Fitness Month 8 Comes To An End
August is careening to its termination, but I may be beginning a new phase of my quest for better fitness. Upon evaluating my progress thus far, I admit that there’s been none. I still weigh about what I did on January 1 this year, and I’m not feeling any more fit. There have been some periods of elation leaving the gym and many periods of relative weariness. I’ve decided that only young people leave the gym full of piss and vinegar and ready to conquer the world. It’s a certainty that I won’t be sharing that response.
August has been a “gymness” failure for me. There’s been so many other things to do, places to go, and people to see this month that I’ve been getting to the gym only randomly. Definitely not twice a week, and I missed a couple of weeks entirely. That said, I feel it. I can’t say I miss the time spent on the machinery, building my “cardio” and sweating. No. What I miss is the general feeling of having accomplished a goal. That goal consists of spending the entire pre-determined time I’ve vowed to spend at the gym that day. The time is usually 45 minutes per session. Some days, I feel like being there less time, some times more. I calculate it before I arrive and set my chronograph watch for the determined end time before I start exercising.
To make a short tale even shorter, I’ll leave it like this. I still need to lose some weight, and I still need to build my endurance. I plan to faithfully attend my fitness program for the remainder of 2023. That means that I’ll go to the gym at least two times a week.
I serviced our bicycles yesterday and plan to load them, weather permitting, into the Volvo from now through Fall and go riding as many times as I can. There are plenty of bike trails and parks hereabouts.
Yep, there are built-in loopholes here. That might indicate that I intend to use them, but for my own good, I’ll try to avoid doing so.
I’ll report back here in another month to let you know how well I’m sticking to my plan. Wish me luck.
Adventure in Fitness
Right after the start of 2023, I decided I’d lied to my doctor long enough. I see him to renew my blood pressure meds as needed, and he hounds me about my failure to exercise, my perennial retention of pounds I probably should lose, and the fact that as one ages, “if you don’t use it you lose it.” Time after time, I keep telling him I’ll watch my diet, I’ll exercise more, and I’ll get my weight back to a more reasonable level. I’ve been lying.
As a result of my guilt over lying, I decided in late December of ’22 that I’d give fitness a shot. My wife, referred to herein as Meg (because that’s her name), has had a gym membership for several years. At first she worked out a few times a week. But at that time, she was working a couple hundred yards from the place. Now, I doubt that anyone there would’ve recognized her in a line-up. It turns out she has been there only once or twice a year for the past few years. Those times were probably out of guilt as well, since we’ve been paying the gym every month whether she used it or not.
My decision to start working out has been great for Meg. She truly enjoys working out and with me keeping her company, she’s going at it like a real gym rat.
My first visit to the gym was my first visit to a gym. Period. The sights, sounds, and odors were eye-openers. Reminded me of a high school locker room, a place I haven’t experienced in decades. After the culture shock, I strolled up and down the aisles of a seemingly endless array of physical fitness equipment. Holy crap! Could they ever need all that equipment at once? It turned out that the number of machines wasn’t the real issue. It was what the hell do they all do, and how the hell do they all work?
I soon learned that my membership didn’t come with instructions. Meg knew how to work the ones she uses in her exercise regimen, but the rest were a mystery to her too. I love adventure, so I chose an apparatus and through my unfit body on top of it. The truth is, it was enough like the repose exercise bicycle that I have in my home office, which serves as a hat rack, that I was not intimidated.
Okay. Fifteen minutes on the bike-like machine, with all of its dials, switches, and huge screen (which I’m certain was watching me and chuckling), wore me out. On a positive note, it proved that I was in the right place. Emboldened, I strolled around some more and found another piece of equipment that didn’t terminally confuse or scare the hell out of me.
The machine has a hand crank and a friction wheel. It seems designed to exercise arms and shoulders. That’s what I used it for, and in fifteen minutes my arms felt like they fell off one of those blow-up dummies that flop around in used car lots to draw attention. Another flashing sign telling me I was probably in the right place.
That was the first week in January ’23. We just completed our eighth week of gym times two, and although it’s a bit early to see any substantial results, at least it hasn’t killed me. A genuine concern after the first day. I’ve actually lost nearly eight pounds, have extended my workout time, and learned to use more of the apparatuses. I’m not looking to bulk up my pecs, and firmly believe a six-pack is something to be picked up at the store. I just want to feel better, have more energy, and maybe fit into the 34-inch waist pants I’ve refused to donate. Always said I’d wear them again. Wish me luck.
Politics and Religion
Today, like most days at some point, but only fleetingly, I’ve been contemplating religion and politics. Not as individual entities, but as one.
Politics and religion turn out to be similar to an extreme, bordering on sameness. Religion and politics, both require unmindful blindness to reality to be properly consumed and digested.
There are multiple facets to every tenet of both political and religious philosophies. But, here politics nudges slightly past religion. Eventually, political ideology will either be proven or disproven and bear either positive or negative results. Religious ideology will never be absolutely proven to be negative or positive. The benefits are only in the mind of the believer. True believers will never admit to any negatives regarding their faith.
A democratic republic requires political parties of varied disparate ideals and game plans. All parties presumably must have total, or adequate, belief in the goals and the means of achieving them. The two or more sides of the equation hash it out and, ideally, come to a conclusion that the reasoning behind which, leads to a meaningful way to serve the citizens of that republic.
Religion doesn’t work that way. Even though there are a myriad of dogmas and beliefs represented by religious sects, they are supposedly aiming at the same targets. But, they are not. The salvation of souls, and making life on this blue orb a more pleasant existence for all is the general theme. It never works. Souls are not saved, and religious beliefs create wars and cause extreme greed to flourish. Just like politics.
When any group of people believes that religion should have a place in the ruling of a democratic republic, they are basically betting their bankroll that a unicorn will be appearing to take them to Nirvana. It’s not going to happen. There are too many denominations, cults, sects, and covens for this plan to gain traction. Governing for the good of one set of religious beliefs, by definition, excludes the believers of other ideologies. This leads to unrest, anger and eventual violence. You see, religious zealots are too frequently willing to die or kill for their particular religious bent. Next, an autocrat comes along and decides that they will just shut down all beliefs other than their own. There goes the democratic republic. All of that is created by two separate philosophic mindsets that humans have and will always cling to despite the harm they may create.
Maybe I shouldn’t think about it.
2 1/2 Years at the Gym
When I began going to American Family Fitness in early 2023, I thought I was in basically good health. My plan was to improve my stamina and lose a few pounds. The first year went fairly well. By January of 2024, as mentioned in a previous posting, I’d lost a little weight and was moving a bit better. Just hunky dory, eh?
The quick witted reader might notice a great lack of postings in 2024 and so far in 2025. There’s good reason for that. As 2024 wore on, it became more difficult to give my all at each workout. By summer I was constantly tired, sometimes short of breath, and even dizzy on standing from time to time. Doing simple yard work, or working in my shop became dreaded chores. Then, in early October, I nearly tipped over getting out of my car in front of a fast food joint. I got fast food anyway, but after lunch I stopped at the local medical “walk in”.
Surprise of surprises, they strongly suggested that I go directly to the Emergency Room. I was hospitalized and spent the next four days being tested and scanned for absolutely everything. They’d immediately diagnosed me as having heart issues, and they wanted to be certain of what procedure would be appropriate. It tuned out that the problem was something referred to as “the widow maker”. If you don’t know, that’s an issue with the LAD artery which, when blocked, frequently results in fatality. My anomaly would require “open heart surgery”. The surgical team deemed that mine wasn’t critical enough to necessitate emergency surgery, so they scheduled me for nearly three weeks down the road. I was cautioned to take it easy until the operation. (Hint: You cannot “take it easy”counting down the days to open heart surgery.)
November 26, 2024, I had the procedure and remained anesthetized until sometime on the 27th. My wife says it was scary seeing me lying unconscious with a large number of tubes and electrodes attached to me, and breathing via a ventilator. I missed that part, and my family had to visit me in the hospital on Thanksgiving. For six days I was in the Cardio Unit recovering enough to go home.
The recovery to assume fairly normal activity was short. I could drive, shop, have sex, etc. in a couple of weeks, but I had to stay out of the gym for three months. That meant I couldn’t work out until February 2025. It’s amazing to me how much strength and agility can be lost by taking a quarter of a year off from exercising properly. Part of my recovery was cardio PT, which got me back a good bit, but did little for strength or agility.
It’s been ten months since my major surgery, and I’m not feeling like I’ll ever be as fit as I’d like to be. However, I can live normally and I’m enjoying time with my loved ones while squeezing in as many outings as my wife and I can find time for.
I’d say the operation was a success. We’re back at the gym a couple of times a week and making it count. My advice to others is to exercise, have regular check-ups, and keep close track of your health. Beat the Grim Reaper to the punch.
What About Those $2.00 Bills?
When you look at the picture above, you may see some unfamiliar US currency. You’re looking at a modern $2.00 bill and some coins of the realm. On the far left is a Quarter, good for twenty-five cents. The next three coins are Dollars, good for one US dollar each. The larger coin on the far right is a Half Dollar, good for fifty cents. The US Mint stopped printing the $2 bill in 2017, but there are 1.4 billion (1,400,000,000) of them in circulation right now. As plentiful as they are, every time I whip one out at any cashier, or hand one to a server in a restaurant, I get the amazed look, and the same line. “Wow! I haven’t seen one of those (lately or never).” I usually explain that they’re plentiful and can be grabbed up at most banks or credit unions anytime they may want some. They often tell me they plan to exchange it for a couple of ones from their own stash and take it home to collect or give to their kids. The coins are a different story. Over the years (a couple of hundred), the US has struggled with how to distribute them and convince people of the value of using the right denomination coins. Did you know that there have been half-penny, two-penny, and three-penny US coins? Imagine that, eh?
The picture above is mainly there to show a difference in the Dollar coins you may run across. The larger ones on the left are the Morgan Dollar, minted from 1878, and the Eisenhower Dollar, minted from 1971-1978. They were of a substantial size, and you knew you had a buck in your hand when you took hold of one. The golden-colored coin in the middle is also a dollar coin, but its pathetically small size allowed it to be mistaken for a quarter so often that people refused to use it. On the far right is one of my favorites, the Kennedy Half-Dollar. These fifty-cent pieces are still in production and circulation, but whenever I ask for them at the bank I get a vacant stare instead of coins. The Canadian two-dollar bill is here just to show how much fun money can be. Just look at the colors on that sucker. My picture doesn’t do it justice, but if you go to Canada, you’ll see plenty of them, as Canadians appreciate the usefulness of having a currency that relieves one of carrying a wad of ones around.
The two-dollar bill pictured above is included for a “blast from the past” moment. On April 13th, 1976, I joined the line at my local Post Office to get some uncirculated, crisp, first-day released two-dollar bills stamped and postmarked. The word was out that if verified as being first-day-of-release bills they’d be collectable. I have five so stamped and preserved in their original condition. I just checked their value. An uncirculated bill from that date is worth $9-$15, with postmarked ones worth a bit more. I see that someone on eBay is selling some for $28.50 each, plus shipping. So fifty-seven years of collecting these notes has made me very few bucks, but they’ll be fun for my grandchildren to laugh about in years to come. By the way, I also have some first-day-of-release Elvis postage stamps commemorating the passing of Elvis Presley. Selling for $.29 each, they were released on January 8th, 1993, which would’ve been The King’s fifty-eighth birthday. It would take more than two of them to send a letter today, but folks are selling them on eBay for about thirty bucks for a sheet of forty stamps. Amazon even has them for about the same price.
But, to get back to my thoughts on two-dollar bills and silver dollars. For me, they’re more convenient than having a pocket full of smaller denomination bills and coins. I think vending machines, which admittedly do now accept dollar bills, should accept both dollar coins and two-dollar bills. I believe that cash drawers should have an extra coin spot for both fifty-cent pieces and dollar coins. Lose the dollar bill space and use it for two-dollar bills. I think that making change, counting the till at the end of the shift, and even the bank deposits would go more smoothly. It’s probably just me, but I don’t carry change and rarely have one-dollar bills on me. If you want a two-dollar bill, I likely have one or five of them on hand, however.
What I’m pushing for is that after you read this, go out and get some two-dollar bills and some dollar and even some fifty-cent coins. Carry them, use them, and maybe by seeing you do it, others will see how convenient those denominations are and we might possibly start a trend.
Happy spending, y’all!
“Fins to the Left, Fins to the Right” (How and why I became a Parrot Head)
I heard “Margaritaville”, Jimmy Buffett’s song about an imaginary place where you can go and live an idyllic life of pleasure and daily half-inebriated fun, way back in the early nineteen seventies. I liked it, as opposed to his first charted song, “Come Monday.” “Monday” was too country for me, and his twangy voice grated on my sensibilities like chalk on a blackboard. Later, I heard “Cheeseburger in Paradise” which I really enjoyed, but Buffett was still just another voice on the radio. I was not a big fan and didn’t anticipate ever being one.
Then, I saw Tom Cruise in “Cocktail.” I was enchanted by the tropical scenery, and the Beach Boys hit from that movie remained in my conscious thoughts for weeks. “Kokomo” filled my imagination with tropical dreams, and when I went on a family vacation to Florida in the Fall of 1988, I was hooked on the warm weather, sea breezes, sandy beaches, and the little Tiki bars that dot the coastlines. When I got back to Upstate New York, the plane landed in a snowstorm and I made it to the parking lot wearing shorts with a long-sleeve shirt and sock-less sneakers. I wanted to jump back on the plane and go back to sunny Florida.
Within the next couple of days, I went to a local music store looking for tunes to transport my mind back to what I now saw as Paradise. When I got to the B section of the racks I saw a long-haired, barefooted guy carrying a guitar slung on his back, walking in what looked to me like a warm place on the cover of an album. I don’t recall which album it was, but I asked the clerk if they had that one in cassette tape. He smiled and said it was selling well since the first snowfall of the season had arrived. I played it on my car stereo for the next several months, nearly to the exclusion of Bob Seger, the Stones, and whoever else I had in my cassette case. The hook was set and I couldn’t pull it out.
Soon, I owned all of Buffett’s tapes except the early hardcore Country music he started out with. Eventually, I bought every book he published and started on my quest to get tickets for one of his concerts. That quest started in the early nineties and I finally landed a pair of tickets to catch Jimmy and the Coral Reefer Band in New Jersey. Then the fun began.
We pulled into the Meadowlands parking lot that afternoon, to find a shocking array of events occurring before our eyes. There was an ocean of people with open grills, cooking up cheeseburgers, shrimp, and other delights. There were $100,000.00 campers that had signs covering their sides, with pictures of parrots, palm trees, Margaritas, and girls in bikinis. One very expensive tour-bus-sized camper had a gigantic shark fin fastened to the top. The most shocking part of the unfolding scenario was the people. Most of the revelers were in shorts, tees, and flip-flops. There were ladies in flip-flops wearing grass skirts and real coconut shell bras. The temperature that winter day was in the upper forty-degree range! We’d never seen anything like this before. It was amazing, but the best was yet to come.
Inside the sold-out arena, it was another big party. I guess it was probably a continuation of the tailgate party that had been raging in the parking lot. Everybody was drinking and laughing. There was a lot of backslapping, greeting old friends, and making new ones going on all around us. New to all this revelry, we could only watch in wonder as we were in the middle of the biggest party we’d ever seen.
I’m not sure when it started, but at some point, there became a conga line. Not just a few drunken Parrot Heads staggering around in a loose line, but literally, a thousand or more costume-clad Buffett fanz congaing on all levels of the arena at one time.
Then, Jimmy and The Reefers took the stage. The standing ovation lasted what seemed like five minutes or more. After the crowd settled down, Jimmy began the show. To my amazement and surprise, everyone in the audience seemed to know every word of every song. Then there were the songs where the crowd participated, like “Fins”, and “Margaritaville” where everyone knew what to say and do. But it was all about “Don’t Stop the Carnival,” the Herman Wolk book that Jimmy had set to music for the play he was presenting later. I don’t think anyone sat in their expensive seat. Meg and I surely didn’t sit down again until we were in the car heading back to New York.
That was it for us. We didn’t know it yet, but we’d become Parrot Heads. I wasn’t aware of the term until I told a friend that we’d been to the Buffett concert. She said, “So, you guys are Parrot Heads.” I asked her what that meant and she told me it was what the dedicated Buffett fan base is known as.
As you might imagine, the bug had bitten us and we began trying to make it to a Buffett show every time we could get tickets. That was made easier when a couple from Binghamton, NY who were super fans decided to start a local Jimmy Buffett fan club chapter. Of course, we became charter members and were then able to buy discounted concert tickets reserved for Parrot Head Club members. That affiliation led to another level of Parrot Headedness. The monthly Phlockings, the bus trips, and traveling en-mass to Buffett concerts with the attending tailgating, greatly enhanced the experience.
All of the involvement with the Parrot Head Club and Jimmy Buffett’s music made me not just a Buffett fan, but a fan of the Trop Rock/Beach Music genre as a whole. I became so involved that when asked by Jim Jowsey, the founder of Shore Life Radio, a web-based Trop music Internet station, to join him in broadcasting all of the artists who play the Buffett-based type of songs, I agreed. Oops! There went ten years of my retirement.
My story is likely a clone or near clone of thousands of other Parrot Heads in Jimmy Buffett’s Parrot Head Nation. It’s the one music in all my lifetime of being a music lover that totally sucked me in. I wear “island shirts” year-round. My deck is decorated as a Tiki bar. My office has Parrot Head memorabilia on the walls, and there’s always Trop Rock beach music on my Alexa, car stereo, and deck. Jimmy Buffett is the reason I learned to play the guitar after I retired, and his songs have been the soundtrack of my life for about the last forty years.
I’m going to keep playing his music and acting like an old beach bum even though Jimmy has sailed off into the sunset. He passed away on September 1, 2023, but his music will live forever in the hearts and souls of millions of people who revere it just as I do. We’ll miss you Bubba, but we’ll keep playing your music until we join you in departing this “big round ball.”
It’s Crazy Out There
May is designated as the month to consider mental health. The month to be aware of one’s own mental health, I assume. I agree it’s critical to keep up with one’s own state of mental stability, it’s also an excellent time to consider that of others.
The USA is the uncontested richest country in the world. We have virtually unlimited resources at our disposal. Billions of dollars are spent annually on seeking ways to help people who are suffering from various forms of mental health issues. Yet we are the global leader in gun murders, mass killings, and injuries to our citizens by our fellow citizens.
So, a couple of questions come to mind. Are we wasting our resources on research into the causes and cures of mental illness? Are we not spending enough to find the actual reasons why Americans are killing Americans en masse?
It seems to me that the problem is education. Specifically, the lack of proper education. Even more specifically, the lack of proper education in the home.
The problem has no beginning that is or likely ever could be designated a starting date. It would probably be difficult to identify an era, century, or even millennium that marks the beginning of the causes of humans deciding to be cruel and inhuman to each other. It may have always been that way. The earliest homo sapiens and even their predecessors were likely cruel to their peers.
Since meanness and cruelty are obviously ingrained in the human experience, I believe it’s more prevalent than mental illness per se. Therefore, I believe that a lot of the mass murders and mass inhumanities we witness daily could be greatly alleviated by education.
Sadly, it’s a cure that can never come to pass. We will never be able to teach every child, from birth to maturity, to be kind to and respectful of other human beings. We can’t avoid the meanness and destructive tendencies that are inside humans. They’re a part of the human experience and development of the species, forever embedded in human DNA.
But, we can make a dent in it with early education. We could make human relations, socialization, empathy, sympathy, and kindness a part of every child’s formal education from Pre-K onward. It’s obviously not a cure, but these exposures may diminish the overall problem, in the longer term.
This brings me back to Mental Health. I strongly believe in the support that our government and ordinary Americans give to the research into mental health. It’s important to constantly strive to improve our ability to locate and treat mental issues. Eventually, the world will be a better place with more healthy minds in it. It’s a slow but worthwhile outcome.
As far as the huge number of mass killings that take place in America every week, I’m tired of the do-nothing politicians blaming mental illness for these atrocities. The USA has the same per-capita instance of mental illness as the rest of the world. That eliminates mental illness as being the primary originator of mass killings. Other countries around the globe do not have this problem. America alone has this scourge. It can be traced to the availability of weapons that facilitate mass killings. Controlling the sale of guns of all types and outlawing the average citizen’s ownership of weapons of war is essential. AR-15 rifles are meant for only one thing. Killing people.
There’s no need to take a hunter’s weapon away. There’s no sense in taking away police and security guards’ weapons. These are essential to maintaining a healthy level of wildlife, our safety, and maintaining control of the ever-present criminal element. Even personal protection is a valid reason to bear arms in America.
Screening and licensing are the best answer to slowing the rate of mass killings. It’s true that guns can’t be kept out of the hands of criminals. Sure, they’ll get what they need to do their deeds, but many people with genuine mental issues can be kept from obtaining guns. Only national legislation can make the changes that are needed.
Mental Health Awareness Month is at the halfway point. There’s still time to donate to your favorite MH charity or find one to help. Its importance can’t be denied. I donate regularly and spent a big part of my life working in the mental health field. I take it seriously and ask that you do too.
At the same time, I’m interested in helping to cure the mass murder epidemic that has taken America by storm. For this cure, I ask everyone to contact their federal legislators and demand the gun control laws we need to alleviate the Americans killing Americans problem.
Birthdays and Other Things
April 11th always seems to be my birthday. Every year! It’s also my brother’s. We’re not twins.
This morning, my bathroom scale rudely reminded me that today was the day, with a cheerful “Happy Birthday!” My bathroom scale? WTF? Could there be a bit too much information floating in the air, available to even one’s digital scale?
That reality check reminded me that I’ve lived on borrowed, or bonus time, for about half of my life. The way I lived what now turns out to be the first half of it caused me to seriously believe that it would end way back then. Ask my first wife about that. It’s sheer luck that she didn’t do me in. Don’t get me wrong. She’s a gentle and peaceful lady, but I probably deserved being done in for a lot of my crap.
By now, half of my siblings have shuffled off to Buffalo, leaving this blue orb for what I’m sure they believed is a better place. I hope they found that to be true. What I hope for is not to have more birthdays or to be reunited with my departed family members on some mystical plane someday. It’s that as I keep stumbling along on this journey I can fill each day with the best experiences possible, and give back to this world in whatever way I’m able.
I’ve come to believe over time, that the only real purpose any of us have while we’re still on the green side, is to try to make life a little better for others. If we do that, in the end, our lives might have been worth something after all.
So, today I’ll celebrate the life I have. I’ll lift a glass to the prospect of another successful “trip around the Sun,” and keep an eye out for blue skies and smiling faces. Cheers!
Three Down. Nine To Go! (Getting Fit)
Three months of the gym, and still sucking in air. Nobody is more surprised than I am that my fitness quest hasn’t snuffed me yet. I prepaid for a year, and I hope to stick with it if I survive.
Going in twice a week is likely a minimal approach to finding a more healthy self, but laziness is my strong suit, and procrastination rules my existence. I’m damned proud that I’m hanging in there and still giving it a shot.
I’ve learned that “gym life” seems to mean vastly different things to each member. There are the young men and women who seem to be there to socialize, and by their own admission look better for their current and potential partners. Then, there are many other people ranging from middle-aged housewives and possible shift workers, to geezers who strike me as maybe having nowhere else to go. Possibly they paid their money and are taking their ride. I noticed that the coldest days of winter brought in the most apparently retired folks. The heat is always on, and there are plenty of people to hang with, so I get it. Turn the heat down, lock the house, and go to the gym. I bet the hot summer months will be similar. Air-conditioned comfort and cronies to socialize with while saving a ton of money at home.
Actually, it seems like most of the members are there for the same reasons I am. Those reasons are better cardiovascular health, weight loss, and a more enhanced sense of well-being. They seem to be folks like Meg and me, who come and go on a purposeful mission to work out and get on with their day. That said, whatever reasons people have for going to the gym it feels like they’re on the right track. It can’t hurt to try to improve your health, strength, aerobic fitness, agility, and endurance, can it?
Those observations aside, I see small improvements in my own physical abilities. At first, I was easily winded, my muscles were weary by the end of each session, and in a half-hour I was ready to leave. As my third month in the gym concluded, I realized that I was working out longer, more vigorously, and with much less fatigue after the sessions. That’s improvement that I need and welcome. Who knows if it’s extending my lifespan, but it’s making doing yard work a lot easier this season. I’m going to hang in there to see what happens.
I’ll keep you posted.
National Rum Day 2022-HAPPY BIRTHDAY!
It may be a coincidence that National Rum Day falls on my wife’s birthday. But, I’m not so sure it’s not Karma. Meg enjoys a glass of wine or six, but she won’t balk at the occasional Mojito or Rum Punch, or six. Maybe it’s her Irish-German heritage, but well… you know.
Anyhoo, today is the big day to celebrate her launching another adventurous trip around the Sun, made better by dinner in a fine restaurant that hopefully makes decent Mojitos. If not, there’s always Meg’s “go-to” beverage. A nice glass of White Zin or Chardonnay. Maybe Sangria? Depends on the entree.
D'Pyrate's Plank 