, changed my shirt, and headed back out to go to a movie. When I got home, the street was quiet, but I heard about it when I went to my room downstairs in the "man cave".

Sitting in MY chair was Millie, the lady of the house with my wife gone. Millie was exhibiting her displeasure by taking the "Kirk chair", normally reserved for the Captain. After dinner, I had ignored her royal Beagleness, and just run out again to meet my daughter at the movies.

Now, normally Millie is asleep, and at age eleven she has also turned deaf as a post. So, you can almost always walk past her and not awaken her.

Not last night. I had been taken out to dinner by friends, and we ate in a bar, which was noisy and cigarette smoke filled. The food was OK, and my buddy Max insisted on treating, so who am I to complain. Besides, both Max and I are turning deaf (him from being too close to M-48 tank guns, me from too loud Rock & Roll emanating from Studio A speakers), so it wasn't that bad. Max just takes his hearing aids out, I have to "lean in" to hear him and Carolyn talk over the din.

So, we left at 6:20, and my daughter texted me at 7:40 asking "are you bored, how about a movie", and the film was SALT, which I wanted to see. Home by 7:55, run in the door, upstairs to strip off shirts and remove most of smoky smell, and back out the garage door. Millie, on the floor asleep, awakens. Darn......so we go out for a quick pee (Millie, that is), and I shove her back inside, and drive off in the Corvette. Making it just in time, I buy the tickets for myself and Caitlin - telling her to wait inside, so I can get TWO at senior prices. Save $4.50 that way, and why not take advantage of being old.

Caitlin has purchased Ike & Mike candies and two sodas at Walgreen's, placing them in her purse. Acorn has not fallen far from family tree - why pay movie prices for candy or soda. We sit down, Caitlin says I don't smell TOO smoky, and we enjoy the movie while her husband is working late. Nice time with my daughter, and after saying goodnight, I'm off to the house.

Getting home, the street is quiet, The light is on in the upstairs window. I sneak in.......BUSTED,there is Millie waiting for me. She gives me what for, barking loudly. Fortunately, these townhouses are well insulated and soundproofed. I try to apologize (after telling her to abdicate MY throne) and we go out for a short walk, with camera in pocket, and she does her business. All is finally forgiven and the night ends peacefully. I can't wait till my wife returns next week......she can deal with the wrath of the deaf Beagle, her royal highness Millie the First. Millie generally exhibits displeasure by turning over wastebaskets, but this time she took my spot, so she must have been really upset. I'll try to pay more attention to her tonight.

Just Ducky

This is a very weathered image from the May 8, 1949, Indianapolis Star newspaper.

The caption reads "The ducks on Lake Sullivan are a drawing card for many youngsters and their mothers on sunny spring afternoons. John David Wild always makes sure mother, Mrs. John F. Wild III, and grandmother, Mrs. Clem Stair, keep him well supplied with bread for the birds."

From the date of the paper, that would make me just about two weeks past my second birthday. Times were good then, as I had no worries whatsoever. My grandmother appears to be using an Easter basket to hold the bread crumbs, and I am wearing a long coat over short pants, and some sort of short billed hat. Pictured are a Canada Goose and what appears to be a Muscovy Duck begging for bread. You have to admire my grandmothers hat - I think the Goose might want to eat those huge flowers on it, however.

Also note the masthead of the paper - "Section 3-A Women's Interests". Over sixty years ago, pictures of little boys and their mothers and grandmothers apparently were of no interest to men. You have to wonder if the Business section back then was called "Men's Interests"?

Anyway, came across this when doing the cleaning out of my mother's home in Arizona, this past several weeks. Thought it might be interesting to share, and please forgive the poor quality of the image - newsprint doesn't wear well after sixty years. Oh, my mother (now 90) is the reason I was not John F. Wild IV - some dynasties are best killed in infancy.

Caitlin, the incomparable

This is my daughter, on her wedding day - even before the ceremony she was organizing things. She clearly inherited the management gene from her father, and has parlayed that into a successful career in a field for which she never studied. No matter, for Caitlin has that rare ability to fall into the outhouse, and come out smelling like a rose.

She is the classic overachiever, and has mastered the 25 hour day. After eight years of dating the same boy, she decided it was time for him to marry her. She simply added him to her work schedule and gave him marching orders. Fortunately, being one of five sons in a family where his mother ruled the roost, he was prepared to say "yes, dear" and move along on the path directed. I think his mother is proud of him, knowing she's left him in good hands with my daughter.

Caitlin was born in St. Louis (her brother was born in Indianapolis, and like the prodigal has returned there), in 1983. She came into the world on July 5th, and claims she heard all the noise from the celebration of the 4th of July and figured it was announcing her imminent arrival. Her brother was born on D-Day, and arrived to his own sounds of distant guns. My wife was born on Bastille Day (explaining why she took French in high school), and I could only claim William Shakespeare's birthday as a shared date.

We held Caitlin back from elementary school, choosing to make her the oldest in her class rather than the youngest. She still was very precocious and learned most of those early grade skills ahead of her classmates. I recall she was doing 8th grade math in 6th grade - teachers seemed to recognize her appetite for learning, and the Rockwood School District never failed her. I can't recall her ever getting a "B" in school, and she graduated high school with a 4.2 average.

In her junior year, she and I flew to the west coast to look at colleges. We collected lots of various college sweatshirts, which ultimately ended up being worn by her mother. In her senior year, she and a girl friend got in a Saturn (without too much in the way of planning) and drove south. They visited a number of universities, and Caitlin fell in love with Florida State. Her friend decided to pursue the fifth year of high school (as about half the class did) by attending the University of Missouri. Caitlin had no need to be two hours from home - she had been that way since childhood when she packed a bag with two hours notice and went off to visit Grandmother without any concerns (her parents had many) at age six or seven. She still visits her grandmother, and exhibits a tolerance of this ninety year old unmatched by any others in the family.

Caitlin went off to Florida State, spending the first year in the dorm, the second year in the Delta Zeta house, and the third year in her own apartment with a roommate and two dogs. There wasn't a fourth year, she graduated cum laude in three years and one summer session.

When she came back to St. Louis, she found a job in banking - her major was communications, not business, but the offer (second offer, anyway) included just enough to set out on her own and begin an independent life. Her bank was purchased by another, and she was able to get into a management training program. That bank was subsequently purchased by another, but she survived again and along the way completed an MBA program paid for by the second lender. She is now playing out her string (needing to stay for another year and a half to repay the educational assistance debt). Last I heard, she was contemplating studying for the CPA exam, but was also open to Law School. Her merry-go-round goes faster than my ability to follow where she'll be next.

For now, she's looking to sell her condo and find a home with four bedrooms and a yard. She has already applied to the Bank of Dad for a short term loan (her credit is excellent). In the meantime, she and Matt are living in our Missouri condo to allow hers to show without the impairment of her two terriers present. Her two dogs, known to my wife and I as "the two little hooligans", probably are not conducive to showing her small condo. We wish her well, primarily as we don't want to spend the summer in Florida, and I doubt that she and Matt want to deal with parents under the same roof when we return.

As to that house in the suburbs, with a big yard and four bedrooms, it has yet to be found, but I know Caitlin will prevail - she always does. Caitlin has a plan for everything, and for everything there is a season.

My boy John Benjamin

This is my son, and his best girl. This is a rare photo, because like his mother he doesn't like to have his picture taken. I caught him readying Sassy for a walk at our condo garage in Missouri, and he didn't make the usual face or impolite hand gesture.

What can I say about J.B.? For one, he is resilient and loyal to his friends and family. I am very proud of him, because he never quits. Sometimes he starts things I'd prefer he not even attempt, but even when he suffers the occasional setback on life's highway, he's become adept at making lemonade when life hands him lemons.

When he was very young, he wanted so much to be like his daddy. I recall coming back from a business meeting in Arizona, to be met by my son and my wife at the airport in Des Moines. I had, for reasons still unknown, purchased a Stetson hat and western boots, and wore them home. He saw me coming off the plane and said "silly daddy, wearing a cowboy hat". He nailed me with that one, and probably understands my flaws more than anybody else, but still listens when I try to offer advice.........and eventually I find myself reaching him. As a small child, he even wanted to dress like me, and had his own khaki slacks and blue button down shirts.

In grade school he tried soccer, but didn't seem to enjoy team sports - or maybe I just didn't enjoy devoting enough time to him. If there was any failing as a parent, it was certainly mine as my career was coming well before my family in those days. The only activity we shared was perhaps scouting, and I'm proud to say he achieved Eagle Scout rank (perhaps only 2-3% of those who start the program in Cub Scouting make it all the way to the top in Boy Scouts). Along the way, he won his cub scout pack grand champion in the Pinewood Derby - with a car that was ugly fast. But HE made the car, not his father like so many of his fellow scouts.

He also is very protective of his sister, six years his junior. When grade school boys were giving her a hard time at the bus stop, he pointed out to them in no uncertain terms that "mess with her, you get me". Of course, he probably need not to have worried - she dispatched the biggest bully with a kick where it hurt. But he always had her back, and today they still watch out for each other.

When he was in high school, he worked at Chuck E. Cheese, a pizza place where children had a large game zone, and an animated band with various animals including a gorilla playing the drums. The band also featured Mr. Cheese, a large rat - Disney apparently thought it far enough removed from Mickey Mouse as not to sue for copy right infringement. When the curtain closed, an employee would don the "rat suit" and step out from behind the curtain to thrill the young customers. This suit had a world class collection of high school DNA, smelled like a wet rat, and had limited visibility. Workers at this restaurant lasted maybe six months, especially if they had rat suit duty often. Our boy lasted two full years - a record in his peer group. He is not a quitter.

After getting his high school letter in Bowling (clearly not one to try conventional sports), and appearing in several dramatic productions where he demonstrated a unique dance style in Oklahoma, he graduated. I suspect like his father did 25 years earlier, he made the top half of the class possible, yet made the cut to attend Southeast Missouri State University. Graduating in but five years (with time out to collect an Associate Degree at the St. Louis Community College), he went to work in the hospitality/food service business. We suspect he might have gone through college a bit quicker, but the Sigma Chi Fraternity helped slow progress, although I'm sure it helped hone his skill set as a bartender at Outback Steakhouse during college and in later jobs. He still did the same as his dad - I took five years as well, and seem to have done OK in the end. Not sure which of us has the better GPA, but nobody seems concerned anymore.

Ultimately, he decided a job with benefits made more sense that being one of the best waiter/bartenders in West St. Louis County, and he entered his father's career field. When that business ultimately went down the tubes (thank you, Congress and the bond market), he moved to Indianapolis where my mother and brother reside. His ability to stand two years in a perspiration soaked rat suit prepared him for living in my mother's house while he sought full time employ. The ability to wait tables and tend bar never failed him, and Outback Steakhouse was once again a way station. Working there, he learned of a full time opportunity, and went for it. Currently he's reaching his second full year of working with developmentally disabled adults, showing far more patience and compassion than I ever could summon. His mother and I are very proud of him, to take on a job few would consider, helping those who cannot always help themselves. For that, he's already earned his way past the pearly gates. His mother and I are very proud of John Benjamin, our first born and only son. May he live long, and prosper.

Happy Birthday, Mom

Happy 90th Birthday, Mom. For a gal born back on 2-20-20, you're doing OK, and your children and grandchildren love you a lot.

So, that being the case, why am I going to be in Grand Cayman on your birthday? Well, it's like this.....I wasn't thinking. Hopefully you'll not hold it against me for the next twenty or thirty years, although you remain convinced I turned that piece of furniture from your first house into kindling sometime back in the 60's, so I'm not expecting forgiveness anytime soon. Then there was the time I launched your 64 Buick convertible through a wall at the Big Boy restaurant. That was always my problem, not paying attention to what gear I was in, but boys will be boys. I think the steam coming out of the garage after driving home (what, you expected me to stay and answer questions?) was the giveaway - that and the radiator having intercourse with the fan. Then there were the many nights when I came home after curfew, and you had to call off dear old dad from wanting to relocated my butt somewhere up around my shoulder blades.

So, dear old Mother, try and have a happy birthday without me. Seems to me I missed your 80th as well, but I promise to be there when Willard Scott calls out your name and puts your face on a Smucker's jar label. You certainly don't look 90, and hopefully your genes are my genes as well. If so, I plan to live long and allow MY children forget about my birthday too. I hope your grandson comes by and visits - he has little excuse not to, living there in Indianpolis just five miles away. I know my much younger brother will be there, continuing to drive you to the hairdresser and grocery when needed, and of course there are the folks from church who care for you, and the Butler Alumni Association who cares for your checkbook. So, dear Mother, you are in good hands.

I have asked your grand-daughter to drive from St. Louis and visit as my emissary and give you a surrogate hug. I will promise to send you a postcard from Haiti, Columbia, Panama, Costa Rica and Grand Cayman, and each night raise a glass in your honor. It's the least I could do.

Happy 90th birthday, Katie - you've earned it many times over.

Love,

John David