Change of Season

We got back from vacation and discovered that, like one plate sliding over another, much had changed while much remained the same.

A good friend from work was toodling along I-70 in his brand new (less than two weeks old) Ford pickup when a drunken man in the other lane clipped the guard rail, crossed three lanes, barrelled through the bushes in the median, flipped his vehicle and hit our friend head on. Fortunately, our friend had seen a flash of movement in his peripheral vision and swerved. The oncoming driver hit the passenger side of the front of the truck. Possibly as fortunate, inebriated people have a certain looseness about them that helps them survive some pretty stupid decisions. A little whiplash, a lot of thankfulness, and a full-on convert to the Ford way of building a truck have resulted. An abrupt change.

Coby? Still the same.

Two friends have lost a parent or grandparent in the past week. Unsettling change, though inevitable. But to know, and care, that those who remain hurt so is a rippling effect. By their actions, a single person creates a legacy that becomes even more pronounced in their leaving. It touches many lives as we feel so deeply for people in their loss but have no idea what to say. Jen and Ron, I love you both.

Both friends have blogs. Their words more than compensate for my inability to say anything meaningful at such a time. Both are well worth reading.

http://tactfullyblunt.typepad.com
http://hoosier1964.typepad.com

The weather is pretty much the same. It was cold in Las Vegas (for Las Vegans) and wet as well. When I was refueling Clifford last night it was cold in Elkridge (for damn near everybody) and wet as well. I can understand a chilling wind, but nothing cuts through me quite like cold and damp.

I've been eating more vegetables for a change. Not exclusively. My father raised me much better than that. There's really only one way to truly test animal husbandry. It is a test of fire. A test that leaves its mark. Several of them, in fact. Neat parallel lines that we admire as we politely ask in three syllables for something that looks like it ought to take four: Wurcheshur. That's right, Wor-ces-ter-shire. So this is an incomplete change. My carnivorous tendency dies as hard as the life forms that feed it. But I'm ingesting many more things that used to have leaves and roots.

Working out still hurts. "Conditioning" is the long form for the word "pain." Tuesday was legs. Today was upper body. I think Bennie takes particular joy in working me when he knows I will be standing up with a heavy piece of lumber strapped around my neck for the next 2-3 hours. We really need to move band practice. Curiously, if it's a pound of flesh he wants, that's precisely why I'm there. Take it now and we can both leave happy. I suppose it's actually 40-50 pounds of whatever is just behind the flesh that I'm trying to leave at the gym, but you get the point.

It is a new year. Last year was too, once. But this is supposedly different. It's a real change at work. We are quickly trying to come up to speed with all the new templates and forms we need to operate and administrate the contract for the next seven years. Soon there will be an influx of fresh faces. Many new college graduates have elected to make their mark in the world by joining our contract. They will be young, energetic, enthusiastic, and much less expensive than the subcontractors they are replacing. So we are preparing for a new paradigm. We are not old. We are mentors. That has a much nicer ring to it, don't you think?

We are doing a 40-day online devotional series at church. It's pretty cool. Go to www.surroundedonline.com. Don't forget to click on the cow. We're just beginning, but the discussion to date reinforces that there are some immutable things. Like the relationship between Creator and creation. Life's plates may be passing one another as this season, too, changes. It is reassuring to cling to the immutable as we participate in the passage.

On the Road

We left town. On 23 December, we crammed packed suitcases in the car and headed toward the airport. But not directly to the airport. First we had a little bidness to take care of...

THE BACK STORY
Our faithful battleship gray 1988 Crown Victoria, the "Ride of Pride" that floated down (well, actually all over) the road silently beaming the message, "Well, if only I were a bit younger I could be mistaken for a police cruiser," has been donated to charity. That's what happens when you invest over $1,000 in a car, let it sit for a few weeks, take it in for emissions testing, and it piddles brake fluid all over the floor like a spastic puppy. With brakes threatening to fail completely, I got the car from emissions to a trusted mechanic. Ch-Ching!

The estimate to retrain Liz, as we named our piddling friend, to heel was $900. That was either the real price or the figure for which the mechanics were willing to bury their hands in that vehicle's nether parts. I'm told that those Crown Vic engines are less than a joy to maintain. We opted for donation.

The blue book on the car was just over $300. I argued with myself (an unattractive sight, to be sure) and failed to convince myself that Liz was worthy of rehabilitation. So off she went to church. That was not the ultimate destination. Merely a stopping point at which the tow truck could "hook up" with our charitable donation. There she sat. While another person beneath this roof wrangled with the appropriate parties, Liz dutifully collected a DayGlo orange impound tag, was granted dispensation by the authorities because she rested on private property, irked the landlord because she took up scarce parking space, and finally prompted a call to deal with the situation before Christmas. I didn't check messages on my cell phone until December 22. Guess what we were doing the next morning? Right. Leaving town.

Thanks to my wife putting in a convincing plea for assistance with GEICO, by now Liz is probably an attractive metal cube somewhere. Nobody in their right mind would want to buy her. More importantly, we became liberated. One less car in the driveway and three more people flying to Nashville.

NASHVILLE
You want to know a fine Christmas gift? How about parents paying for a few nights of accommodations at a super-fancy hotel in Nashville for each of their kids and the extended families. I know. Too much, isn't it? Wow.

The Gaylord Opryland Hotel is a sprawling complex adjacent to the former site of the Opryland amusement park. Atria inside the hotel cover thousands of live plants around man-made waterfalls and fountains, magnolia draped in spanish moss, boat rides, shops, restaurants, and even the "exteriors" of buildings. The place is massive. A convention facility anchors one end of the complex. Six levels of rooms flank each atrium, which gives you an idea how high the covered space is. I won't go into extensive detail, but available dining on the premises ranged from fast food kiosks to upscale dining including a seafood restaurant, a steakhouse, an Irish pub, a sports bar, a homestyle buffet, and the Jack Daniels restaurant. A selection of shops offered sundries, specialty clothing, seasonal items, and music (oddly enough, predominantly in a country vein). And if that was not enough, the Opry Mills mall complex, which replaced Opryland, provided access to nearly everything one could want. It is the Nashville sibling of Maryland's Arundel Mills mall complex.

I can't recall the last time all the kids were together at Christmas. We've waited for our little sister to catch up, but "the kids" now all start their ages with the numeral 4. Thus, this gift was extremely special to us. Folks from Florida, Pennsylvania, and Maryland met in Tennessee as guests of our parents, who left 20 inches of snow in Indiana (and were delayed only one day!) to host this clan gathering. To say the least, this was high-style treatment the like of which we are unaccustomed to. But we're willing to become more accustomed if anyone is willing to front the cash to do so. Gracious staff made the visit most pleasant.

My daughter provides even more detail, and the unique perspective of a young teen lady, at her blog: creativekid.blogspot.com

Following our Christmas celebration, the clan scattered to the four points of the compass. We took West.

LAS VEGAS
The theme of Christmas vacation seems to have been scale. The Opryland Hotel was huge. So too was the architecture along Las Vegas Boulevard. Flying into Las Vegas from Nashville, the first thing that impressed me was the geography.

If you don't want much, there's plenty of it to be had just outside Las Vegas. The landscape looked stark and sere. Although it was not yet 5 p.m., that was the last bit of daylight to be had that day. We collected our rental car and drove toward what we hoped was our destination. Some people are too cool for maps and directions. They really annoy their passengers.

Back to the topic of scale. Buildings on the Strip subscribe to the bigger, brighter, better (or at least louder) approach to site planning. Traffic crawled as we drove from one end of the Strip to the other. We saw all the big name places, most of the big name entertainer billboards, and almost too much of a mobile billboard promoting dancers for whom the adjective "scanty" would herald a wardrobe upgrade. I didn't look. Away. Until the light changed.

We finally got to our home for the next few days, the Hilton Grand Vacations Club at the Las Vegas Hilton. HGVC was modest. Seventeen stories, nice lobby amenities, a pool with hot tub and grills, and a decided family feel. The Hilton Hotel and Casino, however, was another glitzy bit of Vegas. Two towers, several shops and restaurants, and more slot machines than I have ever seen in one place before.

That's all for now. Later, how to visit Vegas and avoid having fun.