Family Archives

February 16, 2014

English Leather

Dad and I were English Leather guys. I think there is still a bottle of English Leather powder on a shelf in the basement shower room. It was traumatic when Wife Lila came home from shopping one day to break the news that English Leather spray deodorant was nowhere to be found. She bought the last couple of cans in the world.

This can has been sitting on the bedroom dresser for at least a decade. [Editor’s note: Wife Lila, while proofing this, said “two decades.”]

I reluctantly switched to another brand that I don’t like half as much as English Leather, and I set this one aside for who knows why.

After much nagging to “get rid of that stuff before it explodes,” I gave myself a couple squirts last week. It’s as good as it always was.

Citrus, woods, moss and leather

An ad for the cologne (which I never wore) describes the scent: “Bring out your deep, masculine side with English Leather by Dana. This unforgettable cologne for men mixes citrus, woods, moss and leather scents for a rich and masculine blend that can last the entire day. Introduced in 1949, this casual scent brings a classic elegance to your everyday interactions. Apply it before you leave the house for an informal outing and enjoy the sense of rich manliness it brings to all of your personal encounters during the day.”

I’m not sure I’d describe it exactly that way; to me there’s a hint of a smell of talcum powder attached to it.

English Leather still exists

Some non-spray products are available on Amazon (if you click on the link to order, I get a small piece of the action and it doesn’t cost you extra).

If you can accept stick English Leather (I can’t), a 3-oz 3-pack goes for about $17.
8-oz bottle of English Leather cologne, about $15.
English Leather Soap on a Rope, $8. I remember buying this for Dad for some holiday. It hung in the shower on a brownish-red knotted cord. I’m pretty sure it was a one-time experiment.
English Leather After Shave Splash, $13.

Remember Old Spice?

Speaking of after shaves, do you remember Old Spice? It came in a white glass bottle with a plastic stopper that would pull out so you could splash a little on your palm and then rub it on your face after shaving. It had enough alcohol in it that you would know immediately if you has scraped anywhere. I would almost swear the stopper and print were blue.

Alas, Old Spice is still available, but it’s not the Old Spice that we knew and loved, according to Amazon reviewers who rate it a 4-1/2 out of 5 stars.

Here’s a typical 2-star reviewer: “Old Spice was originally produced by Shulton, a New Jersey company. The Old Spice brand was purchased by Proctor and Gamble in 1990. P&G reformulated Old Spice to work with the plastic bottles a few years later. If you have memories of the Shulton Old Spice scent, you will find the new stuff to be evocative, but decidedly brighter, more floral and powdery. The original Shulton was deeper and spicier. The new P&G Old Spice “classic” after shave and cologne are not terrible products, but they are not ‘the same as they always were.‘”

I rarely used Old Spice, but my Grandfather Welch did. I thought of him every time I smelled it.

Maybe that’s why the product description reads, “Old Spice Cologne has been around for generations. If your grandfather hadn’t worn it, you wouldn’t exist. Neither would velvet paintings, the chili dog and sheepskin rugs — manly things that were made by men who smelled strong and splashed Old Spice cologne on their faces before doing other manly stuff during their day.“

February 14, 2014

World’s Oldest 3-Year-Old

Last weekend I went to a joint birthday party for Grandsons Elliot (who was 1) and Graham, who turned 3 on Valentine’s Day.

Civilized cake

You saw the photos of Elliot eating his cake last week. It’s pretty obvious why he got his own cake and the rest of us got pieces of this one.

Video of a boy old beyond his years

Much to Grandson Malcolm’s annoyance, I’ve always quizzed the youngsters about things that might be in their food. (He was taught at an early age to intone, “Bluuuuuuberries cause efluuuuvia.)

In this video, Graham in response to my questioning, assures me that his cake doesn’t contain rhinoceros tails, crocodile noses or hippopotamus hides. Beating me to my next offering, he says, “No alligators, just cake.”

Then, he cracks me up by holding a hand to his ear, making a face and solemnly saying “That music is too loud.”

I thought he had turned into Instant Old Man, but he DID let the other guests play on his lawn.

Taking little brother out for a drive

After the party broke up, Graham got his dad’s permission to take his little brother out for a drive for the first time. The kid’s a pretty good driver.

I’m going to buy him a compass for his dashboard to go along with his white belt and white shoes so he’ll fit in with the rest of Florida’s Old Man drivers.

Adam, Carly, Graham and Elliot are lucky enough to live in Loxahatchee, a rural section of Palm Beach County, on a gravel road that deadends at a canal. It’s a good place for Graham to drive if Dad or Mother is along.

February 9, 2014February 10, 2014

One of Those Days

Saturday was a dual birthday party for Grandson Elliot, who just turned one, and Grandson Graham, who will be three on Valentine’s Day. Son Matt came over Sunday to fix some computer issues I was having. This is how I looked when he told me that he had wiped out my data drives.

My mood will be better in 24 hours

Fortunately, I had a full backup that finished at 4:56 Sunday morning. After several false starts, I called Son Adam, Dad of Elliot and Graham, who gave me some hints on how to restore the data. Nineteen to 24 hours, 487,776 files and 2.34 Tb from now, I should look like Elliot at his happy stage. Had the local backups not worked, I would have contacted Backblaze and had them send me a 3 Tb portable drive with all my files on it. Downloading that many files would have taken months.

Remember the Red Button

Sorry for the short post. Most of everything I’ve been working on for about the past five years is flying back an forth between the backup drive and the new ones. Thanks to all you folks who do your Amazon shopping by clicking that big red CLICK HERE button at the top left of the page (or this one). The small percentage I make off your purchases and the help from my kids are what keep this thing running. (When they aren’t breaking stuff while fixing it.)

January 26, 2014

Blown Tire Blues

There I was, sleeping the sleep of the just, all snuggled up in my blankets against the unseasonable Florida cold, while Wife Lila was on her way to church. About six minutes before my alarm was supposed to go off (so I could ignore it, being Sunday and retired on top of that), my cell phone rang.

For a guy who used to be a telecommunications manger, I hate phones in general and cell phones in particular. I swear they have a sensor that makes them ring when I’m napping, in the shower or in the one-seat Steinhoff Reading Library. Oh, yes, I can go a week without getting a call, but let me be on my cell and that will compel the house phone to ring, not wanting to be left out of anything.

So, back to this morning: Wife Lila says she’s in a no-parking zone on the northbound lane of Parker Avenue north of Forest Hill with a blow-out.

I assure her I am on my way

While I’m trying to find garments to cover my body, she calls back to tell me that the sidewall is wrecked and that blowing it up is not an option.

“That’s the way blowouts work,” I said. I assure her I am on my way.

I stop long enough to get a manly tire tool and a heavy hammer in case some gorilla with an impact wrench put the tire on the last time.

I head south on Georgia, turn west on Forest Hill (to be passed by a plain black pickup truck with emergency lights running Code 3), go past Garden, Lake, Parker, I-95 and a myriad of other streets until I get to Congress, and drive north looking for Wife Lila’s green Honda Odyssey van. Three blocks north of where she should be, I pull into a parking lot, pick up my cell phone to find out where she is.

Just as I press SEND, I realize I’ve driven to CONGRESS and Forest Hill, about a mile past Parker. I confess to a brain fart and assure her I’m on my way.

I make a U-turn (unlike Ohio, U-turns are permitted unless prohibited), head back east on Forest Hill Blvd. and turn north on Parker, where she is supposed to be. Six blocks later, I pick up my cell phone to ask her where she is.

“Oh, I’m not on Parker, I’m on Lake.” That’s a block east of Parker. I assure her I’m on my way.

Yep. The tire was definitely flat. Something had done a real number on the sidewall.

Here’s where I made a couple of tactical errors

I bounced the doughnut spare on the ground a couple of times and thought it was in pretty good shape. I should have checked it with a tire gauge, then topped it off with the portable tire pump I bought in Cape last summer. This isn’t exactly the model I have, but they are all about the same at this price point.
She asked if she should pull away from the curb a bit more. I told her I thought I had enough clearance to turn the crank. I discovered after I had the jack started that I didn’t, but I didn’t want to take it out and start over. (I’m buying a REAL jack at my first opportunity. I had forgotten how wienie the Honda jacks are.)

It’s a good thing I brought the manly tire iron

Four of the five hub nuts spun off easily. Gorilla guy put on the fifth one. I had to resort to The Big Hammer to break it loose.

Putting the new tire on was no sweat. It looked a little low, so I was going to use the portable compressor to pump it up, but the power cord was too short. (Should have done it when it was off the car.)

Home was only a few blocks away, so she drove it to where I could get at it with my electric compressor. She’ll go over to Southend Service in the morning to get a new tire. Luckily it was one of the older ones.

Wow, I’m tired just talking about tires. At least it wasn’t raining, sleeting or 102 degrees. [Thanks to Wife Lila for documenting the experience.]