The First States - Day 2 - Exciting Delaware

8/16/15, “Exciting Delaware”

New York, New York

When I kept referring to “exciting Delaware,” I meant it as a joke, but, in truth, after our 24 hours in Delaware, I was quite pleasantly surprised.  I was misquoting the Delaware scene from Wayne’s World, but the quote worked.  Everyone we knew who ever lived in Delaware told us the same thing.  There’s nothing to see there.  That is what makes the scene from Wayne’s World so funny.  I actually just Snapped the squad asking if they wanted to watch the movie tomorrow night.

What was there to do in “exciting Delaware?”  A lot, it turned out, but all that mattered to me was the Legislature, my stamped brochure (hopefully with all three stamps), and the iconic restaurant.  Unfortunately, the place in Dover with the Stamp would not open until 1:30 PM, and the State Park office closed at 4 PM, which would make it very difficult to get all three stamps.  In theory, it was doable, but I did not like our odds.  It also meant we had the entire morning to kill, but I have gotten ahead of myself.

After I closed, immediately afterwards, I heard what sounded like an air raid siren.  I think I blurted out, “Is this the bloody Blitz?”  It turned out that it was from the fire house, and that was how they call the volunteer firemen to come over.  I went up to the room where my friends were already asleep and got into bed as quietly as possible.  Something was off.  It was way too hot.  Even without sheets I felt like I was sweating, and I knew there was no way I could go to sleep.  Was the AC not working?  I checked the thermostat, which read 75.  No, that wasn’t possible.  My friends were under their blanket.  No one under the age of 60 sleeps in a room that is 75 degrees and under blankets.  I assumed that the thermostat malfunctioned and reset itself, especially with 75 being such an even number (yes, I know 75 is odd, but it’s a round number).  I set it down to 68 degrees and being next to the AC, I was soon comfortable enough to fall asleep.

I woke up about 6 hours later, once again sweltering.  I checked the thermostat.  It was now 78 degrees, which meant that most likely one of my friends had turned it up, but I still wasn’t 100% sure.  Who puts the thermostat to 78 degrees and sleeps under a blanket, in summer?  I knew there was zero chance I could fall back to sleep like that, so I put it down to 64 degrees.  6 AM was not the appropriate time to have a discussion about the setting of the thermostat.  It turned out that one of my friends gets nasal drip when she gets too cold, something I am quite familiar with, since my dad has the same.  However, it was a discussion we probably should have had before we went to bed, rather than us just each waking up in the middle of the night to change the temperature, having the result of making the other uncomfortable, not even realizing that the other person needed the temperature setting they changed it to in order to sleep, or that they in fact changed it.

Around 9 AM, awoken by a few notifications on my phone, unable to get back to sleep but not quite ready to get out of bed, I heard my friends whispering, followed by one of them calling my name.  She said she wasn’t sure how to wake me up.  I joked that whispering to each other and calling my name would do the trick, especially given that I was already awake.  We headed down to breakfast, which was quite a disappointment, even compared to Hampton Inn, but I made do.  The coffee was the best part.  After breakfast, we reconvened outside for smokes, where I lit up my Ardor and published my entry while they went for a swim.  Even though I had packed my bathing suit, I had no interest in swimming.  We went back to the room and were out the door before noon.  My friends wanted to see an old plantation, and I knew that the John Dickinson House, a nearby NHL, was on a plantation, which would be perfect.

John Dickinson was interesting character in American history.  He wrote the Petition to the King in 1774, along with the final version of the Declaration of the Causes and Necessity of Taking Up Arms in 1775, which were the two precursors to the Declaration of Independence.  However, when 1776 came, he refused to sign it, arguing that it went too far, that America was not yet ready to declare Independence.  Instead he wrote the Articles of Confederation and served in the Pennsylvania militia as a general.  He would later become President of Delaware.  (This has been summarized from Wikipedia.)  I just wanted to visit another NHL.  It was closed on Sunday, but we snuck in and took our ceremonial pictures as I smoked my E.P. Carrillo.

After we were done, we went to downtown Dover and parked the car by the Old Statehouse.  We were hungry, but nothing was open.  It was practically a ghost town on Sunday mornings.  Even the VCs didn’t open until 1:30 PM.  I finished my cigar a little bit after 1 PM.

We took our ceremonial pictures in front of the Legislative Hall.  We then decided to sit in the shade, which resulted in us getting eaten alive by insects.  We headed to the VC and waited for it to open, but they had neither a Stamp nor an NPS brochure.  They did give me half a dozen Delaware flags as souvenirs.

We headed to the Old Statehouse, which was now open, and they had both, the Stamp and the brochure, each of which were useless without the other.  This marked my 240^th National Park Site.  First State National Historical Park, it’s called, though it’s really just a collection of historic sites across the state grouped together as one NPS unit.  We were now starving, so we stopped for lunch at the first place we saw, a McDonald’s.  No way was I counting that as my first Official meal in Delaware.  We were in a bit of a time crunch to get the other two stamps.  I had estimated we would be at the next stop by 2:30 PM, which would give half an hour there and allow us to get to the State Park office at 3:30 PM.

Between the stop for lunch and traffic, it was 3:15 PM by the time we got to New Castle, which put us on a very tight schedule to get to the State Park by 4 PM.  It was doable, though.  I lit up my special anniversary edition My Father cigar, which was very disappointing for the price point.  What makes My Father cigars so special is that they are an excellent cigar at a very low price point.  This cigar was three times the price and not much better than the standard blend.  New Castle had two NHLs within a short walk of each other (one of them had a Stamp), along with being part of New Castle Historic District, so three NHLs.  I had utmost faith in my ability to do that all in fifteen minutes, even having time to stop for a souvenir.

As we were entering the historic district, we saw a sign that said “best coffee,” and my friends were more interested in that than taking ceremonial pictures at famous, historic sites.  They said they’d go to the coffee place, and we’d reconvene in 15 minutes back at the car.  We had parked in front of the George Read house.  He was one of two people to sign the Petition to the King, the Declaration of Independence, and the Constitution.  Roger Sherman was the other.  I took my ceremonial pictures in front of his house, and I still had plenty of cigar left.  I headed to the Old New Castle Courthouse, stopping at a disappointing souvenir shop.  I also realized that I forget to pick up a Sunday paper for my collection.

I took my ceremonial pictures in front of the famous, historic Old New Castle Courthouse, which was where the stamp was, ditched my cigar, and prepared to head in.  It said that it was closed because a tour was in progress.  Huh?  I should still be able to get my stamp, right?  Wrong.  The front door was locked, along with all the other doors.  Fuck.  That meant that I could not get all three stamps.  My friend messaged me, saying they were still at the coffeehouse and running a little late.  It didn’t matter.  The third stamp no longer mattered without the second one.  A brochure with two of three stamps is the same as a brochure with just one stamp.

I went to meet them at the coffee house and got myself a cup of coffee.  We joked if it would be the “best coffee” like the Chinese food last night was the best Chinese food in Dover and whether or not the coffee would make its way into my blog.  Spoiler alert: it did.  Wait.  I did that backwards.  The coffee was very good, and, the guy at the front told me where to get my newspaper, along with explaining what was meant by “tour in progress.”  It meant that the staff was leading a tour around town, so no one was staffing the Old New Castle Courthouse.  No longer constrained by time, we sat outside to enjoy our coffees as we took in famous, historic New Castle.

We headed back to the car, and I finished my coffee with a little bit of a cookie.  We headed out of town, driving by the Old New Castle Courthouse.  Wait, I saw the sign now said open.  Ooh, maybe I would be able to get this stamp after all, which was a much better stamp than the one at the State Park, anyway.  They were, and I did.  We then went to Walgreen’s, where I got the newspaper, along with picking up some Dogfish Head IPA next door.

We made our way to the State Park, which was still open, but all the facilities were closed.  There was a big sign that said “ALCOHOLIC BEVERAGES PROHIBITED,” not that that stopped us from cracking open a couple of IPAs for our walk.  There was a thing to pay for parking.  You had to put cash in an envelope and write down all of your vehicle information, quite a process.  “They’re getting ‘Black Toyota with Rhode Island plates,’” I announced.  We also didn’t have the right change, so we could only put in for half of the requested fee.  We could have gotten away with not paying at all.  I lit up my H. Upmann, and we walked around, finding a trail, too.

We made our reservation for dinner at Delaware’s “most iconic” restaurant, a college bar by the University of Delaware, Deer Park Tavern.  The list said that college kids go there for nachos, burgers, and Dogfish Head Beer, which was exactly what I wound up getting.  After our walk, we drove to the bar, which did was not filled with college kids at all.  I guess college kids don’t get drunk at 6 PM on a Sunday, and it was still summer, too.  The meal was good, not as good as lunch yesterday, though, but I could tell it would a really fun place to go at night if you were a student at U of D.

After dinner, I walked out while my friends were paying the check.  I had given them cash for my portion, and they were using their cards to split the rest.  This was actually my first Official meal in Delaware, finally, after 28 years.  Once I walked out, I did my ceremonial announcement, something like, “Well, that’s Official, and I managed to make exciting Delaware Complete in the process.”  I had the meal, the Cuban, the NPS, and the Legislature.

I lit up an Avo, and we were soon on our way.  It was 7 PM, only an hour behind the original schedule I had drafted up, which meant that we could be at Penn Station by 10:30 PM.  It was 10:30 PM by the time we returned the car.  I did not get home until after midnight.  There was lots of traffic, everyone returning from their trip to the beach.  There was a line at the service plaza for gas, since New Jersey is full-service only.  It was an exhausting drive home, but we played Fearless for the ride, and we all sang along each time “Love Story” and “You Belong with Me” came on.  I got another coffee at the service plaza and finished my cookie with it.  Those cookies are so good.  This was a new drive for me, though I am quite familiar with the very similar drive Sunday night on the Hutch through Connecticut.

We got the airport, returned the car, took the AirTran to the train station, and a train was coming in ten minutes.  Of course, there was a delay on the train.  It was 11:45 PM when we got to Penn Station, three hours behind the original schedule I had drafted.  We said our goodbyes, and they took the subway to one of their houses, while I walked outside to get on a bike.  No bikes.  I walked.  I stopped at the corner deli by my place to get a diet cherry soda, which I quickly downed.  When I got to my apartment, it was sweltering, and the AC was not doing its trick.  It’s fine now, but I needed to just veg out while the AC kicked in, not smoking or writing.  Once I was sufficiently chilled out, both physically and emotionally, I lit up an OpusX and proceeded to write this entry.

I suppose some reflections are in order, but I am dead tired, and my cigar is almost done, so I will just say this.  We had an amazing time together, enjoying each other’s company and the famous, historic sites in our own way.  That was the fun thing about the trip.  We were interested in seeing most of the same sites but for different reasons, and we all got to do things we wanted to do.  I did what was necessary to say, “Delaware Complete,” and I found NHLs that they were happy to see.  They just want to go somewhere together, and this was a trip that worked for them.  I think it’ll probably rank pretty high on my list of weekend road trips.  With that I’ll close this entry, along with closing out the trip.  Next stop: Cuba.

The First States - Day 1 - Nearby New Jersey

"When something is too easy to do, you never do it."

8/15/15, “Nearby New Jersey”

Dover, Delaware

There something to be said about travelling the way I do yet failing to properly explore my own city.  My island (Manhattan) alone has 87 National Historic Landmarks, another 26 accessible freely or for a nominal fee by public transportation.  One is literally a block away from my cleaners.  Why then did I not visit it until last summer?  Any other trip, to any other city, a chance for an extra NHL would be an easy sell, subject to time.  I’ve lived in my building for seven years, and there have been plenty of evenings where I had nothing to do.  I think that is the answer to the question.  I always assume there will be time, that I can always visit the site at some other time, yet I never do.

Last summer, I made that happen and visited every single NHL in Manhattan and Brooklyn.  I was going to do the other boroughs either later that summer or this summer.  Never happened.  The summer is almost over.  Unless I do it in two weeks, it will have to wait until next summer, when I am in full Olympic mode.  Will it really happen then?  Today, during day in nearby New Jersey, I did the opposite.  I made it happen.

Princeton has seven NHLs.  We went to each one, along with two in Paterson.  In fact, this entire trip could be summed up along those lines.  It is the easiest possible weekend trip I would want to make.  For fuck’s sake, I have never Officially been to Delaware.  The one time I went was just to stop at a rest stop on the way to DC.  Technically, I still have not been able to consider Delaware Official, since I am yet to have an Official meal.  That’s the problem something being too easy to do.  You never do it.  This weekend, we’re doing it.  We had a hectic, albeit extremely enjoyable day, so I will get down to recording it.

I suppose it began yesterday when I got a text from my grandfather that I would not be able to see him in New Jersey, as his dog got sick and was in the hospital (the dog).  I knew something was going to happen, some reason why I couldn’t see him.  I have not seen him for over a year.  Each time it has been something, and while each reason he has had for cancelling has been believable, the regularity with which the cancellations have occurred borders on unbelievable.  Even my brother’s wedding he could not attend for health reasons.  I wanted to make an effort to see him, to make as easy as possible for him, but even this attempt fell through.  I called him this morning to confirm.  There was no way to see him.  Well, that fucked up our plans, but it also gave us a huge chunk of unplanned time.

I got ready, threw some clothes in my computer bag, not even bothering to worry about packing my computer bag, trusting that I would have whatever gear I would bring to Scarsdale and Delaware requiring nothing more, and biked over to Penn Station, where my friends were waiting.  I picked up breakfast at McDonald’s, as I always do when I’m in the city on a weekend, and met my friends at the ticket machine.  We got our tickets and headed to the train.  The plan was this.  We’d take the train to Newark Airport, pick up the car, head up to Paterson Great Falls, back down to Newark for lunch and then make our way to Dover, where we’d spend the night, hopefully arriving before sunset.

I will also add that there is something unique about this trip, in that I am travelling with new travelling companions.  Unlike my other travelling companions (other than my family and my best friends), these are two people about whom I deeply care, one of whom I very dearly love  This was not a trip where I spent hours a day for weeks negotiating an itinerary with someone who was footing/splitting the bill or a trip where I was planning by fiat since I was footing the bill.

No, this time, we just came to a consensus to make a trip that we would all enjoy.  I had my list of things I wanted to do, but this was nearby New Jersey and exciting Delaware, so it was more important that we just had fun.  I had an itinerary, which quickly fell to shit, and we didn’t even follow a set plan.  It was like nothing mattered other than enjoying the trip.  If we missed a site, so be it.  This was nearby New Jersey.

So far, everything has gone fine, but it could have gone the other direction just as easily, which wouldn’t have mattered.  I told my friends that, without fail, every time I tried taking the train to Newark Airport, something went wrong.  This was to be no exception.  The train was stalled and got in 20 minutes late.  I was glad I was not trying to make a flight.  Then, they couldn’t find my reservation at Hertz.  I made it for Newark Airport train station, not the location at the airport itself.  It all got sorted, and we were soon on the road, heading to Paterson Great Falls NHP.  Remember, nearby New Jersey.  I still did not have a stamped brochure from this NPS.

I went a few years ago with my parents, but the place with the brochures was locked.  They have since renovated, but it took me this long to come back.  Alright, I am dead tired, so I will wrap up as quickly as possible, probably even waiting until the morning to publish.  We were also planning to go to an abandoned psychiatric hospital, which my friend’s favorite thing to do.  Unfortunately, the hospital was demolished.  I lit up my Davidoff Escurio, and we were soon at the NHP.  It was wonderful.  We even found an abandoned trail, which led to a house or some type of building that had been demolished, just the wall along the river still standing.  There was still a window without glass.  I am sure my reader can figure out what I did out that window.

There was another NHL nearby, an abandoned baseball stadium.  They love abandoned stuff.  I love NHLs.  I had enough cigar to make it to the stadium, Hinchliffe Stadium, which was part of the Negro League.  We took our ceremonial pictures and were all starving and extremely thirsty at that point, so we just wanted to go straight to lunch, which was to be at Top’s Diner, New Jersey’s “most iconic” restaurant, the ninth such one I have been to since I started this quest 3 months ago.  At this rate, I’d be done with the quest in 12 months.  Right, tired, need to finish.

There was a bit of wait, which made us even more starving.  I indulged myself, and we shared an appetizer platter.  For my main course, I got their famous short rib burger, which was delicious, along with a milkshake.  The meal was phenomenal.  It always is.  I also got some red velvet cookies to go.  I know, I shouldn’t.  What to do now?  We opted on Princeton.  It was on the way.  It had a bunch of NHLs, along with a cemetery and a battlefield, perfect.  I messaged my cousin who lived there.  Maybe we could meet up.  The plan was to go Albert Einstein’s house, the cemetery, and the battlefield, which is also an NHL.  Well, it turned out that there are seven NHLs in Princeton, all within five minutes of each other.  Long story short.  We went to each one (pictures of each to be found at the bottom of this post).

Albert Einstein House

I lit up a Padron, and we were on our way to Princeton.  When we got to Albert Einstein’s house, which had no sign but was clearly it, I lit up my Cabaiguan, figuring it would be the perfect cigar for an NHL run.  We took our ceremonial pictures at Einstein’s house, and I decided we could go to three more famous, historic houses, since they were all within five minutes of each other or so.  We’d skip the sites at Princeton University and then go to the cemetery.  If we were tight on time, I’d be okay skipping the battlefield.  Hell, maybe I’ve even already been there.  I know I’ve been to Princeton University.  I was supposed to go to school there.  Life had other plans in mind.  When my friend asked if I was happy how everything worked out, I could not honestly answer that I was.

Morven

The next stop was Morven, a mansion that served as the governor’s mansion for 40 years, along with housing Robert Stockton, one of the signers of the Declaration of Independence.  Next was Grover Cleveland’s House, which was recently sold, and we walked around the grounds, wondering how long it would be before we got chased away.  Then came Maybury Hill, they boyhood home of another signer, Joseph Hewey, and it occupied.  Surprisingly, no one came out to chase us away. Interesting, this different way of visiting NHLs, actually enjoying them instead of just taking ceremonial pictures was so novel, and I only did it because I was following my friends’ leads.   I was done and ready to go to the cemetery.  The address my friend found was inside the University.

We found the church but no cemetery.  Wait, the three NHLs inside the University were all about a three-minute walk away.  I just took my ceremonial pictures at each site: Nassau Hall, the President’s House, and the Joseph Henry House.  The battlefield was not happening.  We’d be lucky to Dover by dark.  We found the cemetery, and I realized that we’d be lucky to get to the “Welcome to Delaware” sign by dark.  We took too long finding President Cleveland’s grave, along with both Aaron Burrs, and my friends lingered.  I lit up a Jericho Hill, and we headed to Delaware.  I calculated we’d get to the border just after sunset.  There was a land crossing and a bridge.

Google Maps advised the land crossing, which was on I-95, and I knew would have a great sign.  My GPS took me across the bridge, iconic Delaware Memorial Bridge, which was probably for the best, but I realized too late, and it was almost dark by the time we crossed the bridge.  The sign was between the bridge and the toll plaza, and it was too tricky to get to it.  I could have managed, probably, but I didn’t really try.  We stopped immediately over the border for drinks (non-alcoholic) and smokes (for them, not me).  I lit up a Camacho along the way, and we were soon in Dover.

I had somehow gotten in my head the merit of ordering Chinese food to the hotel.  That was what we did.  We had to order before 10 PM, and I think it was 9:57 PM when we called.  I knew what I wanted.  My friends each wanted something that was not on the menu.  One wanted scallion pancakes, the other chicken with mushrooms and brown rice.  They had none.  The first friend quickly substituted hot and sour soup for the scallion pancakes.  The other friend did have a backup plan.

The woman on the other end of the food told me to hurry, and she was about to hang up.  Finally, my friend blurted out something that sounded like Moo Shu Pan Fried.  It was actually Moo Goo Gai Pan.  Okay, that was something.  We knew it was a chicken dish, but we didn’t know what it was.  I was going to look it up and let her be surprised when it came.  I saw what it was and just started cracking up.  I knew I had to tell her.  Reader, recall that she wanted chicken with mushrooms, and they said they didn’t have it?  Well, Moo Goo Gai Pan is chicken with mushrooms.  My friend had no idea.  It was just too funny, and we all started cracking up.

I went downstairs to finish my Camacho and call my mother to find out what was happening on the home front.  I finished the cigar and hung up to find out I had four messages from my friend.  They didn’t have enough cash on them for the meal, and they didn’t know where I was.  We soon found each other, and I gave the guy the rest of the cash and his tip.  The meal was pretty good, but it was touted as Dover’s best Chinese food.  Any Chinese spot in Manhattan has better food.  I enjoyed my chicken well enough.

We then went downstairs to smoke and drink.  I had brought some of the bourbon from the wedding, which paired perfectly with my Ardor pipe.  They went upstairs, and I proceeded to write my entry, as I smoked and drank, which I will now close so that I can crash.  It’s been a long and busy day.

Grover Cleveland House

Maybury Hill

Nassau Hall

President's House

Joseph Henry House

The Wedding - Day 3 - Aftermath

8/3/15, “Aftermath”

Hood River, Oregon

“My whole life growing up,” I started, holding my sister’s hands and looking up at her, the same way I looked up at my brother growing up.  “More than anything, I wanted a big sister,” I continued, the tears welling up, “and, now, here you are.”  I had just delivered the keynote speech of the wedding, a carefully crafted masterpiece, a loving tribute to my new sister.  At some point growing up, I realized it was impossible for my parents to give birth to an older child, that my wish would never come true.

I was wrong.  It came true, just not in the way I had expected.  She replied that, being the youngest child, she always wondered what it would be like to have a younger sibling.  It was one of the happiest moments of my life.  Growing up, my brother's friends never teased me, he never would have stood for that.  They considered me their little brother.  It is only fitting that his wife now considers me to be her little brother, too.

My new BFF

How did we get to this point?  Well, I closed before I left for the venue, so I should pick up with that.  Wow, it is just so raw.  Okay, I headed down to meet up with the groomsmen and my new friend, with whom I have developed a special bond, much to my mother’s chagrin.  She is Adam’s best friend’s wife, and she blames Adam for ruining her wedding.  My mom was convinced she wanted her revenge.  If Adam considers their child to be his nephew, wouldn’t that make Tina a cousin of some sort to me or something?

The Belle of the Ball

Adam was late, but we were soon on the road, drinking in the taxi and sharing some final stories and using this last chance to tease him.  I put my computer bag in the back, with my speech, my water bottle, my laptop, and smoking products.  We kept drinking and talking until we got to the venue, discussing, too, when we would have our cigars.  We got to the venue, and we all started walking to the “Groom’s Quarters.”  I thought about my cigar.  Wait, my cigars!  Where were they?  Nooooooooooo!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  They were in the computer bag.  The computer was in the taxi!  The taxi was gone.  Wait, no.  It was driving away.  I ran after it.  It was not stopping.  In my uncomfortable shoes and full wedding attire, I run down that gravel road at full speed, waving and yelling.  He did not stop.  I kept running and waving and yelling.  Finally, he stopped.  I got my bag.

My whole life was in that bag.  It would have been a disastrous way to start the wedding.  I made it back, and they all knew why I had left.  “Did you get your bag back?”  Yep.  I did.  We enjoyed our last moments together, continuing the stories and the teasing.  The father of the bride soon brought us some snacks, which were much appreciated.  I was still catching my breath.  We took lots of photos and had a great time.  We then went to sign the ketubbah, and I was handed the rings.  I was the ringbearer, which meant I made lots of Lord of the Rings jokes.  “When do I throw the ring into Mount Doom?”  That kind of stuff.  Then it was time for the ceremony.

Everything was set up so beautifully, and, as I saw my sister walking down the aisle, I thought about how much I had always wanted a sister and how happy I was to call her my sister, and I started crying, and she saw that, so she started crying, too.  My uncle did an amazing job officiating, and they were soon Officially wed.  We had cocktail hour, which was where we took the Facebook type photos, and everyone hung out.  We would have had time for the cigar then, but the schedule was all off, so we weren’t sure.  After we took all the photos, the reception began, and I enjoyed sitting with my cousins for the last time.

Then it was time for my speech, and the speech was perfect.  It said everything I wanted it to say, and it got the reaction I wanted.  Then, for the first time in, I don’t know, at least fifteen years, I said three words I have never said to someone I wasn’t dating or interested in dating.  “I love you, sis.”  It felt fitting that it would be my sister I said those three words to.  My dad’s speech was even more moving, and I still choke up thinking about it.  He talked about how they thought their life was over when Adam’s mother died, how miraculous it was that my mother came along and brightened their lives, that she made them a family again, and talked about how good of a big brother he always was.  It was so moving.

We finished the reception, and then the guys went out for cigars.  I opted for an H. Upmann, and I lost my shoes.  Tina later came buy with half a piece of pie and asked if anyone wanted it.  I grabbed it before Matt even had a chance to say he didn’t want it.  After I finished, I asked another of Adam’s friends, “Did I just use Tina’s fork?”  We all started cracking up.  It’s okay.  I really do love her.  She’s like a favorite cousin to me, more than my real cousins who were not in attendance tonight.

Go hard or go home.  We're going home...

I soon learned that Adam was well into his cups, and I would up literally having to carry him onto the bus once the party ended.  Other than the 88 cigar I smoked, everything that happened after that point is outside the scope of this Travelogue.  I woke up early and headed down to breakfast with Sokol.  I got the salmon bagel and bacon, which was delicious.  I then came back upstairs and went to the balcony, where I finished the cigar and proceeded to write this entry, which I will now close so that we can head to Crater Lake NP.

Portland International Airport, Oregon (PDX)

Well, here we are, at the end of our trip, while my brother and sister have begun their new lives together.  Yes, I know it sounds awkward to phrase it like that (“my brother and sister”), but there is no other word to describe her.  It is only “Deborah” or “my sister.”  I could not ask for a more loving sister.  After I closed this morning, we made a few last minute goodbyes, to Adam’s godparents, to Tina and the last of his friends who are still there.  Tina loved the picture I posted of her, her husband, me, and Adam, as we left the venue and headed back to the hotel on the bus.  We got on the road and made our way to Crater Lake.

No, something was off.  I felt something I had never felt before.  I think the best word to describe it is “raw.”  I felt emotionally raw.  Not depressed, not happy, not mournful, just emotionally raw.  Add to that my hangover, my tiredness, and my stress about making the flight, it was a perfect storm.  I couldn’t take it anymore, and I had no desire to smoke.  I just wanted to escape, to find the balm that would protect the scab of these raw emotions.  It wasn’t a negative feeling, not at all, just intense.

I was able to point to three things.  First and foremost was how much I love my new sister, how happy I am for her to be part of our lives.  Second was a bit of envy, that he was now happily married to someone he met when he was almost exactly my age, while I am no closer to getting married than I am to going to Mars.  Third was just the general whirlwind of feelings and knowing that I’d be back at my desk in less than 24 hours.  It was too much to handle, and I couldn’t focus on my driving anymore.  I pulled over to take an Official U and gave control of the wheel to Sokol.  I slept a bit, and we were nearing the park, making good time so we stopped at a café for lunch.  Service was atrociously slow.  I had allowed an hour of Dutch Time for the day, and this used 45 minutes of it.  It would really impact our time at the park and cause us to risk missing dinner.

Once we got to the park, my heart just wasn’t in it.  It was a nice view of the eponymous Crater Lake, but that’s all there was to see.  Like the Grand Canyon, there is only so much time you can spend staring at the hole in the ground.  We went to the first viewpoint, and I lit up a Churchill.  We then went on our ceremonial hike.  After the hike, we headed to the first VC, stopping at a few viewpoints along the way.  I got my stamp and pin at the VC, and we then headed to the next VC, where I got my next stamp and a keychain and t-shirt.  It started to pour, which just killed whatever enthusiasm we had left, and I finished my cigar at the next viewpoint.  We called it quits at that point and headed straight to the restaurant.  Once we left the park, my tiredness/rawness returned, and I soon had to give Sokol back the wheel.  We stopped for gas and made it to the restaurant right on schedule.

We ate at Huber’s Café, Oregon’s “most iconic” restaurant, and the oldest in Portland.  I got the traditional turkey dinner, along with a glass of Oregon red, followed by a flaming Spanish coffee for dessert.  The meal was the delicious, and the production value of the coffee first rate.  I have really enjoyed eating at these “most iconic” restaurants, each of which has its own flavor and feel.  Needless to say, I was way too toasted to drive to the airport, so Sokol did the honors.  We were soon at the airport and through security.  We then went to the gate, where I proceeded to write this entry, which I will now close, along with closing this amazing this trip.  It was such an amazing time, and have I mentioned how much I love my new sister?  Only a dozen times?  Oh, okay.  Next stop: possible weekend trip to Delaware, otherwise Cuba.

The Wedding - Day 2 - "Dearly Beloved"

8/2/15, “Dearly Beloved”

Hood River, Oregon

In about six hours, my uncle will be saying those two words, “Dearly beloved,” as he begins officiating the marriage ceremony of my brother and the girl I have been referring to as “my sister” for two years now.  After the vows are exchanged, she will be my sister by law, but we have considered each other brother and sister for lo those two years.  Many people who are dearly beloved will be at this ceremony, and she is absolutely one of them.  Many more people who are dearly beloved to the happy couple will be in attendance.  Their friends and families, immediate and extended, will be there.  My brother and his four friends from high school, I know with absolute certainty that the five of them are dearly beloved to each other.  These are friends I grew up with, too.  They are not quite dearly beloved to me, but they are important to me, because they are important to him.

What about our family members?  Are they dearly beloved to me?  Prevailing wisdom says they should be, but why should I claim to love a cousin I find to be a despicable human being, or why should I love a cousin who won’t answer my messages and lies about me behind my back?  No, my criteria for being dearly beloved to me is you can make me happy.  Cousin, friend, coworker, it doesn’t matter.  If when I wave to you, text you, or say hi to you in the morning, and it brightens my day, that you are dearly beloved.  It’s that simple.  If I run over to you when I see you, that means you are dearly beloved.  If I put everything else aside to answer your texts, that means you are dearly beloved.  If my voice gets all squeaky and excited when I say hi to you, that means you are dearly beloved.

If I just go through motions to fulfill my family obligations, sorry, but you are not dearly beloved.  I’ll probably catch some flak for this, but I don’t care.  Of the entire guest list, including the happy couple, there are exactly six people here who are dearly beloved.  You know who you are.  They are the six people here who provide the most value to the life, who make me the happiest.  I will explore that idea more thoroughly in my personal journal, where I can actually enumerate those six names.  I’m actually mulling over the idea of publishing this entry early, but I think that would be a bad idea.  It has its merits, though.  I will not want to write and publish when I get back tonight, but I also feel weird about publishing before the wedding.  I suppose I could write an entry at the venue, before the reception starts, but I can’t publish there, I don’t think.  I’m sure I could find a free half hour to write, but I don’t know.  I’ll see how this entry looks after I finish it.

After I closed last night, I uploaded some photos to Facebook from Canada and then got ready.  This other idea of dearly beloved, while there are only six people here who are dearly beloved to me, there are lots more whom I am genuinely glad to see.  Anyone in that group, I made a special point to see, to talk to, to share a meal with, to spend time with.  I usually hate when people with whom I have a tiny connection try to make a big deal out of it.  If we don’t want to spend time together, I am genuinely okay with you flat out ignoring me.  There are many social situations that make me feel uncomfortable, but this is one of the few where I thrive.  If I go to a party with only one person I know, I consider that person my “anchor.”  I need to be anchored to that person, to let them make the introductions.

Here, I could mingle, I could spend time with the people I wanted to see.  My extended family (my cousins most of all), my brother’s godparents, Deborah’s parents, my brother’s group of friends and their SOs (I have developed a special bond with my brother’s best friend’s wife, much to my mother’s chagrin, who is convinced she is trying to ruin the wedding), all of those people, I made a special point to see.  Further, as the Best Man, I had certain obligations, to make sure none of my brother’s guests felt lonely or left out.  To that end, my best friend and I made a special point to include one of my brother’s work colleagues who was here alone.  The rehearsal dinner was an all-around good time, my aunt running the show.  The food and drink was delicious and free-flowing.  My brother’s friends gave amazing speeches, ribbing on him and teasing him.

My little skit played over well, and we got a very special email from my father.  The wedding announcement was up on the New York Times’s website, and it was beautifully done.  We all kvelled over it before the younger folks went to the after party.  I had been saving a special cigar for the wedding.  When I bought the box of Hoyo de Monterrey cigars, it quickly became the “friends and family” cigar.  I saved the cigars for special occasions with friends and family.  What more fitting occasion than among the dearly beloved to smoke the last cigar I would smoke from that box?  I smoked it at the after party, surrounded by Adam’s dearly beloved, people who mattered to me.  Everything else that happened at the after party is outside the scope of this Travelogue.  Around 1 AM, Sokol and I were back out the balcony, smoking another cigar, and I opted for the Cabaiguan I had been carrying around all day.

When I woke up, I excitedly texted the wedding announcement to the two most dearly beloved people in my life who were not in attendance.  I then posted on Facebook, and it get more Likes than any of my posts in quite some time.  We headed down to breakfast and wound up sitting with my brother’s godparents, who were genuinely touched that I mentioned them before my skit.  “Who paid for it?” the godmother joked.  I pointed to my father.  I explained that he said how happy he was that they were here, so I wanted to make a mention of it.  They were very touched.  It was true.  The godfather is the one person outside his immediate family (his wife and sons) whom he considers dearly beloved.  They are probably also dearly beloved to Adam, too.  It meant something that they were here while others who may want to claim to be dearly beloved were not there.

I’m sorry, but anyone who did not attend this wedding for any reason besides poor health cannot claim the title of dearly beloved.  For breakfast, I had the corned beef hash and eggs, along with a side of bacon, absolutely delicious.  After breakfast, we headed back up to the room, and I went back out to the balcony, where I lit up a Jericho Hill and proceeded to write this entry, which I will now close so that I can work on my personal entry.  I think I will publish actually.

The Wedding - Day 1 - "For Better, For Worse"

8/1/15, “For Better, For Worse”

Hood River, Oregon

One of the biggest differences between the dynamic with a romantic partner versus family and friends is that family and friends are always there for better, for worse.  Reader, how many times have you been a relationship with someone who left when things went for worse, or you walked away from someone who treated you like shit once.  With friends and family, it’s different.  Your family is there for you for better, for worse.  If you curse out your family member, treat them poorly, whatever, they don’t walk out of your life.  They want to know what is bothering you that is causing you to act that way.  They want to know what the for worse is so that they can help make it for better again.

Friends are the same way, and it is very difficult to find that with a romantic partner.  Enter the advantage of dating a friend, of dating someone who has already been there for you for worse.  Cue the Friends theme.  (“I’ll be there for you, when the rain starts to pour.  I’ll be there for you, like I’ve been there before.  I’ll be there for you, cause you’re there for me, too.”)  That was Monica and Chandler.  That was all the six famous friends.  In fact, the entire show was about the six of them being there for each other, for better, for worse.  Emily, Mike, they all walked away when things went for worse.  Mike came back in the end, but that’s rare.

This idea, for better, for worse, that is what friends and family are about, and the goal is to become family with your partner so that the idea of leaving when things are for worse is not even a consideration.  That is what I see in my brother and my future sister.  I have seen them for worse.  I have seen them when they fight.  I have seen how nothing can tear apart the unshaken bond they have.  Fuck, this needs to go into the speech tonight.  Alright, so what happened after I closed last night?  I think I might have closed this entry a little prematurely.  Actually, I’m going to pause so that I can charge my phone while I finish this.

The flight was delayed due to multiple issues, and Sokol was texting me back and forth.  We had planned a bit of a surprise.  No one knew he was coming to the wedding, and he was en route from Portland to Hood River.  Once we took off, even though I was in first class, the service was very haughty.  I was on my laptop at meal time, and she refused to bring my food unless I put away the laptop.  She said I needed to put the tray out, and I could use half the tray for my laptop.  Whatever.  I had a beer with the meal, which was half done by time the food came, and she asked if I brought another one.  I had finished my food before the beer came, so I asked if I could just get a coffee instead.  She angrily told me she had just opened the beer.  Whatever.

Once we landed, I had a slew of texts from Sokol about the surprise on everyone’s face when he showed up.  I then realized I had not received my confirmation email from Hertz.  Ugh.  My name was not on the Gold board, either.   Apparently, since I booked through Expedia, the Gold status did not transfer over.  I went to wait on the Gold line to get my car, but I was told I couldn’t even use that line since I didn’t book through Gold.  The clerk was very haughty about it.  That’s Oregon for you.  I then had to go the back of the regular line.  It was half an hour before I got my car, a beautiful and high-tech new Nissan.  I put the hotel in as the destination and lit up a Davidoff Escurio Grand Toro, which has replaced the Nic Toro as my new choice for the first drive of a trip, and I headed to the hotel.

Sokol was waiting for me in the room, and he woke up with a start, not entirely sure where he was.  He then remembered.  He was in Oregon, crashing my brother’s wedding.  Right.  He told me every detail of his arrival.  He saw my brother in the lobby and tapped him on the shoulder.  My brother was happily surprised that he showed up but not altogether shocked.  My mom invited him to dinner with them.  Deborah, my brother’s fiancée, said something like, “The last thing you said to me a year ago was, ‘See you at the wedding.’  I didn’t think you were really coming, though.  I’m not sure where we’ll seat you, but it doesn’t matter.  It’s just great that you’re here.”  It was 2 AM local time, 5 AM EDT, by the time we got to sleep.

We woke up and headed down to breakfast, and Sokol knew exactly what I wanted, ordering for me.  We sat next to some family friends, which included a daughter from our class at grade school.  After breakfast, we headed up and met my mother.  We then headed back down and were going to sit with her, but I saw my favorite cousin sitting with her father.  I literally ran over to her and gave her a huge hug.  I will focus more on the theme of “dearly beloved” tomorrow, but she is, without a doubt the cousin I love the most not, least because she, along with her brother, is the only one who doesn’t constantly lie to me.  I’m just closer with her than I am with her brother.  We sat with my cousin and uncle, and my uncle was glad to regale us with stories.  The way my cousin reacted to those stories, she literally transformed into her mother in front of my eyes.

They went back upstairs, and we made plans to meet up later.  I then rejoined my parents, where Samtur, my brother’s friend, had also joined.  It was funny, there are at least three each of Sokol and Samtur brothers.  Neither knew which of the brothers the other was, but it didn’t matter.  It’s like Weasleys.  To anyone outside the close group of friends, they are interchangeable.  They even just call each other by the last name.  They happened to have the same first name.  We talked about anything and everything for about an hour before heading back up to our room.  I then went out to the balcony, where I lit up an Ardor and proceeded to write this entry, which I will now close so that I can finish my pipe and head back downstairs to rejoin my family.

My original plan for today was to head out to an NPS almost four hours away.  A stamped brochure, or a day with family and friends?  I chose the latter.  I chose right.  When I declared my independence a month ago from toxic friendships and relationships, I vowed to only spend time and energy on the people who enriched my life, not even exempting family members.  The family members I had been specifically thinking of were the ones who had bailed on the wedding at that point and lied to me about it.  That meant, none of them were here.

The ones who were here were the ones who still mattered to me.  What about for better, for worse?  No, that exemption does not apply.  What had those cousins done to have earned my love?  Yes, love must be earned.  I will address the idea of dearly beloved more thoroughly tomorrow, but I owe nothing to anyone who does not earn my love.  The grandfather who could not make it, for better, for worse, in sickness, in health, is another story.  He has always been there for me, for better, for worse, so I can forgive him a few flaws.  My best friend, by brother’s friends, that is absolute, too.  It is thereby that I thoroughly enjoyed spending the day with them and my favorite cousins.

After I closed, I headed down to breakfast and found my brother’s friends with their SOs.  My brother and his fiancée soon came down, too.  She addressed with one word, the only word that was necessary, “Brother.”  We hugged, and they sat down.  My cousins (brother and sister separately) came down, too.  Once the male cousin came, I got up, and we went in search of his sister.  One thing led to another, and he went back to the room, and me, my female cousin, and our aunt and uncle hung out for almost an hour.  It was funny, anyone seeing the four of us would have immediately assumed we were two siblings and our parents, despite that we were actually from three separate families.  I went back up to the room, and we were going to go Jet Skiing at 1 PM, but I didn’t have a reservation, and I didn’t even bring down my wallet, nor did they have an extra Jet Ski available.

I then opted for Plan B.  Smoke a cigar on the beach.  That plan was, shall we say, thwarted, by a cute paddle boarding instructor.  Eventually, I decided to rent a paddle board to join my brother’s friends, which was quite an adventure, not quite the adventure of the kayaking, but close.  After I was done, I made friends with my brother’s friends’ “others,” significant or not, and we headed to the pool.  They encouraged me to smoke my cigar in the pool, which I did, much to the chagrin of the other guests.

Reader, if you have never been to Oregon, especially the Portland area, it is filled of liberal hippies, and most of them assholes.  I was smoking the cigar in the pool, and some woman walked up to me, telling me that I couldn’t smoke in the pool, not politely asking me to stop smoking, not saying it was really bothering me, just ordering me to put it out.  I believed her, thought that smoking was banned in the pool area.  That should have been the end of it.  No, the whole group decided to stare us down for the rest of their time there.  I suggested we have some fun with them, and my brother’s friends and their “others” were on board.  I relit the cigar and got back in the pool with them.  That was when all hell broke loose.

One thing led to another (at no point was I politely asked to stop), and it practically developed into a screaming match, every single person outside the group getting in on it.  My brother’s friends and their “others” had left by that point, but my best friend was there, and he encouraged me to just do it.  Obviously, that was not going to happen.  Reader, there is something you should know about me.  If you want me to do something, yelling at me or ordering me around when you have no authority to do so is the surest way to get me to not do it.  They said it was banned.  I said there were no signs.  They wound up calling hotel management.  I knew what hotel management would say, even if it was not an Official rule.  This was Oregon, after all.

Another one of my brother’s friends came, but he wasn’t coming into the pool area, so I left the area and joined him.  He went to the room, but I saw my brother coming.  That was when hotel management came and told me that I couldn’t smoke in the pool area, so I stayed in the garden area.  My brother wanted to go back to the pool area, so I left my cigar in an ashtray.  Hunger soon crept in, so Sokol (yes, I know I’m being inconsistent in calling him by his name) and I went to the restaurant, where we found my cousins and sat down with them.

We had fish and chips, and we had a great time hanging out, sharing stories and what not.  After lunch, Sokol and I headed up to the room, and I went out to the balcony, where I relit my Davidoff and proceeded to write this entry, which I will now close.  I actually think I will publish it now so that I can still hit the east coast audience.  Besides, I doubt I will be in any state to write and publish after the rehearsal dinner, so I will treat that in the morning.