Rip Van Winkle here. I’ll quickly recap last weekend and move on to current events. That was a very satisfying victory over UM. It’s hard to believe how many points were scored by both teams (81) against what were considered a couple of the top defenses in the country. Well, I certainly don’t want to have to play them again in the National championship game, and, with USC’s win over ND, it looks likely we’ll be trying to burst the Trojans’….bubble in January.
The weekend at my brother’s was relaxing and convivial. I think it’s remarkable that we end up seeing each other 3-4 times a year, living as far apart as we do, and that we’ve grown to like each other as we have. The weather pitched in again this year - highs during the day were 65 - 70F, although it got very chilly at night. For that, we had the fire pit, and some finely crafted beers from our Atlanta contingent.
One sort of flawed strategy that could have doomed the entire day if the sports gods had been paying the least bit of attention: my youngest brother, 10 years my junior and a fellow OSU marching band alum, goaded me into bringing my trumpet down. This wasn’t a trivial request, since it meant schlepping it once again through the Seattle and Detroit airports (as I did in September to play in the alumni band game) as carry-on luggage, since I would be loath to check it as baggage. On Saturday afternoon, leading up to game time, we dragged them out. If you’re strong of stomach, or deaf, here’s a short film clip of our endeavor. Please keep in mind that the moment captured here is literally the first time the horn has touched my lips since Labor Day weekend:
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Despite the inauspicious start, it was a great party. We had 3 TVs hooked up to my brother’s satellite dish, so that no matter which way you had to turn to either grab a beer or open one, you wouldn’t miss any of the game action. Even when it was causing looks of concern:
With the game in hand, we got down to real business. My Charleston brother and sister-in-law had significantly widened and improved the fire pit in his field, and we roasted 80 pounds of oysters and boiled/grilled lobsters that another guest had sent.
These 3 seem to have been caught, Pompeii-like, in the midst of some Roman bit of dissolution:
After dinner, we stoked the fire against the icy November tendrils of air
Until not even our scintillating conversation could hold everyone’s interest.
Just so you don’t think that all we did was drink beer, gorge ourselves on unfortunate shellfish, and watch football, we got out for several nice walks around my brother’s ‘hood, a mixture of farms and rural residences. One disappointment down by my brother’s pond was the no-show by his (now pet) largemouth bass, Shamu. Apparently the fish in his pond have entered a period of inactivity, and they didn’t even surface when food pellets were scattered.
As much as I love ‘em, it’s always good to get back home to Seattle. I always try to sit on the right side of my Seattle-bound flights, just in case we make a “bad-weather” approach from the north, and I can get the “money shot” view of downtown and, every now and then, my neighborhood as we descend. Reliably, for this time of year and especially for this wettest of Novembers, we turned for the airport just a couple miles north of the house.