The easy rhythms and gentle mockings of a longtime partner

I met my wife 40 years ago.

Or roughly 40 years ago. I can tell you our first date was March 1, 1986, which is almost 40 years ago. But we knew each other before that.

Sort of.

We were in the same second-period study hall at Wickliffe High School, and we spent those study halls hanging out in the band room. This was a nice privilege for band members, as it beat the heck out of sitting quietly in Room 111 doing homework or reading.

At that point, Terry's time in the band and my time had overlapped for three semesters, but we hadn't really talked much. I wasn't in marching band (just concert and jazz bands) and she was. So our paths didn't cross with any regularity until those study halls.

The details are fuzzy, but I know I started looking forward to those second-period sessions because I knew I would get a chance to talk to her.

One time another girl in the band with whom I had been somewhat involved (I'm not even sure that's the right word) sat down on my lap while a group of us were talking. Terry looked over at us with a raised eyebrow, and I made a face to communicate that I wasn't happy with girl #2 doing this.

I remember Terry smiling back so only I could see.

I have documented here the process by which we actually became a couple, so no need to go into that. You can click the link if, for whatever reason, it interests you.

What I will say is that I so enjoy our life together. It's four decades' worth of shared experiences, from marriage and kids to buying houses, building a nest egg, and mourning the deaths of our parents.

And now we're learning to be grandparents. I'm almost embarrassed to tell you how often Cal is our main topic of conversation (It's a lot...a whole lot.)

We live day to day as 50-somethings who are blessed to have four of our kids living close, family members and neighbors we love, and sufficient resources to travel and do other things we enjoy.

I rate it 5 stars, no complaints.

Being together for 40 years or more creates a sort of rapport and routine you can't just make up. It evolves organically over time.

At night, after I shower, I come into the living room and sit on the opposite end of our sectional couch from her. It's not that I'm trying to distance myself, it's just that that's...well, it's my spot, you know? She has her place and I have mine, and together we'll watch TV and laugh at most of the same things.

She often makes fun of me, and the way she does it is always funny. She knows me, including the less-than-flattering parts, and that's OK.

I wouldn't have it any other way.

I don't know how much longer we'll be blessed to have this life together. It could go on for another 40 years, or it could end tomorrow. You just never know.

And again, that's OK.

It has already been far more than I could ever have imagined, and certainly more than I deserve.

Even I know something like that doesn't come along every day.

If your hobby is collecting something, you can really get deep into the weeds (and deep into your wallet)

This was my collection of Atari 2600 game cartridges about a month ago, when I had something like 102 of them. The collection is larger now, and if I have my way, it's going to get much larger.

About a year ago, I wrote here about the fact that I had acquired an Atari 2600+ and was enjoying playing the primitive video games of my youth.

I still play those games on our basement TV, but now that pastime has evolved into an honest to goodness hobby: collecting old Atari 2600 cartridges.

I use the world "old' intentionally because, believe it or not, there are many people in 2026 designing "homebrew" games for the venerable 2600, a console that came out in 1977 that still holds a place in the hearts of Gen Xers like me.

My focus is the games that were commercially released during the golden era of the Atari 2600 from '77 through roughly 1991.

The numbers vary, but according to this list on Wikipedia, a whopping 472 games "were released during the system's lifetime." Many of those are easy and relatively inexpensive to get your hands on (here I'm thinking of the games many, many of us played back then like Space Invaders, Pac-Man, Combat, etc.)

eBay, Facebook Marketplace, retro video game stores and garage sales are havens for these "staple" cartridges. In most cases, sellers are more interested in having you take these ancient games off their hands than they are in making any real profit from them.

As it turns out, though, there are many other Atari games considered rare or scarce that can only be had if you're willing to shell out $100 or more.

One is Crazy Climber, a popular arcade game that was adapted for the Atari 2600 but offered only to members of the Atari Fan Club. Not many copies were made back in the 80s, so not many are available now.

My go-to spot for buying old cartridges is Video Game Nirvana in Madison, Ohio. The owner, RJ, is a great guy and a fount of classic gaming knowledge. He has one copy of Crazy Climber in his store, and the price tag is $150.

I'm determined to have it...eventually.

Initially my intention was to acquire every commercially available cartridge for the Atari 2600 over a period of several years. But already I've realized that's an unlikely feat for me.

For one thing, some of those games are twice the price of Crazy Climber (or more), which seems pretty excessive. Then there's the fact that I'm not sure where I would even store 472 Atari cartridges.

So I think that, with the possible exception of Crazy Climber, I'm just going to focus on games that are $50 or less that I know I'll want to play. That should limit my collection to around 300 cartridges, which is still borderline ridiculous but at least defensible.

"Defensible," that is, to my wife, who has been kind enough to indulge this little passion of mine so far.

If someday I come home and find my Atari consoles and cartridges in trash bags on the curb, that will be a sign I probably crossed the line at some point.

No more teenagers in the family

For the past 6,883 days, we have had at least one teenager in our family. Tomorrow that streak comes to an end when our youngest, Jack, turns 20.

I say "at least one" because for most of that time, there have been multiple teens among our children. There was one stretch from September 2013 to March 2014 when four of them were teenagers.

Come tonight at midnight, the counter resets permanently to zero.

It's another one of those little life milestones you don't think too much about until they actually happen. As I told someone recently, the combination of having our first grandchild and seeing the family teen years come to an end really brings home how quickly time passes.

Other than a string of car accidents and some other relatively minor crises, I've enjoyed having teenagers. I really have.

I got to see them all graduate high school and go off to college. Four have degrees, with Jack currently working his way through the second semester of his freshman year at Cleveland State University.

I've seen one get married and have a baby, one get engaged, and one build an incredible life with a longtime partner we absolutely love (that last one is Elissa, whose boyfriend Mark has long been a full-fledged member of the family and is one of the best bakers I've ever met).

On the other hand, as the kids have gotten older, I've come to realize that much of my fondness for their teen years stems from how much I didn't know. As they get into their 20s and 30s, they're very free about confessing stuff they did as teenagers that, in retrospect, I'm glad I wasn't aware of.

Ignorance is truly bliss, in this case.

Still, Terry and I can't deny that we've been blessed with five great kids who are turning out to be some pretty great adults. We experienced our share of homecomings, proms, high school sporting events and all the other stuff that comes with having children in the 13-19 age range.

And now we're past it all. Time to move on.

Which is just fine.

(Happy early birthday to the one and only Mr. Jack Tennant!)

I really miss the World Book Encyclopedia

NOTE: This is a somewhat adapted version of a post that originally appeared on the blog back in 2015.

When I was growing up, we had a full set of World Book Encyclopedias on our living room bookshelf, and I devoured them.

(To be clear, I don't mean I ate them. I read them.)

Here's exactly what they looked like:

I'm not kidding when I say I read them. I would literally open up a volume and just read whatever article I found. This is a main reason why I'm so good at general-knowledge trivia. A lot of the weird stuff I know comes from reading the 1964 edition of the World Book Encyclopedia.

There were certain articles I returned to time and again. "Snakes" was one. "Space Travel" was another. I also remember them having cool plastic overlays illustrating the different organ systems of the human body. Not sure if that was part of the "Anatomy" entry or what.

Still, there was no article I turned up more often than the one on "U.S. Presidents." The pages for that entry were torn and dog-eared from use. I can still picture the two-page spread in which the World Book editors very helpfully laid out illustrations of all the presidents from Washington to Lyndon Johnson (this was, remember, the 1964 edition).

I memorized those photos to the point that I could recite the presidents in order by the age of 6. My dad took me to the Hob Nob, the bar at the end of our street, a couple of times and had me show off my little presidents trick. The friendly drunks there were very appreciative of my skills, and both times I did it, Doris the barmaid gave me a free Coke. Not a bad deal.

Anyway, I used those World Book Encyclopedias a lot throughout my school career, usually as the basis for some written assignment or other. Like, for example, I remember having the "V" volume open at the kitchen table while I wrote out a report on the state of Vermont. Later essays depended heavily on Volume "I" for Iceland, "D" for diphtheria, and "R" for my favorite president of all, Teddy Roosevelt.

I later went to college in the late 80s and early 90s, which you geezers will remember was still essentially the pre-Internet age, so the World Books even helped me out as an undergraduate.

Then, with the advent of CD-ROM drives in the mid-90s, the encyclopedia people started putting their stuff onto CDs. Which at the time was pretty cool. "All of those encyclopedias on this ONE tiny disc?" As you might imagine, it was a lot cheaper – both for the manufacturer and for the consumer – to produce encyclopedias on CD rather than heavy-bound books.

However, I'm proud to say you can still buy the print version of the World Book Encyclopedia. The 22-volume 2026 edition can be yours for the low, low price of just $1,349.

Seems like such a small investment for guaranteed free drinks at your neighborhood watering hole.

You're my little potato

Me reading a book to Cal at his house recently. He seemed to appreciate the effort, but his expression told me, "I think Mom and Dad do this better than you, Grandpa."

My four-month-old grandson Cal is comforted by the funniest things.

Like running water. I find if he's tired and cranky but not yet ready to go down for a nap, I can take him the bathroom and turn on the faucet.

That sound calms him down, as does looking at his own reflection in the bathroom mirror. Taken together, the water and seeing his own face always stop his tears, if not make him downright happy.

There are also certain songs that soothe him. Actually, I'm not sure whether it's the songs themselves or the fact that his mom, my daughter Chloe, is singing them.

Chloe has always had a nice voice, and Calvin responds much better when she sings "The Eensy Weensy Calvin" (a slight adaptation of "The Eensy Weensy Spider") to him than when I do.

There is, however, one song that makes him happy no matter who sings it. And the recorded version seems to work best of all.

That tune is "My Little Potato" by the group Metamora. (The link takes you to YouTube. If you're interested in just the lyrics, here they are.)

It's a playful, silly little song, but also a heartfelt tribute to newborns everywhere and the people who love them.

You’re my little potato, they dug you up, you come from underground. The world is big, so big, it’s very big. To you it’s new, it’s new to you. 

And later...

You’re my sweet potato, they dug you up, you come from underground. You smile a smile, a little smile. The world is small, so small, it’s very small. 

Chloe discovered it from a friend who is also a relatively new mom, and over the last few months, it has been in heavy rotation in her car and on my Apple Music playlists.

It is, in effect, my Cal anthem. I've played it for him on my phone and have softly sung it to him while trying to get him to sleep.

It reminds me of everything I felt as a new dad back in The Day and everything I'm feeling and learning as a new grandpa.

He won't remember it as he gets older and baby songs give way to toddler songs and little kid songs and eventually popular songs of the type he will love and his grandfather will patiently endure.

No matter, though. As long as he knows he'll always be Grandpa's little potato, that's good enough.

Sleepovers: 1983 vs. 2026

I continue to (somewhat shamelessly) post photos of my grandson on this blog.

There was a period in the early 1980s – probably '81 through about '84 – in which the social highlight of any given week for me was sleeping over a friend's house. Or having that friend sleep over my house.

I spent countless nights sleeping in friends' bedrooms and basements, often on the floor. This didn't bother me because I was a teenager, and teenagers can sleep on concrete.

Come to think of it, we did sleep on concrete once. I don't know why, but we spent much of a night sleeping on my friend Kevin's driveway. A couple of people slept in lawn chairs, and a couple of us just laid down where we were and slept for several hours.

Outside. In the middle of summer. In the driveway.

I don't know that I could pull that off now.

Anyway, sleepovers were always a lot of fun. I regularly slept at my friend Mel's house. When I did, I would grab my sleeping bag and literally nothing else, hop on my little BMX bike, and take the 15-minute ride to Mel's place on the north end of Wickliffe.

His mom would have 2-liter plastic bottles of Pepsi for both of us: regular for me and diet for Mel because of his Type 1 diabetes.

The morning after a sleepover, before I went home, Mel would inject himself with insulin. He would ask me where on his body he should do the injection and, if it wasn't someplace crazy like his eyeball or his face, he would jab the needle wherever I asked him to. I was always fascinated by this.

Mel's mom also supplied us with Little Debbie Swiss cake rolls, which now that I think about it, Mel seemed to eat without reservation. Those things weren't exactly sugar-free. Or maybe there was a sugar-free version?

All I know is, we would spent the evening drinking pop, downing those chocolate treats, and listening to the early 80s' New Wave music we both liked...Duran Duran, The Fixx, Flock of Seagulls, Men at Work, etc.

It was wonderful.

Terry and I still engage in sleepovers, only now they're always at our house and they involve my daughter Chloe and our grandson Cal.

Chloe will sometimes come and spend the night when my son-in-law Michael travels for work. Because we are so obsessed with her child, she gets a much-needed break from feeding, changing and generally caring for him. And we get to see our favorite little boy.

Everybody wins.

Unlike my childhood sleepovers, however, there is little to no soda consumed, and our overall sugar intake is considerably lower.

The music is still there, but it's limited to whatever tunes Cal's little infant gym will play.

And our bedtime nowadays is considerably earlier and entirely determined by Cal.

Other than that, the enjoyment factor is just as high, and I look forward to these sleepovers just as much as I looked forward to the ones four decades ago.

Probably more!

It's easy to be grateful when you have a ridiculous number of things to be grateful for

I give thanks every day for these people.

U.S. Thanksgiving was a month ago, but I tend to focus more on gratitude now than in late November.

I guess that's what the impending arrival of January 1st does for you. It's a good time to look back on the year that was, the year that will be, everything you've said and done, and the people you're fortunate to have around you.

It may sound strange, but this is an embarrassing exercise for me.

"Embarrassing" because I am blessed almost beyond reason. Actually no, not even almost. I am blessed far beyond what I deserve.

In all the things that matter, my cup overflows. I have done nothing to deserve this, yet here we are.

The people who truly impress me are those who keep on going despite trying circumstances. Whether it's health difficulties, financial troubles, the sudden loss of loved ones, the breakup of a marriage, or any number of the unfortunate things that befall us in life, I know so many who soldier on.

I admire them. They are heroes.

I have day-to-day struggles, I suppose, but nothing – nothing – like so many of the people in my circle have experienced or are experiencing.

I don't know how I would react if I were in their shoes. Probably not as well as they have, I can tell you that.

Every week at church, we compile a Prayer Request & Praise Report. The prayer request part, as you might imagine, lists church members, family and friends who are experiencing some form of adversity. Sometimes it's medical, other times something else.

I'm working to improve my health, but at the moment I have nothing wrong with me that causes any real difficulties. My heart and lungs work fine, my body does all the things I ask of it, my mind is still (somewhat) sharp, and I have no chronic pain of any sort.

Sometimes I think God put me in this position because He knows I am someone who would have trouble dealing with the things that plague those on the Prayer Request & Praise Report. For the moment, anyway, He shields me from all of this because He knows my weakness.

As I've often said, all of that can change on a dime. I'm not going to continue sailing smoothly through the rest of my life with nothing bad happening.

But things have been so good for so long that sometimes I forget that's not necessarily the natural state of things for human beings. Especially those not born into affluent societies with social safety nets or into loving families that support one another.

Until things take a turn, I'm going to continue being grateful because it's easy for someone like me to be grateful. Why wouldn't I be grateful?

The trick (the hope) is that I can maintain that gratitude if/when the rain starts falling a little harder.

Happy new year to you. I hope you, too, have much for which to be grateful in this life.