Perils of Caffeine in the Evening

30 years ago today Mrs. Perils of Caffeine and I were married in Findlay, Ohio. We had moved in together after college, to the consternation of both families, in Bowling Green while I took some courses and waited for life to whisper something definite in my ear. The situation with the families didn’t improve, and we finally decided to get officially licensed.

We were over-the-top bicycle enthusiasts then, and thought it would be the height of whimsy to ride our bikes to the ceremony. We’d heard that the mayor of Findlay, the self-proclaimed “only Democrat in Hancock County”, would perform the honors free of charge, so we grabbed a good friend as witness and rode the 25 miles to Findlay. We encountered a strong headwind, the relentless kind of wind in Ohio unencumbered by trees or hills, and tucked in behind a farmer’s combine for several miles. As a result, the bride arrived at her wedding with chaff in her hair.

Afterward, we rode back to Bowling Green in time for the bride to work her shift at the restaurant at the Holiday Inn. She either liberated, or they gave her, a nice hunk of steak, our friend brought a cake and we had our wedding banquet after she got off work.

We could have, probably should have, given the families the opportunity to throw a traditional wedding. It would have healed a lot of things and made life a little easier for all of us in the years to follow. But I was stubborn, self-absorbed and - look at me - not really ready to deal with rooms full of people asking me what I was doing with my life.

All in all, though, things have worked out well. Though my parents live 2,000 miles away, I visit with them 5 or 6 times a year; my mother-in-law now lives with us as an invited guest; and the marriage has outlived the Kingdome and a gaggle of sovereign nation-states.

(Edit 6/7/18: all parents mentioned herein besides ourselves have long since passed on.)

Photo was taken on the ride home after the nuptials. Click photo to enlarge

Ack.   Not real inspired this week, for whatever reason.  We’re approaching the solstice, though it seems like winter just ended.  The above usually represent the penultimate flowering in our yard: the wild digitalis, the double-white mock orange supplanting the spent lilacs and infusing the area with an almost obscene aroma.  In the upper left is the result of our early spring.  The montmorency pie cherries are beginning to ripen, even though we usually don’t expect them until July 4.  I believe we’ll be picking them in two weeks.  Of everything we plant and nurture in the yard, I’m most taken with the digitalis, which we do nothing for except mow around.

The Zero 7 show was very enjoyable.  They’re not a band that’s going to define their generation or anything - their music is purposefully “listenable” as a background, chilling-out vehicle.  Still, there’s something compelling about it that makes me want a fix of it every cuppla days, on the headphones, drink nearby.   Maybe I need more “chilling” lately than I think I do.

Their live act is polished without being slick.  The first time I saw them, I was expecting to see two guys sampling all kinds of stuff and no other musicians evident.  Instead, they travel with a full band - drum, bass, lead guitar, two keyboards, and four solo vocalists that share the stage very nicely, and back each other up seamlessly.  We go to a lot of shows featuring more challenging stuff, but this one seemed to hit us right where we needed it.

We’re off to the Showbox tonight to hear Zero7.  It seemed like a great idea a month ago, when we were drinking wine and listening to When It Falls, their new album.  Now, however, with me recovering from a cold that my wife’s just coming down with, and it being a school night, it seems just a tad harebrained.  The tickets are paid-for and waiting at Will-Call, so, dammit, we’re going.  I’ll letcha know how it is.