David T. Music And Stuff

Hi friends and family,

Here it is! I’m sorry I missed posting the ‘weekly Don Tschirhart serial story’ last week. Sue and I went on the “Annual Chili Ride” hosted by my brother and sister-in-law Chris and Velvet Tschirhart at their Tri-C/V Ranch. Everyone who attends brings their own “best chili ever!” and mixes it up with everyone else’s “best chili ever!” in a large cooking vat stirred by a volunteer who stays behind using a large wooden stirrer to help the “best chili ever!” meld into the most fragrant aroma a pot of chili ever made . . . I swear! The large wooden stirrer is also used to ward off potential chili thief’s from dipping in before the chili has had a chance to meld.

Meanwhile . . . All of Chris and Velvet’s boarders and friends take an always memorable ride on horseback with two wagons for non-riders’ (or heavy partiers’) through the Fall-colored back roads of Brown Township, north of Imlay City, Michigan. alcohol and snacks are consumed and passed back and forth between riders and wagon partiers. The halfway point is a friend’s farm where riders enjoy barbecued hot dogs, more alcohol and jello-shots or jello-syringes (a much more efficient delivery system) and take the opportunity to relieve themselves and rest their backsides.

When we get back to the Tri-C/V Ranch a few hours later, the tired riders take care of their horses, then enjoy “the best chili, ever!”, more alcohol and the awesome camaraderie that can only be experienced by committed horse lovers, ranchers and long-time friends . . . Thanks Chris and Velvet and all those that made another memorable Chili Ride happen!

We also had the pleasure of being joined by my brother, Tim, and his beautiful daughters, Emma and Julie (mentioned in the following story), from Boston (Tim didn’t bring chili on the plane for airport security reasons so, stopped at Wendy’s and poured his contribution into the chili vat). Tim! I did not give fifteen-year-old Julie a Lemon Jello Shot! It was Sue . . . ! And I didn’t take a picture as evidence . . .

I hope everyone enjoys this story by my dad, Don Tschirhart. Brother Chris actually has a picture of Mom being frisked at the airport on another trip. He posted it on Facebook with the caption, “You never know when you may be confronted by a terrorist!” (or something like that). It’s hilarious to see mom, grandma, great-grandma with her belt and shoes off, holding her arms out while she is physically frisked by airport security.

Love to all,

David T

p.s. I posted pictures of the Chili Ride at the end of Dad’s story . . . Enjoy!

“Airport Security”

By Don Tschirhart

Excerpted from the unpublished book “It’s a Wonderful World II: A Retired Reporter Looks At Life“

Airport Security
According to news reports, security at the nation’s airports is more lax than it was before September 11, 2002.
Federal testers say security personnel — government employees or private operators — flunked a high percentage of attempts to smuggle weapons aboard aircraft.
I think I know why. The feds and private security companies hire people for their brains, not their common sense.
My wife, Margie, and I tested the system at the Philadelphia Airport recently.
While I understand the need for airport security, some of it can be silly. While they work over the good guys they let people with weapons through.
You can see my smiling picture in this column and it’s what I look like in real life. Do you think I look like someone who would hijack a plane. Margie looks and is as gentile as a pussy cat. We are both in our late-70s.
Yet we were chosen for the “more extensive search” by security guards. Others in the security line, less trustworthy looking than us, watched with smirks as if we were real suspects. I couldn’t help chuckling.
Some of you know the routine: Margie seated in a glass-enclosed room. I think it’s because they thought I might pass her something like a gun or knife. Take gym shoes off (OOPS! I had a hole in my sock.), belt unbuckled (“Don’t take it off,” the security man said. “We don’t want your pants to fall down with all those people watching.”), arms out straight, a magic wand going up and down on the old body.
And then the all clear. “Put your shoes back on.” He didn’t comment about the hole in the sock.
I looked behind me. There was Margie with her jacket and shoes off (she didn’t have a hole in her hose), arms out straight and the wand going over her body. She later said she declined an offer by the guy to have a woman search her.
While all this was going on a woman was dumping out the contents of Margie’s purse and my carry-on bag. She looked up at me seemingly in wonder when she opened up the case containing all my stay-alive drugs.
The amusing security precaution was the icing on the wonderful relaxing weekend we spent with our son and his delightful family in their North Andover home.
We have visited downtown Boston and the harbor area often. So it was decided we would head north of the city to the nation’s witch capital, Salem, founded six years after the Pilgrims landed at Plymouth Rock.
It’s a delightful seaside town these days, a sharp contrast to hysterical 1692 when a group of girls and women, who had dabbled with the occult, began acting in a strange manner. A doctor said they were afflicted by an “evil hand,” leading to to 190 people being accused of witchcraft. In all 19 people were hanged and one man crushed to death.
We walked through the Old Burying Point Cemetery where the hanged were buried alongside their judge. Many of the decaying tombstones had names and time of death dating in the mid-1600s.
New Englanders revel in their ‘aged’ area. For instance we celebrated my daughter-in-law’s birthday with dinner in the Hart House, built in Ipswich in 1624. That’s a few years after the Pilgrims came ashore.
My granddaughters were adopted, and except for their love for one another, you would not know them as sisters. Emma Leigh is a sweet, tall, smart and pretty 10 years old blond and turning into a delightful young woman. Julie Ann was 11 months old when Tim and Jane adopted her from an orphanage in China.
When we first met Julie Ann a few days after she arrived in Boston she couldn’t crawl. But then my terrier, Molly, licked her face and retreated. A surprised Julie Ann suddenly crawled after her.
Julie is now six and hasn’t stopped moving since that first crawl. Her mom and dad sometimes refer to her lovingly as the “hellion from Hunan. Hunan is a Chinese province.
On Sunday we went to the Children’s Mass at St. Michael Catholic Church and I thought Julie Ann was being a very good, quiet child.
After the Our Father was recited the priest asked everyone to give their neighbors a sign of peace and Julie Ann walked down the church bench shaking hands with the people behind us.
Suddenly she pointed to a man three rows away. She yelled, “Look mommy, he got no hair!” Everyone in that part of the church broke into laughter including the bald guy and his family.
The priest looked over at us and smiled. He knew Julie Ann and knew God had made a charmer who could make even a bald man smile.

CHILI RIDE 2017