Summer’s last stand

Old man winter is nefariously creeping our way … ever so slowly. After an amazingly sunny and uncharacteristically long summer, he allowed us to dip our toes in the autumn colors only to project snow by the end of the week.

And it’s supposed to be a brutal winter.

So, a few weeks ago to throw the winter blues off course, Jeremy and I decided to stretch out our summer with one final last-minute excursion south that seamlessly turned into a family reunion.

After packing the car with camping gear, beer and one redheaded Jeb we left Germany late afternoon and rolled into the most pristine campground one has ever pitched a tent on in Maribor, Slovenia at about 9 p.m. Jeremy and Jeb started tent/grill duty while I chatted with the Park Ranger. I explained our friends Dave and Lesley were a few hours behind, so the ranger knighted me keeper of the gate key and took off.  (Slovenians are very trusting …)

Dave and Lesley had a weeklong trip to Croatia planned for quite some time. We decided to Shangai the first few days of their vacation after a conversation that went something like this:

“We’ll be in Croatia next week.”

“We’ll be in Croatia next week!”

“We should hook up.”

“We should hook up!”

The next day we hit the open road once more, this time with our small caravan and made it to Plitvice, Croatia by amid-afternoon to meet up with our Italian correspondents Tad and Megan Trivisonno, who joined the trip with less than a week’s notice after a conversation that went something like this:

“You off next weekend?”

“I am off next weekend.”

“Wanna meet us in Croatia?”

“I do wanna meet you in Croatia.”

From there, the seven of us rock-climbed, hiked, sauntered through Plitvice Lakes National Park and dined on the finest of Croatian cheese, Italian wine, German beer and brats, and a batch of rich chocolate brownies that would have made yo’ mama blush.

Then we laughed. Oh how we laughed.

In a short four-day trip we earned three new passport stamps: Slovenia, Bosnia and Herzegovina, and Croatia, but vow more exploration in the aforementioned countries is needed.

Croatia, especially, has been on our radar for quite sometime, and this trip really only brushed the surface. While the scenery was beautiful, it only acted as a backdrop for some much needed catching up.

Traveling is good for the soul, but so are the friends you drag along with you …

Another notch in the collar

Sky Dog, beloved family friend and faithful companion turned 10 years old today.

After a thorough woodland walk, she dined on the finest of chicken and rice "cereal" and contemplated the high points of her life over a dram of scotch and a fine cigar.

High points included flea-biting her stuffed squirrels, tearing apart a toy ferret, and devouring a treat she noted tasted remarkably similar to bacon.

After all these years, and despite her Houdini-like antics and ankle-biting tendencies, she's still our favorite bitch.

Sewing up the loose ends



Not too long ago I decided to make my friends Big Al and Dan a Hawaiian quilt for their wedding and finished just in time … for their 6th anniversary. It’s not that I procrastinate, in fact, I started well before their wedding, it’s just other projects got in the way.

It began as the perfect plan in 2006. I’d take a Hawaiian quilting class in the spring and since they weren’t getting married until September, I could take my time, maybe even add a few extra frills.

I was the only guy among the 7 little old ladies in the adult continuing education class at Kaimuki High School – I think most of them were friends of the instructor, Mele. As the class ended several weeks later, most of the pupils were pretty much done with their projects; all I had left was to finish quilting the “echoes,” which follow the shape of the pattern in the middle of the quilt out to the edges.

A traditional Hawaiian breadfruit pattern

I’d put in an hour here or an hour there, but made the mistake of setting the quilt down in May. Months flipped off the calendar and pretty soon it was two weeks before the wedding and I was woefully behind. Luckily for me I had a few long flights and two weeks of travel before the wedding. However, I didn’t take into account that as you quilt toward the outer edges it takes increasingly more time to make a full ring.

Needless to say it wasn’t finished in time for the wedding.

Fast forward 6 years to this summer. Despite starting a month in advance and cranking for a solid 8-10 hours a week, I still needed the entire 8-hour flight (minus 30 minutes which were completely wasted on some show called 2 Broke Girls) before I met up with Big Al and Dan.

Over the years I’ve gotten support from several people, specifically my California momma, Kristy Miller, who is a quilting guru (that quilter’s secret necklace still fools TSA and was absolutely clutch for those last 8 hours of quilting on the plane); Marina Reilly, who is magic on a sewing machine (she helped me close the edges of the quilt -- the only stitches not done by hand); Mele, the quilting instructor; and Molly, whose encouragement helped me stick to my deadline.

While I have much respect for the quilters out there (mine wasn't even an eighth of a full quilt), this was definitely my last stitch effort. 

Escape to Whisky Island

A scotch-tasting trip has been perched on my to-do list ever since Joe Hauser introduced me to the sweet, sweet nectar that is a 16-year-old Lagavulin. So last year when my buddy JR mentioned Notre Dame would be playing Navy in Dublin, the wheels were set in motion.

We planned in furious fits over the course of a year, masterfully tweaking logistics. But as the trip began we discovered rather quickly that 1) we didn’t plan as well as we thought and 2) most times it was better off that way.

Walking down the gangway at Islay's Port Askaig, we spotted a van from Bruichladdich, one of our must-see distilleries of the eight on the island. JR casually asked if the four of us could catch a ride with them since we were heading to Port Charlotte, the next town over.

Without skipping a beat the driver obliged and we were on our way (he turned out to be one of the distillers who was picking up his nephew, Martin, the distillery’s rep in Shanghai).

A few minutes into the conversation the driver asked, “So, how were you planning to get to Port Charlotte if we hadn’t given you a ride?”

Silence. 

Then everyone laughed. 

Through this random hitch, we got a glimpse of the island’s culture and an intimate view of a distillery on the verge of a major change (Bruichladdich was recently bought by beverage mega-distributor Remy Martin).

As the van dropped us off at the hostel, we met a Scotsman named Kyle and his Australian girlfriend, Lan, who immediately took us to the local pub.

The rest of the trip followed the same pattern – no real hiccups or even hangovers – with the days flowing by as smoothly as Islay’s whisky rolled down our gullets.

We dined on a fresh seafood feast with the locals; stood up to middle school bus bullies (well, some of us stood up to them); took a tandem bike off-roading on the Ho Chi Minh Trail; and even added a fellow American, Owen, who joined our group for the last two days.

The trip seemed so effortless that after the first day we were already talking about making it an annual event (Highlands 2013, anyone?).

If you’ve never been to Scotland (most of us hadn’t), the people are so friendly that it’s almost suspect. Talkative, helpful to a fault … and that accent – I found myself stopping into the tourist information desks, even when I knew where I was going, just to hear the receptionist speak.

After a short, adventure-packed stint on Islay, we skipped through Glasgow and spent a few days in Edinburgh before dropping our bags in Dublin for the game.

Although the game was a bit anti-climactic (ND won 50-10), we took to the opportunity to connect with some old friends and meet a few new ones over some delicious pints.

I used to think folks from Northern Ireland took the congenial cake, but now I’m not so sure. And if the Scots aren’t the friendliest people on earth, they made one helluva first impression. 

101 years young

On Wednesday our family lost

a matriarch from Hickory town,

With a perma-smile and rapier wit,

the ever lovely Lois Brown.

She stood just a step over four feet tall

but her hearty laughter was felt by all.

Grandpap couldn’t see, and she could barely hear

But I’ve never known such a loving pair

Their house was so warm, that nostalgic, cellar smell

Where Jeff and I slid down stairs ‘til the dinner bell.

She burned through two hips, her arthritic hands were knobbed

But she slew search-a-words like it was her job.

Through her love of life, all odds she defied

And her face bore the lines of a billion smiles.

And though she’s gone, her spirit’s still here

In our laughter, our hearts and that familial cheer

She lives on in our eyes as our numbers grow

And in the precious few who inherited her nose.

Rest in peace, Grandma Brown.

Jan. 3, 1911-Aug. 22, 2012

 (if you hold out until minute two, she really nails her signature part.)

Reunification vacation

After getting accepting into a work-related FEMA class six months ago, I was excited to head back to the U.S. for the first time in more than a year and a half.

But as we started making plans, the four-day class quickly blossomed into a two-week trip, chock full of traveling and family fun.  

Molly spent time at an ashram in Virginia and caught up with her St. Louis peeps, while I reconnected with a few college chums, a former East Bay Indian, and visited Gettysburg.

In addition to reuniting with friends, this trip back was full of several firsts: It was the first time Molly and I had spent more than two days apart in the past two years; I had my first Newt Gingrich sighting a few blocks from the Capitol (yes, his head really is that big); and most notably, it marked the first meeting for members of our immediate families.

As part of the event we started calling the grand rendezvous, 19 members of both families converged on Pigeon Forge, Tenn., (near Gatlinburg), enduring more than 10 cramped hours on the road for the promise of a luxurious vacation cabin in the Smoky Mountains.

Within minutes of arriving, the nephews and nieces (7 in all) quickly monopolized the game room, igniting rivalries too fierce for the tabletop Ms. Pacman and plastic air hockey paddles.

We took a daytrip to Smoky Mountains National Park and spent the remainder of the weekend enjoying each other's company and relaxing. Oh, there was a talent show, too - a knee-slapping, gut-busting embarrassing array of showmanship and bravado. (See for yourself in the video below).

 

And although we don’t plan to return to Pigeon Forge, Tenn., anytime soon, in light of the overwhelming success of the first Hayden-Buddemeier reunion, I know it won’t be the last.

The people in my neighborhood

One of my favorite parts of traveling is the characters you meet along the way. The characters that you assume will revisit you in the novel you write one day; those moments in time you share with them, however brief or insignificant, that impact your world and carry with you forever.

Not to mention the coincidences. The first real conversation I had on my first day back in the states was with a teenage son and his father visiting from Cologne – and it happened to be in German.

But the most surprising relationship thus far is my meeting with a girl named Caroline. A flute playing, unicorn-wielding 6-year-old from Atlanta, GA who was moving and shaking across the east coast with her mother in what she called their “summer tour.”

We sat at the kitchen table of our hostel in Charlottesville, VA and shared our knowledge of the world. She gave me a peach she had handpicked in Delaware recently and told me about her favorite color and travel destination. (Pink and New England, respectively).

She spoke with eloquence of experience and expressed a bit of knowledge that took my 20 years to learn: the importance of the open road.

In two years, Caroline will enter third grade, at which time she will retire the flute and will be given the choice of either playing the violin or the cello. When asking her which one she would choose, she replied “The violin. It’s easier to travel with.”