Mavs Win!

An AP photo from the Fort Worth Star Telegram website.

I couldn't be happier for Dirk, Jason Kidd, Jason Terry, the team, owner, and coaches -- and the guy in the Cowboy hat that started the franchise, Don Carter. Great playoffs.

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Pentecost Sunday or Whit Sunday

Pentecost (Ancient Greek: Pentēkostē, "the Fiftieth [day]") is one of the prominent feasts in the Christian liturgical year commemorating the descent of the Holy Spirit upon the disciples of Christ after the Resurrection. The feast is also called Whit Sunday, Whitsun, or Whit especially in the United Kingdom, where the following Monday was traditionally a holiday. Pentecost is celebrated seven weeks (50 days) after Easter Sunday, hence its name. Pentecost falls on the tenth day after Ascension Thursday. From Wikipedia. Here

Veni Creator Spiritus ("Come Creator Spirit") is a hymn normally sung in Gregorian Chant. It is believed to have been written by Rabanus Maurus in the 9th century. The hymn is performed during the liturgical celebration of the feast of Pentecost. From Wikipedia. Here.

The Middle Seat. The final travel post.

The middle seat: a space that passengers of aisle and window seats expect to be vacant, as in empty, as in open, as in no one there.

The window seat gazes heavenward, the aisle seat grants the legroom of earth, but the middle is in between. The middle seat is purgatory.

It is the seating assignment that purges its occupant of self-worth because it is there that one is  squeezed between two unknown masses and aware that it is the space you now uncomfortably occupy that they want. You are held responsible, a thief of their comfort, an elbow room bandit.

No one talks to the middle seat occupant, he or she is personna non grata.

And if the ignominy of this seating assignment isn't bad enough the physical limitations are. To wit:  three bodies equals six arms but three seats equals four arm-rests which equals trouble, because if all three occupants of the aisle have some girth, shoulders touch, thighs touch, and those extra arms overlap or fight for the thin strips of arm-rest real estate.

Add to this one other element and you get the seating assignment hat-trick from hell.

I am referring to a person in front of you who insists on total recline of his seat during the flight. A middle seat, large neighbors, and a seat reclined onto your knees and one is certain that the gods have spoken and that sins are being atoned for right here, right now, by me, and my knees, and my elbows.

Yes, I have just peeled myself from the middle seat.

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Beach Bikes

I have been visiting the same beach resort all my life and I have seen many changes in the now almost sixty years.

A few things remain the same. Skeeball is still popular in the Boardwalk arcades, and predates even me; same with bumper cars, although they no longer have the whip-lashing ability they once did.

A good beach bike is not much different than the early days of Boardwalk cruising.

The odd thing about a beach bicycle is that, unlike the city street bike, the more honored bikes at the beach are old, rust-covered and well worn. They have been ridden and appreciatively ignored by generations of families for many years. A good beach bicycle looks like it belongs where it is, as does its rider. The beach is no place for a bike that positions the butt uncomfortably high and bends the back over curled handle-bars.

No, the beach bike is wide bottomed, and fat tired, and made for comfortable cruising. The rider sits upright, is relaxed, dons a goofy hat, and spends his time enjoying the view.

The beach bike rider is not concerned with time. He's not checking his pulse rate watch.

The beach bike may have some utilitarian purpose like holding a book or a newspaper, or a bag of beach fries, but it's usually stripped of everything not absolutely essential. The kick stand has rusted into the closed position, the fenders have long ago rusted off. Beach bikes don't need locks because nobody steals them, and besides it's against the spirit of an old bike to lock it. They don't mind being left out in the rain and being dusted with a little sand. They'll like a little oil on the chain, and a little air in the tires, but besides that they're maintenance free.

Most things change no matter where you are, fortunately, some things don't.

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Stewart's Root Beer Drive-In, Vineland NJ.

I have been in Philadelphia for the last few days, and yesterday, needed to visit my brother in Vineland, New Jersey.

Every once in a while the food gods smile upon us when we are visiting foreign lands and looking for a place to eat. Such was the case with Stewarts Root Beer Drive-In. Since root beer is my soda-fountain beverage of choice and Stewart's is a good one,  I tried it.

The lunch special was a Polish sausage sandwich served on a bun with provolone cheese and fried peppers and onions. It sounded perfect. I added french fries on the side and a big glass mug of root beer. Service was car window on a tray style. It was perfect.

The sandwich was piping hot, the fries crisp and the root beer ice cold. I had died and gone to heaven.

Stewart's, please expand into Fort Worth. I hear there's a great spot right next to the In N Out Burger.

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