Monthiversary Party

Of course music is a focal point in our relationship. Here three party-goers commemorate the band that brought Gail and I together with MacGillicuddies t-shirts, and some fine friends play an old-time tune. I believe they're in the key of D.

Family Visits

Summer time is a great time to visit Gail and I in Ithaca. This year saw the convergence of the Steinhart/Bunklemans (Gail's sister Martha, her husband Jeff, and their daughter Mariana), Gail's brother Geoff (sadly, without Kristi), and their mom, Carol Steinhart. Mariana is a dutiful niece and used a large leaf to fan me on a hot day at the Farmers' Market.

Family Visits

Kristi couldn't come this time, but her mom and dad made it for a brief visit. Here Ann participates in the weekend's most prized activity, Bean Worship. Geoff gives Mariana and Carol a quick lesson on the life of fish.

Family Visits

Gail and I got to show off our new grill by making gourmet pizzas.

Family Visits

Of course every family visit involves time in the gorges. In this case we're hiking the loop in Buttermilk Falls State Park where Geoff and the Bunkle-harts camped. Carol stayed with Gail and I.

Summer Time!

What a great way to kick off the summer; to pick strawberries and make strawberry-rhubarb jam.
I did get into a little jam and didn't have enough jars, lids, or pectin so a quick trip to the store for necessities was in order while the mashed berries-rhubarb were on the stove. I'm blaming the disruption for not putting in enough pectin and having runny jam.

Summer Time!

Gail's tried out a couple different haircuts for the summer. You'll only know which one is the one she has decided to stick with if you see her.

Summer Time!

I'm happy to say Gail gets mine right the first time.

Giving in to the Heat

When it gets this hot, the thing to do is lie still with your belly exposed.

Hanging Out With The In-Laws

It was a high-tech day here with a three-way iChat between Gail and I in Ithaca, the Steinhart-Bunklemans in St. Paul, where Carol Steinhart was visiting, and Geoff Steinhart in Sault Ste. Marie, MI. We had a bit of a bandwidth problem that kept us from hearing much of what Geoff said, and then the St. Paul crowd started breaking up visually. Marianna was cracking up too but that's different.

Derby Hill Bird Obserrvatory

Being on vacation offered a perfect opportunity to visit the Onondaga Audubon Society's Derby Hill Bird Observatory in Mexico, NY to view the annual spring hawk migration with Connie O'Brien and Andy Boehm. I forgot the camera but have stolen pictures from the web. It was a beautiful day, and in the first half hour we saw what we'd come for: Bald Eagles, Golden Eagles, Osprey, Broad-wing Hawks, Red-tail Hawks, Cooper's Hawk, and many, many Turkey Vultures.

Derby Hill Bird Obserrvatory

It was just a perfect day to sit on a high bluff above Lake Ontario. So when the winds shifted a little and came off the lake, it pushed the birds south and the official counter and most of the observers went to the other site about half a mile away from the lake. We decided to stay put for awhile even though there weren't many birds. We enjoyed our picnic lunch, I had a banjo and played some tunes and Connie even finished a book she's been slogging through. We were rewarded with an Osprey that dove into the lake right behind that tree. Then the real reward came when we moved to the other site and witnessed swarms of raptors coming our way.

Derby Hill Bird Obserrvatory

When more than 600 Turkey Vultures pass over in a day it's easy to not pay enough attention to notice something different, even for the experts. Fortunately for the experts (all three official counters were there at the time) Andy had a quest to see a Black Vulture. He kept it quiet until he was pretty certain, then brought it to the attention of everyone and it was confirmed. Only the second one spotted this year. He kept saying, "That bird doesn't have a head." But it was the white wing tips that distinguished it from the Turkey Vultures.
I later saw an Osprey that would have gone unnoticed, but lost my credibility almost right away by claiming another one that turned out to be a Rough-legged. Still, there were only six of those counted all day.

Derby Hill Bird Obserrvatory

Here's how most of the Bald Eagles looked. When they are immature they lack the white head and tail. I missed any mature ones that passed over, but there were so many birds to watch I hope I can be forgiven for missing a few. If you're still reading at this point you're interested enough in the day's official count and can find it by clicking here. We were there on April 16 when the official count was 1710 total.

I Sure Do Miss My Dad

I'm so glad I learned to play banjo in time for dad to get to enjoy it. Just look at the exuberance of his listening pleasure. Seriously, one of my last memories of dad was from after grandma died. I was about to head back to Ithaca he had just laid down on the couch for a nap and asked somebody to put on the cd I had recorded of some tunes for him. Maybe he didn't know I was right there with my banjo and could have played live.
I haven't learned how to sing and play yet, but there sure are a lot of tunes tempting me. One is by Fred Eaglesmith who has found the best way to describe many situations. Here's an example (the song starts at 7 minutes, the story before it isn't one of his best): I Sure Do Miss My Dad.

I Sure Do Miss My Dad

Dad got to meet his last grandchild (right?) and all but Willie and Henry will have fond memories of him the rest of their lives. And I'd like to say that wouldn't have been the case if he hadn't quit smoking almost 20 years ago.

I Sure Do Miss My Dad

What a wonderful couple. They had nine very lucky children, stayed sane, and still enjoyed a life together that most of us can't imagine.

I Sure Do Miss My Dad

Dad took care of us in a way no other could. It usually involved a good bit of teasing or a stern voice. Later he helped with the grandkids as well. He also made sure his mom was well cared for until her death just a month before his.

I Sure Do Miss My Dad

A great guy deserves a bunch of great friends and neighbors. For years there was a well-worn path between our house and the Robbin's. Later when the Murphys bought our old house a true friendship blossomed with them.

I Sure Do Miss My Dad

He and mom would go to our athletic events seemingly every evening, year-round. Whether it was leaving the store for 15 minutes to go watch Pat fault on a long jump attempt, or driving two hours to give Jim some coaching tips, we knew we had support.

I Sure Do Miss My Dad

Dad and Don Nash bought the Kingans Pharmacy in Westfield after they finished school. They ran it together for over 30 years.

I Sure Do Miss My Dad

Mom and Dad met in college at the UB School of Pharmacy. The fact that she picked him (as she claims) when she was one of a few females in a class with 100 men says a lot about his character and her intelligence.

I Sure Do Miss My Dad

Three generations of McMahons. Dad with his dad, TC or Mick, and TC's parents. I only have a couple memories of TC who died when I was three. Funny, one involves him teasing me about which church we should go to.

I Sure Do Miss My Dad

Here are a couple shots of Billy. It's clear from these that polio didn't diminish his spirit a bit.

I Sure Do Miss My Dad

One of my all-time favorite pictures of anybody. What a sweet kid.

Sign of the Times

Theses signs have been spotted in Ithaca. Maybe somebody will take note, and action.

Salmon Hills

Gail and I (and Bean) recently went back to Salmon Hills for some cross country skiing. We spent Christmas there but even a region renowned for lake-effect snow sometimes fails. There was plenty of snow for skiing but it rained Christmas Eve and then froze so all the trails were coated with ice. This time there was plenty of snow again, but it had rained a couple days earlier so the trails were a bit icy again. No worries, lake-effect was predicted overnight guaranteeing fresh snow for skiing in the morning before we would return to Ithaca. These are the yurts you can stay in, they also have a hotel.

Salmon Hills

When we got up in the morning about 20 inches of snow had fallen in less than seven hours. It didn't let up for the remaining six hours we were there and the cars in the picture completely disappeared. The front loader did a good job of clearing the parking lot so people could come and go. People said it wasn't snowing five miles to the south so we decided to leave around noon; too bad for us we had to drive about 15 miles west first, straight into the storm.

Salmon Hills

Here comes Gail in the morning to join Bean and I on the trails for a ski. She and I had gone snowshoeing earlier before the trails were groomed. Notice the snow sliding off the roofs of the yurts, the paths between them would fill up with waist-deep snow in less than an hour.

Salmon Hills

The snowbanks were no match for Bean. Fortunately the ski did tire him out and he didn't bark at the windshield wipers for the hour and a half it took us to drive 15 miles to get out of the snowstorm.

Salmon Hills

Here's how things looked when we finally got to Route 81. This is the entrance ramp. We took Route 11 and in less than 11 miles the road was dry and the sun was out.

Guitar Hero I

Gail has gone out and gotten a nice little Martin to go along with her guitar lessons. They sound good together. Unlike me with my banjo playing, she doesn't need the netting that's behind her(click on the picture) to stop beer bottles that are thrown from the kitchen.

Grandma and Me

Here's the last picture I know of that has Grandma and me in it. It's from July 2000, the last summer I had that car, and we're on our way to check out the Great Blue Heron Music Festival. I'd take her there every year when she lived in Sherman. The last time was in 2003 when she was 98, making her the second oldest person to visit (host Julie Erickson's great aunt visited at 99). We toured the site in a golf cart and Grandma got a kick out of the hippie-kids' clothes. After listening to some old time music by The Buvas with Richie Stearns awhile, she said, "They don't sing much do they?" Pretty astute observations for someone who couldn't "see or hear a thing" for the last ten to fifteen years of her life. It was several years before I noticed the similarity of the print on my shirt and our pose.

Mildred S. McMahon

Here's Mildred in 1925. Twenty years old in the middle of the Roaring Twenties, four years before becoming a mother. She would go on to a couple months shy of 103 before dying.

Mildred S. McMahon

Here's Mildred (on the right) and her sister Hazel in Peru when they were in their seventies. Hazel always encouraged me to travel, grandma was a little more uptight about my adventures. They both told me about chewing coca leaves on this trip to deal with the altitude. Hazel died a few days before Mildred turned 100.

All Treats on this Halloween

This is one you'll surely want to click on the picture! I'm not saying the cherubs didn't learn anything at school today, but you can see why they might have been distracted by my costume. I left Bean at home.

Mr. Golden Shovel gets more recognition

One of the hardest things about being Mr. Golden Shovel of 2006-2007 was shoveling this section of the neighbor's sidewalk. It was cracked, busted, and uneven. Can't tell you how many times the shovel handle ended up in my gut when doing this stretch. But no more, when this job was done it ended up smooth as silk. I'm sure they did it just to honor their own Good Neighbor. Now if it would just snow...