Foxyscribe's Trip Report (I Love New York - You Have No Idea)
FOXYSCRIBE
It will be one week tomorrow since DaveCon2003; I've had an unusually busy week
since that extraordinary day (both of my children have graduated from various
levels of education) among other stuff, and I know already I've forgotten too
much. So read Helen's report first; it'll fill in the blank spots I leave here.
As usual, I take the bus to and from New York when I'm traveling by myself;
that way I don't have a long drive back home when I return. It always amazes
me how difficult it is to get out of the house and to the Greyhound station on
a weekday morning...there are a million things to take care of first. As usual,
I was speeding down the highway at 8:55, praying to God I would get there in
time to purchase my ticket and get myself on the 9:10 express to NY. I found
my traditional parking space located approximately eight miles from the ticket
counter. After doing the eight mile sprint in heels, I arrived at the ticket
counter, panting and victorious. At this point, the ticket guy continued his
yearly tradition of messing with my head by telling me if there weren't enough
seats on the 9:10, I'd have to take the 10:00 bus. I played along by pretending
to worry about it, but, as usual, I climbed aboard the 9:10 (with seats to
spare) and I was finally on my way. The temperature on the bus was at least 50
degrees, preparing me for the refrigerated Ed Sullivan Theater.
We arrived at the Port Authority right on time. The day was miraculously
beautiful - even slightly chilly. I walked the ten blocks to the Ed Sullivan
Theater, relishing the sunshine and the blissfulness of having an entire day to
myself. Karen Lynch and Kathie were in front of the theater; Kathie was trying
to get a ticket for the show, but due to Hillary Clinton's immense
popularity(?), it didn't look hopeful. Karen suggested I go across the street
to purchase a sweater; I was wearing a sleeveless top and my arms were still
numb from the arctic conditions on the bus.
I still had the frigid theater to face, and by nightfall it would even be
colder. I purchased a lovely pashmina-type wrap (cheap) for which I would be
grateful much later, not only for its warmth.
There are many special moments during this yearly pilgrimage, and one of those
is climbing the stairs of the Manhattan Chili Co., knowing what awaits you is a
second floor full of those crazy Dave lovers. I met N.E. Ohio Bob for the
first time: "Hi, I'm N.E. Ohio Bob!" Me: "Oh, hi N.E. Ohio Bill" and Finchen
- . also Mark Leckner, and Ken; more faces to put with familiar names. Traci
passed out the buttons, candy necklaces and wax lips kindly provided by Pat
Fleet. I brought pizzelles for everyone, but let me make this perfectly clear:
they were made by my mother. I only get credit for transporting them to New
York.
We got in line to "register" for the show, the number written on my ticket was
12. No dots this year; it made me wonder where in the theater our group would
end up. Hopefully not the dreaded balcony. I know everyone says it's a great
spot...I have been to the Big Show perhaps 15 times and even though the first
rows are not visually superior, what with all the camera equipment, etc.,
there's that energy bouncing through the atmosphere the closer you are to the
stage. As Dave would say, "It's palpable." If I were to be escorted to the
balcony, it would be too far from the excitement. But, truthfully, it doesn't
matter - the best part is just being there.
We had some time before we had to return to get in line for the show, so we
basically just hung around 53rd street. I bought my husband a Hello Deli t
shirt and a diet Coke for myself...I was starting to get sleepy and there was
nowhere to sit down and take a nap. Finally, we decided to join the line that
was forming in front of the theater- we were told to line up according to the
number on our tickets. Like clockwork, that "guy" (you know, the one who
gives Dave the finger every day) walked past the waiting crowd, shouting
unintelligible obcenities at us. Another of those heartwarming traditions.
We then were directed into the theater. We were not part of the inner sanctum
of dotted people - they were behind closed doors. But we could occasionally
hear a roar from behind that door as we knew they are being revved up for the
taping. We, outside, were given our preshow prepping by a pleasant young lady
who was perhaps slightly overwhelmed by our enthusiasm. Many others in line
began asking questions about our group, and Traci, our ambassador, began an AFL
recruitment. Once again, it's starting to feel like a religious experience to
me....Traci is preaching the gospel, Marilyn is passing out the communion. I
make the sign of the cross as I place the traditional Altoid on my tongue.
Oh boy......here we go! The doors are pushed open and we (well, I) dance into
that marvelous theater!!! Another moment like no other. Your senses are
crackling - the blast of cold air (thank goodness for my wrap!), the blaring
music, the sparkling beauty of the stage, the taste and smell of the
almost-melted-away Altoid. It makes me giddy every blessed time I experience
it. We are summoned down, directly in front of the CBS orchestra! Wheee!!!!!
I am seated next to Dave Sikula, who is on the aisle seat. Cathy is to my
left. Oh...the anticipation of Dave's presence on the stage in front of us.
The music adds to the excitement, and for me, it's a feeling of pure joy. I
always sense that everyone - from the pages to the the janitors to the
musicians - absolutely love what they're doing and wouldn't want to be anywhere
else at that moment. I know, I'm naive.
"Ladies and Gentlemen....... MR. DAVID LETTERMAN!" Here he comes! We applaud
wildly. Dave has GOT to feel the LOVE!!! After talking about the weather and
Father's Day: "Are you like me? Don't you feel like it's a bullshit holiday?"
Dave asked if anyone had any questions. I, recognizing the lameness of mine,
(which I had spent a good part of my bus trip trying to think of), kept my hand
down. I was happy he called on Micah; cool, calm and prepared as he asked
about the dogs and ponys.
Hillary really, really loved the CBS orchestra. Her foot (black flat shoes -
she could use some heighth (height?) was constantly bouncing in time to the
music. At the end of her interview, which I thought Dave did a superb job of,
she did not get a hand kiss.....but it was after they broke for commercial as
she said her goodbyes; she got the kiss and I totally missed it.
A quick observation about Dave Sikula. Cranky, complaining, never saw a show
he didn't hate, whatever........the man has the best laugh of anyone. Its
uniqueness rises above the other laughter, making it sound as though he is
being so thoroughly entertained he cannot contain himself. In fact, the two
people sitting in front of us actually turned around at one point to see from
what human being this sound was coming. Go figure.
Unbelievably, Tony Mendez did it again. Patiently gave us the tour, kindly made
us all part of the TMS. Boston BillBob has enabled me to share my few pictures
- I'll put that at the end of the report. One shot shows them covering up
Dave's desk after we all had our Kodak moments with it. They cover it with a
blankie.
I also took a picture of my foot next to Dave's "dot" on the stage, which shows
him where to stand. There's a picture of me with my arms around Brady's neck
(a complicated guy :) ) - giving Tony Mendez a grateful hug; a nice picture of
Karen and Bill Lehecka - afl's two biggest losers. They, between them, have
lost over 375 lbs. Guys, you look maaahhhvelous. Katycren, I was thinking of
you, hence the shot of Maker's Mark. Of course, Don took the traditional
picture with Marilyn and me....this is soured by the glimpse of Carl's naked
arm to Marilyn's right. Don't ask.
I decided to leave the after-show festivities at 9:15, in time to catch the
10:00 bus home. I understand I missed Stephanie's visit, among other things,
and had I known what the night had in store for me, I would've stayed another
hour and a half to take the 11:30, which I ended up on anyway.
I left McGee's basking in the glow of the day, hailed myself a cab (Brad
doesn't care anymore) and arrived at the Port Authority at 9:30. I paid my cab
driver $5.00 for a $2.50 fare, thanked him, and left the cab to find my gate in
the bus terminal. I was the first one in line since it was so early, so I
reached into my pocketbook for my wallet, which contained my ticket home.
Suddenly, I was starring in an American Express Traveler's Checks commercial.
No wallet.
I wildly removed everything from my pocketbook. I checked my other shopping
bag, only to find it empty. With a racing heart, I ran back outside to the
sidewalk, stupidly thinking my cab would still be there. Of course, he was
long gone. I approached the taxi dispatcher and told him I had left my wallet
in the cab that dropped me off......"Did you get a receipt?" he asked. Of
course not! Sure, as I exited the cab, I *did* hear Beverly Sills reminding me
to get a receipt! But what would I need it for? I ignored Beverly Sills and
now this is what I get. There are 11,000 cabs in New York City. My wallet is
in the back seat of one of them, and had I taken a receipt, the cab # would be
on it, and this story would end right here.
The full impact of my situation hit me. What was in my wallet? My driver's
license, my cash, my credit cards, my check book.....my ticket home. Holeee
Crap, as Morehits would say. Alrighty then...I'll just stand out here on the
sidewalk so when the cabdriver comes back to return my wallet, I won't miss
him. I had until 11:30 - that's when the last bus leaves for home. I know, I'm
naive.
As I patiently stood on the sidewalk, feeling stupid and alone, a very nice man
named Caesar asked me what had happened. He said he was a disabled veteran who
lived not far from the Port Authority, and offered to buy me a ticket home.
How sweet! "No, thanks...I'll be fine, Caesar. The cab driver might come
back, and worst case, I can call my husband from the ticket counter and he can
purchase me a ticket over the phone." Caesar stood with me for over an hour,
as I called my husband, called the taxi cab company, just so I wouldn't be by
myself because "the element changes here the later it gets."
Finally, at 11:00, I told Caesar I had better get to the ticket counter and get
a ticket. I jokingly said "If the cabdriver comes back with my wallet - you
come and get me!" I hugged him and thanked him for keeping me company and
walked back into the terminal.
I approached the Trailways counter and explained my situation to the ticket
guy. "Do you have my name in your computer showing that I purchased a round
trip ticket this morning?" "No, ma'am, we don't do it that way..." "Can I
call my husband so he can give you a credit card number to purchase a ticket?"
"No ma'am, we don't take credit cards over the phone." Now I was beginning to
really know how ET felt. I just wanted to go home. Frantic, I started pulling
stuff out of my pocketbook - "Look! Here's my keys, my cell phone, my digital
camera....nothing else! No money, no nothing!!! How am I going to get home?!!"
"Write down your name" he ordered, pushing a clipboard towards me. I wrote my
name, he typed something into a machine, which printed out something he handed
me, saying "Here. You owe me."
I looked down at a one way ticket back home. I looked back up at him and said,
"You're just *giving* me a ticket?" He nodded. Up until that moment, I had
remained calm and rational. Suddenly, I burst into tears. Again, I repeated,
"You're just *giving* me this ticket?" Again, he nodded. Oh my goodness. This
isn't how people in New York are supposed to be. He's supposed to say, "Tough
luck, lady...you were stupid enough to leave your wallet in a cab and ignore
Beverly Sills. It's not my problem." I reached my hand through the bottom of
the window between us and held his hand. "Thank you....thank you....thank
you..."
Still sobbing uncontrollably, I left the counter to go down to my gate. A
total stranger came up to me, pushing a $5.00 bill into my hand. "Take this,
take this!" he ordered. "No, no! - I have a ticket home! I'm okay!" I cried.
"No, no!" he insisted, "buy yourself a cup of coffee - I heard what happened
to you..I feel bad for you!" He would not take no for an answer. I thanked
him, barely intelligible now because the crying was out of control. I had no
tissues, so I walked through the port authority, using my
cheap-pashmina-type-wrap to wipe the tears that were falling.
Overwhelmed now by the kindness being bestowed upon me, I realized that I did
not know the name of the ticket guy. Back up the escalator I went, back to the
counter, sobbing "Would you please write your name down for me?" Floyd did, ,
and back I went down to my gate.
The line for the last bus home is a long one, because, well, it's the last bus
home. I stood in the line and people were staring at me, standing there by
myself, hysterically crying, wiping my eyes, all in all painting a pretty
pathetic picture. At 11:15, Caesar came down the escalator "Just to make sure
I was all right and was getting home." He waited all that time outside and
didn't leave without checking on me. Oh my goodness, this was too much.
I boarded the bus, and a young man sitting behind me popped his head over the
seat, "Ma'am, are you okay?" "Oh yes, I'm fine (I still couldn't stop the
crying) - I'm fine! Everyone's just been SO NICE to me!!" He switched seats
with the girl next to me and talked to me all the way home. What a nice guy -
a student at the University of Pennsylvania, a future pediatrician. He got me
to stop crying and the ride home went quickly.
I called the bank to put my checking account on limited status. Every check
needed to be approved by me to be paid. All credit cards were canceled, I
still needed a new license, health insurance card, etc. Every day this week I
called the 19th precinct, where lost articles from cabs in Manhattan are
returned, to leave my name, describe what I lost, etc. Please, I beg you,
always get a receipt when you exit a cab. Thank me later.
Yesterday, I left to take my son to a friend's house to play. I stopped at the
mailbox to get my mail, and when I opened the box, I saw a package. I pulled
it out, and knew immediately it contained my wallet. The tears started. I
opened it, and everything was in it, except the cash, of course. Everything,
including a check written out to cash for $200. and signed by me. There was a
return address and phone # on the envelope. When I got back home I called. It
was my cab driver. He apologized for not sending it right away - he didn't
have a chance until Thursday. The next person who got in the cab had given it
to him. "You were a nice lady...I felt so bad- everyting was in dat wallet!"
Yesterday, I sent Floyd the money for the ticket. I sent Dulange, my very
favorite Jamaican cab driver, a little thank you with a note promising him that
if I ever again have the chance to hail his cab, he's getting a big kiss! I
took the $5.00 to my church, put it in the poor box and lit a candle for these
wonderful people. I still need to write to their supervisors telling how
wonderful their respective employees are, truly angels to me on that Monday
night.
I left my wallet in the back of a cab in New York City. It was the nicest
thing that ever happened to me.
Here's the pictures:
http://community.webtv.net/bostonbill41/ShirleesDaveCon2003
FOXYSCRIBE
>
Here ARE the pictures - ARE. BTW, that last one is a shot of Tony Mendez
holding one of my mother's pizzelles in his lap. Better to know than to draw
your own conclusions,.
Tom Cronin
<< A quick observation about Dave Sikula. Cranky, complaining, never saw a
show he didn't hate, whatever........the man has the best laugh of anyone. >>
He calls himself "cranky," but you know if your water heater blew up, he'd be
the first one on your doorstep with a couple of mops and a six-pack.
<< Of course, Don took the traditional picture with Marilyn and me....this is
soured by the glimpse of Carl's naked arm to Marilyn's right. Don't ask. >>
Carl, naked. MY appetite's ruined for the rest of the day (and, just a
suggestion--- he really should start working out, don't you think?).
<< I left my wallet in the back of a cab in New York City. It was the nicest
thing that ever happened to me. >>
Amazing. Great story, and good to hear that everything turned out so well.
Tom
"It's such a fine line between stupid... and clever."
---David St. Hubbins, "This Is Spinal Tap," 1984
Donz5
Carl
>Carl, naked. MY appetite's ruined for the rest of the day
Not what you said in December, Missy. Remember that night?
> he really should start working out, don't you think?
Care to be my personal trainer?
(wink, wink)
Carl
Carl
>this is soured by the glimpse of Carl's naked arm to Marilyn's right.
Soured?
How dare you!
It's a pretty dull picture without me.
And by the way....your Mom's cookies SUCKED!
Carl
"I don't have to take this crap....I won a damn Tony Award!"
BallODisco
was going to end on the happy note on which it did (as I'm sure you thought, as
well, until you got that package) ... glad it all worked out for the most part,
in the end. Great pictures, too. Good seeing you again! :-)
Micah
Traci
> ....this is soured by the glimpse of Carl's naked
> arm to Marilyn's right. Don't ask.
Just wait, kids......I've got a doozy of a picture.
Great report, Shirlee. Your recollection of losing your wallet was even
more amazing than when we heard about it from Karen. Unbelievable!!! Who
ever thinks New Yorker's aren't the greatest has never been in need
while there. Great folks they are.
Traci
--
Come to the Hoosierland!
Hoosierland Salutes David Letterman
http://www.cowgirls-dave.com
"When I think I've partied too much, I remember Keith Richards is still
alive."
--Bill Hicks
Tom Cronin
<< Not what you said in December, Missy. Remember that night? >>
Everybody's a "10" in the dark.
<< Care to be my personal trainer?
(wink, wink) >>
Sure! I'll help you make those flabby man-boobs disappear in no time!
Sharon Best
"FOXYSCRIBE" <foxys...@aol.com> wrote
> There are many special moments I still need to write to their supervisors telling how
> wonderful their respective employees are, truly angels to me on that Monday
> night.
Thanks Shirley.
It was good to read that your visit produced a good report
in more ways than one.
SLB
******
Enjoyed the photos too.
bostonbill41
Oh, that is the worst feeling in the world when you realize the wallet
is gone.
I'm glad that you had a good ending.
Boston Bob
N.E.Ohio Bob
of me !!! billybob in n.e.ohio
Lucy Pfeffa
of me !!! billybob in n.e.ohio <<
Was it better than "Cats" ??
-- Lucy, who actually *did* get teary at the happy ending.
Pat Fleet
> First, many thanks to Helen for writing up such a thorough report (as usual.)
Yes, Helen wrote a great report with loads of details. [So I'm thinking to
myself, "I wonder what more Shirlee can add?" Little did I dream...]
> Oh boy......here we go! The doors are pushed open and we (well, I) dance into
> that marvelous theater!!! Another moment like no other.
Yes, this is just the way I remember it. SO exciting. :)
> "Ladies and Gentlemen....... MR. DAVID LETTERMAN!" Here he comes!
This is just the best part!
> A quick observation about Dave Sikula. Cranky, complaining, never saw a show
> he didn't hate, whatever........the man has the best laugh of anyone.
Traci was kind enough to phone me from McGee's after the taping. Thankfully
some afl people actually wanted to say a few words to me! But it was while
Dake was on the phone that the TMS was first shown on the big screen
there...so I'll agree...the Si-coo'-la laugh is wonderful. He was *thrilled*
to see the gang (and himself) on the tee-vee!
> Suddenly, I was starring in an American Express Traveler's Checks commercial.
> No wallet.
<snip extremely well-written adventure with miraculous characters and
actions>
Well, I'm just sitting here in tears reading about this! It warms my heart
to learn about all the good Samaritans who helped you, Shirlee. Amazing!
> I left my wallet in the back of a cab in New York City. It was the nicest
> thing that ever happened to me.
Just print-out and mail that story to any of the cab driver & bus ticket
bosses. And I hope good comes back in countless ways to those strangers, the
people who took care of you that night.
I *thought* I wanted to read about Dave, and the afl people, and the
parties. Well, I do. ;P But that experience goes straight up to the top of
the importance meter.
A great read.
Brady
<snip>
That is one amazing, lovely, outstanding, funny, heartwarming Trip Report. If
your heart is not warmed by this amazing tale, then something is definitely,
terribly wrong with you.
Thanks, Shirlee.
Brady
Mark Leckner
I admit I was a little moist around the eyes.
You did the right thing by taking the cab.
I left McGee's at 9PM and walked down Eighth Avenue.
It was creepy to say the least.
Thanks for the pizzelas and thanks for your report.
With all the reports it's like doing it over and over again.
Mark
Pat Fleet
> ...it's like doing it over and over again.
Sounds like... ;)
Helen Read
Wonderful trip report, Shirlee. I especially like this part:
> Oh boy......here we go! The doors are pushed open and we (well, I) dance into
> that marvelous theater!!! Another moment like no other. Your senses are
> crackling - the blast of cold air (thank goodness for my wrap!), the blaring
> music, the sparkling beauty of the stage, the taste and smell of the
> almost-melted-away Altoid. It makes me giddy every blessed time I experience
> it. We are summoned down, directly in front of the CBS orchestra! Wheee!!!!!
And that's quite a story about the missing wallet; I'm glad it all
turned out okay.
--
HPR
ronnie
> First, many thanks to Helen for writing up such a thorough report (as usual.)
> It will be one week tomorrow since DaveCon2003; I've had an unusually busy week
> since that extraordinary day (both of my children have graduated from various
> levels of education) among other stuff, and I know already I've forgotten too
> much. So read Helen's report first; it'll fill in the blank spots I leave here.
What a trip report! And an amazingly wonderful "new york story" - so
glad it turned out well for you. You should be the guest host one
Friday - that would be just such a great "desk chat story" all about
the magnificence of New Yorkers. Can't you just hear it, with Paul's
comments interspersed?
All you guys - thanks for your stories so far, I look forward to the
ones still to come. I think I speak for everyone when I say we really
appreciate the time and effort that goes in to writing all this stuff
down and posting all the pictures.
BTW - is it just the picture, or does Marilyn really look like
Kathleen Turner in person too?
-ronnie
Pepsi 46
LC
feels to first walk in the theater and feel the cool air, the sparkles, etc,
brought back memories of my trips there. I'm forwarding it to my mother who
at 73 will never go on a trip like that and loves Dave. After reading all
the show and post-show events the story got even better. Like everyone
else, I laughed, I cried. Nice work!!!
Laurie
Rod Fernandez
but you look like a million damn dollars:)
Lucy Pfeffa
at 73 will never go on a trip like that and loves Dave <<
My mother was 76 when we made the trip back in 92. (show #1582) Flew from
Atlanta in the AM, saw the show, stayed overnight at the Barbizon and flew home
the next evening, after spending the day walking around NYC schleping our
"carry on" overnight bags.
-- Lucy, thinking that at 87, she'd need her cane now.
Kath
"FOXYSCRIBE" <foxys...@aol.com> wrote in message
news:20030622111314...@mb-m13.aol.com...
<snip the excellent Daveness, maybe someday I'll get to experience it>
> A quick observation about Dave Sikula. Cranky, complaining, never saw a
show
> he didn't hate, whatever........the man has the best laugh of anyone. Its
> uniqueness rises above the other laughter, making it sound as though he is
> being so thoroughly entertained he cannot contain himself. In fact, the
two
> people sitting in front of us actually turned around at one point to see
from
> what human being this sound was coming. Go figure.
Hee hee, that's hilarious!!
> The full impact of my situation hit me. What was in my wallet? My
driver's
> license, my cash, my credit cards, my check book.....my ticket home.
Holeee
> Crap, as Morehits would say.
The *worst* feeling, your life details floating around.
> I left my wallet in the back of a cab in New York City. It was the nicest
> thing that ever happened to me.
Damn you are lucky, did you go by a lotto ticket??
> Here's the pictures:
>
> http://community.webtv.net/bostonbill41/ShirleesDaveCon2003
>
Very good!
Kath
Cathy D
<foxys...@aol.com> wrote:
> I left my wallet in the back of a cab in New York City. It was the nicest
> thing that ever happened to me.
It is always so interesting reading others trip reports. Their
experiences are always so varied. However, losing one's wallet is NOT
something you want to have happen to you! I'm glad everything turned
out all right in the end for you. People really can be wonderful! :)
Cathy :)
--
-------------------------------------------------
e-mail address: cathyd at empire1.net
Naturally the 'at' should be changed! :) The number also needs to be spelled
out. :)
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Pat Fleet
> ...a nice picture of Karen and Bill Lehecka - afl's two biggest losers. They,
> between them, have lost over 375 lbs. Guys, you look maaahhhvelous.
Unbelievable! Who would've guessed that constant boozing and/or crank calls
to sports DJs would be the newest diet miracles?
Congratulations, you two. Fantastic. Lookin' good!
Libby
experience turned out well. And I'll never leave a cab again without making
sure my wallet is still with me!
Libby
Shirlee wrote:
>http://community.webtv.net/bostonbill41/ShirleesDaveCon2003
Keith Rose
>
> "Write down your name" he ordered, pushing a clipboard towards me. I wrote my
>name, he typed something into a machine, which printed out something he handed
>me, saying "Here. You owe me."
Good Lord. Thanks for making me cry at work.
At what point did Frank Capra yell "Cut!"
--
Keith Rose (Remove all "x" characters from my email address for replies.)
AFL Dave's Mom Thanksgiving Pie Thanksgiving-Pie-Guessing Grand Champion 2002
Richard
> FOXYSCRIBE wrote:
>
> Wonderful trip report, Shirlee. I especially like this part:
Between seeing her picture and reading her trip report, the screen-name
"FOXYSCRIBE" now makes perfect sense...
--
-Richard
Brad Hill
falling down the stairs. The wallet story is pretty good, too. It made me
cry. And I'm a tough nut to crack--only the best Hallmark commercials bring
me to tears. I'm retelling your adventure to everyone I see. Thank you for
writing it so descriptively.
> I left McGee's basking in the glow of the day, hailed myself a cab (Brad
> doesn't care anymore)
You don't realize that I arranged the whole angelic-driver-lost-wallet
thing. I hoped you've learned something about life and human nature.
Brad
www.bradhill.com
www.DigitalSongstream.com
Nekk58
report, however, i get all the afterpost from the threads.
What is going on with this afl of mine? Anyway, from reading the post and
clips, I'm looking forward to the trip to google.
Note: On Foxy's pictures (from bostonbill's post), the first one is outside of
Ruperts on 53rd St. I noticed that I'm sitting down (with the famous pen in my
ear) with Donz and Brad.
>From: foxys...@aol.com
>
>Here ARE the pictures - ARE. BTW, that last one is a shot of Tony Mendez
>holding one of my mother's pizzelles in his lap. Better to know than to draw
>your own conclusions,.
bostonbill41
>Rats, I can't believe it. I didn't get Foxy's trip report or Helen's
report, however, i get all the afterpost from the threads.<
This has happened to me quite a bit the last two weeks. I am using
www.interbulletin.com and it seems to be pretty fast. Well quicker than
the Google.
Bill
Kathy
wallet but am glad things worked out fine in the end. God bless those New
Yorkers!
Kathy---->native New Yorker :)
>From: foxys...@aol.com (FOXYSCRIBE)
>First, many thanks to Helen for writing up such a thorough report (as usual.)
>
>It will be one week tomorrow since DaveCon2003; I've had an unusually busy
>week
>since that extraordinary day (both of my children have graduated from various
>levels of education) among other stuff, and I know already I've forgotten too
>much. So read Helen's report first; it'll fill in the blank spots I leave
>here.
>
>As usual, I take the bus to and from New York when I'm traveling by myself;
>that way I don't have a long drive back home when I return. It always amazes
>me how difficult it is to get out of the house and to the Greyhound station
>on
>a weekday morning...there are a million things to take care of first. As
>usual,
>I was speeding down the highway at 8:55, praying to God I would get there in
>time to purchase my ticket and get myself on the 9:10 express to NY. I
>found
>my traditional parking space located approximately eight miles from the
>ticket
>counter. After doing the eight mile sprint in heels, I arrived at the ticket
>counter, panting and victorious. At this point, the ticket guy continued his
>yearly tradition of messing with my head by telling me if there weren't
>enough
>seats on the 9:10, I'd have to take the 10:00 bus. I played along by
>pretending
>to worry about it, but, as usual, I climbed aboard the 9:10 (with seats to
>spare) and I was finally on my way. The temperature on the bus was at least
>50
>degrees, preparing me for the refrigerated Ed Sullivan Theater.
>
>We arrived at the Port Authority right on time. The day was miraculously
>beautiful - even slightly chilly. I walked the ten blocks to the Ed Sullivan
>Theater, relishing the sunshine and the blissfulness of having an entire day
>to
>myself. Karen Lynch and Kathie were in front of the theater; Kathie was
>trying
>to get a ticket for the show, but due to Hillary Clinton's immense
>popularity(?), it didn't look hopeful. Karen suggested I go across the
>street
>to purchase a sweater; I was wearing a sleeveless top and my arms were still
>numb from the arctic conditions on the bus.
>I still had the frigid theater to face, and by nightfall it would even be
>colder. I purchased a lovely pashmina-type wrap (cheap) for which I would be
>grateful much later, not only for its warmth.
>
>There are many special moments during this yearly pilgrimage, and one of
>those
>is climbing the stairs of the Manhattan Chili Co., knowing what awaits you is
>a
>second floor full of those crazy Dave lovers. I met N.E. Ohio Bob for the
>first time: "Hi, I'm N.E. Ohio Bob!" Me: "Oh, hi N.E. Ohio Bill" and
>Finchen
>- . also Mark Leckner, and Ken; more faces to put with familiar names. Traci
>passed out the buttons, candy necklaces and wax lips kindly provided by Pat
>Fleet. I brought pizzelles for everyone, but let me make this perfectly
>clear:
> they were made by my mother. I only get credit for transporting them to New
>York.
>
>We got in line to "register" for the show, the number written on my ticket
>was
>12. No dots this year; it made me wonder where in the theater our group
>would
>end up. Hopefully not the dreaded balcony. I know everyone says it's a
>great
>spot...I have been to the Big Show perhaps 15 times and even though the first
>rows are not visually superior, what with all the camera equipment, etc.,
>there's that energy bouncing through the atmosphere the closer you are to the
>stage. As Dave would say, "It's palpable." If I were to be escorted to the
>balcony, it would be too far from the excitement. But, truthfully, it
>doesn't
>matter - the best part is just being there.
>
>We had some time before we had to return to get in line for the show, so we
>basically just hung around 53rd street. I bought my husband a Hello Deli t
>shirt and a diet Coke for myself...I was starting to get sleepy and there was
>nowhere to sit down and take a nap. Finally, we decided to join the line
>that
>was forming in front of the theater- we were told to line up according to the
>number on our tickets. Like clockwork, that "guy" (you know, the one who
>gives Dave the finger every day) walked past the waiting crowd, shouting
>unintelligible obcenities at us. Another of those heartwarming traditions.
>
>We then were directed into the theater. We were not part of the inner
>sanctum
>of dotted people - they were behind closed doors. But we could occasionally
>hear a roar from behind that door as we knew they are being revved up for the
>taping. We, outside, were given our preshow prepping by a pleasant young
>lady
>who was perhaps slightly overwhelmed by our enthusiasm. Many others in line
>began asking questions about our group, and Traci, our ambassador, began an
>AFL
>recruitment. Once again, it's starting to feel like a religious experience to
>me....Traci is preaching the gospel, Marilyn is passing out the communion.
>I
>make the sign of the cross as I place the traditional Altoid on my tongue.
>
>Oh boy......here we go! The doors are pushed open and we (well, I) dance
>into
>that marvelous theater!!! Another moment like no other. Your senses are
>crackling - the blast of cold air (thank goodness for my wrap!), the blaring
>music, the sparkling beauty of the stage, the taste and smell of the
>almost-melted-away Altoid. It makes me giddy every blessed time I experience
>it. We are summoned down, directly in front of the CBS orchestra!
>Wheee!!!!!
>
>
>I am seated next to Dave Sikula, who is on the aisle seat. Cathy is to my
>left. Oh...the anticipation of Dave's presence on the stage in front of us.
>The music adds to the excitement, and for me, it's a feeling of pure joy. I
>always sense that everyone - from the pages to the the janitors to the
>musicians - absolutely love what they're doing and wouldn't want to be
>anywhere
>else at that moment. I know, I'm naive.
>
>"Ladies and Gentlemen....... MR. DAVID LETTERMAN!" Here he comes! We applaud
>wildly. Dave has GOT to feel the LOVE!!! After talking about the weather and
>Father's Day: "Are you like me? Don't you feel like it's a bullshit
>holiday?"
>Dave asked if anyone had any questions. I, recognizing the lameness of mine,
>(which I had spent a good part of my bus trip trying to think of), kept my
>hand
>down. I was happy he called on Micah; cool, calm and prepared as he asked
>about the dogs and ponys.
>
>Hillary really, really loved the CBS orchestra. Her foot (black flat shoes -
>she could use some heighth (height?) was constantly bouncing in time to the
>music. At the end of her interview, which I thought Dave did a superb job
>of,
>she did not get a hand kiss.....but it was after they broke for commercial as
>she said her goodbyes; she got the kiss and I totally missed it.
>
>A quick observation about Dave Sikula. Cranky, complaining, never saw a show
>he didn't hate, whatever........the man has the best laugh of anyone. Its
>uniqueness rises above the other laughter, making it sound as though he is
>being so thoroughly entertained he cannot contain himself. In fact, the two
>people sitting in front of us actually turned around at one point to see from
>what human being this sound was coming. Go figure.
>
>Unbelievably, Tony Mendez did it again. Patiently gave us the tour, kindly
>made
>us all part of the TMS. Boston BillBob has enabled me to share my few
>pictures
> - I'll put that at the end of the report. One shot shows them covering up
>Dave's desk after we all had our Kodak moments with it. They cover it with a
>blankie.
>
>I also took a picture of my foot next to Dave's "dot" on the stage, which
>shows
>him where to stand. There's a picture of me with my arms around Brady's neck
>(a complicated guy :) ) - giving Tony Mendez a grateful hug; a nice picture
>of
>Karen and Bill Lehecka - afl's two biggest losers. They, between them, have
>lost over 375 lbs. Guys, you look maaahhhvelous. Katycren, I was thinking
>of
>you, hence the shot of Maker's Mark. Of course, Don took the traditional
>picture with Marilyn and me....this is soured by the glimpse of Carl's naked
>arm to Marilyn's right. Don't ask.
>
>I decided to leave the after-show festivities at 9:15, in time to catch the
>10:00 bus home. I understand I missed Stephanie's visit, among other things,
>and had I known what the night had in store for me, I would've stayed another
>hour and a half to take the 11:30, which I ended up on anyway.
>
>I left McGee's basking in the glow of the day, hailed myself a cab (Brad
>doesn't care anymore) and arrived at the Port Authority at 9:30. I paid my
>cab
>driver $5.00 for a $2.50 fare, thanked him, and left the cab to find my gate
>in
>the bus terminal. I was the first one in line since it was so early, so I
>reached into my pocketbook for my wallet, which contained my ticket home.
>
>Suddenly, I was starring in an American Express Traveler's Checks commercial.
>
>No wallet.
>
>I wildly removed everything from my pocketbook. I checked my other shopping
>bag, only to find it empty. With a racing heart, I ran back outside to the
>sidewalk, stupidly thinking my cab would still be there. Of course, he was
>long gone. I approached the taxi dispatcher and told him I had left my
>wallet
>in the cab that dropped me off......"Did you get a receipt?" he asked. Of
>course not! Sure, as I exited the cab, I *did* hear Beverly Sills reminding
>me
>to get a receipt! But what would I need it for? I ignored Beverly Sills and
>now this is what I get. There are 11,000 cabs in New York City. My wallet
>is
>in the back seat of one of them, and had I taken a receipt, the cab # would
>be
>on it, and this story would end right here.
>
>The full impact of my situation hit me. What was in my wallet? My driver's
>license, my cash, my credit cards, my check book.....my ticket home. Holeee
>Crap, as Morehits would say. Alrighty then...I'll just stand out here on the
>sidewalk so when the cabdriver comes back to return my wallet, I won't miss
>him. I had until 11:30 - that's when the last bus leaves for home. I know,
>I'm
>naive.
>
>As I patiently stood on the sidewalk, feeling stupid and alone, a very nice
>man
>named Caesar asked me what had happened. He said he was a disabled veteran
>who
>lived not far from the Port Authority, and offered to buy me a ticket home.
>How sweet! "No, thanks...I'll be fine, Caesar. The cab driver might come
>back, and worst case, I can call my husband from the ticket counter and he
>can
>purchase me a ticket over the phone." Caesar stood with me for over an hour,
>as I called my husband, called the taxi cab company, just so I wouldn't be by
>myself because "the element changes here the later it gets."
>
>Finally, at 11:00, I told Caesar I had better get to the ticket counter and
>get
>a ticket. I jokingly said "If the cabdriver comes back with my wallet - you
>come and get me!" I hugged him and thanked him for keeping me company and
>walked back into the terminal.
>
>I approached the Trailways counter and explained my situation to the ticket
>guy. "Do you have my name in your computer showing that I purchased a round
>trip ticket this morning?" "No, ma'am, we don't do it that way..." "Can I
>call my husband so he can give you a credit card number to purchase a
>ticket?"
>"No ma'am, we don't take credit cards over the phone." Now I was beginning to
>really know how ET felt. I just wanted to go home. Frantic, I started
>pulling
>stuff out of my pocketbook - "Look! Here's my keys, my cell phone, my
>digital
>camera....nothing else! No money, no nothing!!! How am I going to get
>home?!!"
> "Write down your name" he ordered, pushing a clipboard towards me. I wrote
>my
>name, he typed something into a machine, which printed out something he
>handed
>me, saying "Here. You owe me."
>
>I looked down at a one way ticket back home. I looked back up at him and
>said,
>"You're just *giving* me a ticket?" He nodded. Up until that moment, I had
>remained calm and rational. Suddenly, I burst into tears. Again, I
>repeated,
>"You're just *giving* me this ticket?" Again, he nodded. Oh my goodness.
>This
>isn't how people in New York are supposed to be. He's supposed to say,
>"Tough
>luck, lady...you were stupid enough to leave your wallet in a cab and ignore
>Beverly Sills. It's not my problem." I reached my hand through the bottom
>of
>the window between us and held his hand. "Thank you....thank you....thank
>you..."
>
>Still sobbing uncontrollably, I left the counter to go down to my gate. A
>total stranger came up to me, pushing a $5.00 bill into my hand. "Take this,
>take this!" he ordered. "No, no! - I have a ticket home! I'm okay!" I
>cried.
> "No, no!" he insisted, "buy yourself a cup of coffee - I heard what happened
>to you..I feel bad for you!" He would not take no for an answer. I thanked
>him, barely intelligible now because the crying was out of control. I had no
>tissues, so I walked through the port authority, using my
>cheap-pashmina-type-wrap to wipe the tears that were falling.
>
>Overwhelmed now by the kindness being bestowed upon me, I realized that I did
>not know the name of the ticket guy. Back up the escalator I went, back to
>the
>counter, sobbing "Would you please write your name down for me?" Floyd did,
>,
>and back I went down to my gate.
>
>The line for the last bus home is a long one, because, well, it's the last
>bus
>home. I stood in the line and people were staring at me, standing there by
>myself, hysterically crying, wiping my eyes, all in all painting a pretty
>pathetic picture. At 11:15, Caesar came down the escalator "Just to make
>sure
>I was all right and was getting home." He waited all that time outside and
>didn't leave without checking on me. Oh my goodness, this was too much.
>
>I boarded the bus, and a young man sitting behind me popped his head over the
>seat, "Ma'am, are you okay?" "Oh yes, I'm fine (I still couldn't stop the
>crying) - I'm fine! Everyone's just been SO NICE to me!!" He switched seats
>with the girl next to me and talked to me all the way home. What a nice guy
>-
>a student at the University of Pennsylvania, a future pediatrician. He got
>me
>to stop crying and the ride home went quickly.
>
>I called the bank to put my checking account on limited status. Every check
>needed to be approved by me to be paid. All credit cards were canceled, I
>still needed a new license, health insurance card, etc. Every day this week I
>called the 19th precinct, where lost articles from cabs in Manhattan are
>returned, to leave my name, describe what I lost, etc. Please, I beg you,
>always get a receipt when you exit a cab. Thank me later.
>
>Yesterday, I left to take my son to a friend's house to play. I stopped at
>the
>mailbox to get my mail, and when I opened the box, I saw a package. I pulled
>it out, and knew immediately it contained my wallet. The tears started. I
>opened it, and everything was in it, except the cash, of course. Everything,
>
>including a check written out to cash for $200. and signed by me. There was
>a
>return address and phone # on the envelope. When I got back home I called.
>It
>was my cab driver. He apologized for not sending it right away - he didn't
>have a chance until Thursday. The next person who got in the cab had given
>it
>to him. "You were a nice lady...I felt so bad- everyting was in dat wallet!"
>
>Yesterday, I sent Floyd the money for the ticket. I sent Dulange, my very
>favorite Jamaican cab driver, a little thank you with a note promising him
>that
>if I ever again have the chance to hail his cab, he's getting a big kiss! I
>took the $5.00 to my church, put it in the poor box and lit a candle for
>these
>wonderful people. I still need to write to their supervisors telling how
>wonderful their respective employees are, truly angels to me on that Monday
>night.
>
>I left my wallet in the back of a cab in New York City. It was the nicest
>thing that ever happened to me.
>
Pat Fleet
> This has happened to me quite a bit the last two weeks. I am using
> www.interbulletin.com and it seems to be pretty fast.
Another good resource is http://www.news2web.com
Type in alt.fan.letterman & enjoy.
bojack
bojack <dabbing eyes with empty doritos bag>
"Kathy" <finc...@aol.com> wrote in message
news:20030625222702...@mb-m06.aol.com...
FOXYSCRIBE
>
>bojack <dabbing eyes with empty doritos bag>
>
You know, before we strolled over to McGees, we were all given blue cards.
Blank blue cards...did we ever do anything with those? The thought occured to
me I could've used the blue card to dab my eyes, instead of my
cheap-pashmina-type-wrap.
Keith Rose
>
>The thought occured to
>me I could've used the blue card to dab my eyes, instead of my
>cheap-pashmina-type-wrap.
OK, I just have to ask. Is "pashmina" a real word? Or did you just make
it up? (Like this "white cheddar" nonsense?)
Cause it ain't in Scribner-Bantam.
FOXYSCRIBE
Himalayas, handwoven by the skilled artisans of Kashmir. Cashmere Pashmina
wraps — particularly these from Spencer's — are the softest and the most
luxurious. That is why these are so popular with stylish women worldwide.
*Copied and pasted just for you, Keith Rose.
Keith Rose
Well, now I know _exactly_ what to get my wife for her birthday. That,
a bottle of wine, and some nice, non-fictional, yellow cheddar cheese.
And a card that says "No normal goat wool for you babe, only the best
Himalayan mountain goat wool. Cause your stylish!"
I assume, of course, I can get all that for less than 20 bucks, right?
Michelle
wrote:
> Cause your stylish!"
>
You're stylish. Cause you're stylish.
Michelle, just doing my part
FOXYSCRIBE
>a bottle of wine, and some nice, non-fictional, yellow cheddar cheese.
>And a card that says "No normal goat wool for you babe, only the best
>Himalayan mountain goat wool. Cause your stylish!"
>
>I assume, of course, I can get all that for less than 20 bucks, right?
>--
>Keith Rose
Uh, perhaps just the cheese, you cheap bastard. :) xxxooo
Keith Rose
>>
>>I assume, of course, I can get all that for less than 20 bucks, right?
>>--
>>Keith Rose
>
>Uh, perhaps just the cheese, you cheap bastard. :) xxxooo
We clearly shop at differing classes of establishments.[*] I figure for
sure that one stop at Sams Club will get me all those items. And I'll
have enough "Sam's Wine" and "Sam's Orange Cheddar Cheese" left over for
the holidays. Bulk quantities, you know.
[*] Sentence structure correct? Don't ask me.
Ken Mc
>
> >Foxy -- what an amazing story, and so well told. Good for you!
> >
> >bojack <dabbing eyes with empty doritos bag>
> >
>
> You know, before we strolled over to McGees, we were all given blue cards.
> Blank blue cards...did we ever do anything with those? The thought occured to
> me I could've used the blue card to dab my eyes,
That's what I used when I read this heart-warming story.
It's clipped up on the shower curtain rod drying out right now. :)
> instead of my cheap-pashmina-type-wrap.
nah, priceless
Pat Fleet
> Foxy -- what an amazing story, and so well told. Good for you!
I just came across an email that circulated a while ago, and thought it
might be appropriate to share here in afl. A little OT Dave, but...
________________________________________________________
The Cab Ride
Twenty years ago, I drove a cab for a living. It was a cowboy's life, a
life for someone who wanted no boss. What I didn't realize was that it was
also a ministry.
Because I drove the night shift, my cab became a moving confessional.
Passengers climbed in, sat behind me in total anonymity, and told me about
their lives. I encountered people whose lives amazed me, ennobled me, made
me laugh and weep.
But none touched me more than a woman I picked up late one August night.
I was responding to a call from a small brick fourplex in a quiet part of
town. I assumed I was being sent to pick up some partiers, or someone who
had just had a fight with a lover, or a worker heading to an early shift at
some factory in the industrial part of town.
When I arrived at 2:30 a.m., the building was dark except for a single light
in a ground floor window. Under these circumstances, many drivers would just
honk once or twice, wait a minute, then drive away. But I had seen too many
impoverished people who depended on taxis as their only means of
transportation. Unless a situation smelled of danger, I always went to the
door. This passenger might be someone who needs my assistance, I reasoned to
myself. So I walked to the door and knocked.
"Just a minute," answered a frail, elderly voice. I could hear something
being dragged across the floor. After a long pause, the door opened. A
small woman in her 80's stood before me. She was wearing a print dress and
a pillbox hat with a veil pinned on it, like somebody out of a 1940's movie.
By her side was a small nylon suitcase. The apartment looked as if no one
had lived in it for years. All the furniture was covered with sheets.
There were no clocks on the walls, no knickknacks or utensils on the
counters. In the corner was a cardboard box filled with photos and
glassware.
"Would you carry my bag out to the car?" she asked. I took the suitcase to
the cab, then returned to assist the woman. She took my arm and we walked
slowly toward the curb. She kept thanking me for my kindness.
"It's nothing," I told her. "I just try to treat my passengers the way I
would want my mother treated."
"Oh, you're such a good boy," she said.
When we got in the cab, she gave me an address, then asked, "Could you drive
through downtown?" "It's not the shortest way," I answered quickly. "Oh, I
don't mind," she said. "I'm in no hurry. I'm on my way to a hospice."
I looked in the rearview mirror. Her eyes were glistening.
"I don't have any family left," she continued. "The doctor says I don't
have very long."
I quietly reached over and shut off the meter. "What route would you like
me to take?" I asked.
For the next two hours, we drove through the city. She showed me the
building where she had once worked as an elevator operator. We drove
through the neighborhood where she and her husband had lived when they were
newlyweds. She had me pull up in front of a furniture warehouse that had
once been a ballroom where she had gone dancing as a girl. Sometimes she'd
ask me to slow in front of a particular building or corner and would sit
staring into the darkness, saying nothing.
As the first hint of sun was creasing the horizon, she suddenly said, "I'm
tired. Let's go now."
We drove in silence to the address she had given me. It was a low building,
like a small convalescent home, with a driveway that passed under a portico.
Two orderlies came out to the cab as soon as we pulled up. They were
solicitous and intent, watching her every move. They must have been
expecting her.
I opened the trunk and took the small suitcase to the door. The woman was
already seated in a wheelchair.
"How much do I owe you?" she asked, reaching into her purse.
"Nothing," I said.
"You have to make a living," she answered.
"There are other passengers," I responded.
Almost without thinking, I bent and gave her a hug. She held onto me
tightly. "You gave an old woman a little moment of joy," she said. "Thank
you."
I squeezed her hand, then walked into the dim morning light.
Behind me, a door shut. It was the sound of the closing of a life.
I didn't pick up any more passengers that shift. I drove aimlessly, lost in
thought. For the rest of that day, I could hardly talk. What if that woman
had gotten an angry driver, or one who was impatient to end his shift? What
if I had refused to take the run, or had honked once, then driven away?
On a quick review, I don't think that I have done anything more important
in my life. We're conditioned to think that our lives revolve around great
moments. But great moments often catch us unaware -- beautifully wrapped in
what others may consider a small one.
PEOPLE MAY NOT REMEMBER EXACTLY WHAT YOU DID,
OR WHAT YOU SAID...BUT...
THEY WILL ALWAYS REMEMBER HOW YOU MADE THEM FEEL.
________________________________________________________________________
Donz5
[snip terrific memory]
>"Oh, you're such a good boy," she said.
OK -- hold on a second. I've seen the photos.
FOXYSCRIBE
>life for someone who wanted no boss. What I didn't realize was that it was
>also a ministry.
So true!
>PEOPLE MAY NOT REMEMBER EXACTLY WHAT YOU DID,
>OR WHAT YOU SAID...BUT...
>THEY WILL ALWAYS REMEMBER HOW YOU MADE THEM FEEL.
>____________________________
Amen.
Katycren
<snip>
If you haven't read it yet, do so immediately!
I'll wait.
Wasn't that fantastic! So beautifully written, too.
I left town right as the trip reports started pouring in, and I haven't been
close to a computer until last night. I'm slowly catching up.
I made Foxy's Oriental Cole Slaw for lunch today. It had wonderful texture and
flavor, and now I find her trip report is much the same. I devoured it, only
slowing down when my vision blurred.
Foxy, every time you wrote that you were sobbing, my eyes welled up again until
the tears started falling. I know exactly how you felt when you lost your
wallet and couldn't get home. I could feel the panic building inside myself as
you described your situation.
It reminded me of the time I lost my carry-on bag in the middle of the night in
the parking lot of the Atlanta airport when I couldn't remember where I had
parked. I was flying back late from Mother-Daughter weekend at my daughter's
college. I was pushing one of those carts with my large suitcase on it and
didn't notice that the small bag had fallen off until I finally found my car
and started to unload the cart. I had to walk around in the lonely, dark lot
for what seemed like hours -- cold, tired, alone, frightened, hoping I could
retrace my steps and find my bag before someone murdered me, since my most
cherished possession was in that bag.
My mother would say you must be living right, 'cause Shirlee, you are one lucky
lady.
Thank you so much for the photo of the Maker's Mark -- and for writing that you
were thinking of me!
I'm happy that everything turned out so well for you.
Kate, who knows what it's like to depend on the kindness of strangers...
"I left my wallet in the back of a cab in New York City. It was the nicest
thing that ever happened to me."
-- Foxyscribe, 6/22/03
Pat Fleet
> It reminded me of the time I lost my carry-on bag . ...I had to walk around in
> the lonely, dark lot for what seemed like hours -- cold, tired, alone,
> frightened, hoping I could retrace my steps and find my bag before someone
> murdered me, since my most cherished possession was in that bag.
>
Don't leave us in suspense, Kate! Tell the rest of the story.
What was in the bag & did you get it back?
FOXYSCRIBE
>you
>were thinking of me!
That photo was my daughter's favorite out of all the DaveCon pics! (Should I be
worried?) Glad you enjoyed the report. I just hope somebody mails Brady back
his glasses...
Katycren
I said:
>>Thank you so much for the photo of the Maker's Mark --
>That photo was my daughter's favorite out of all the DaveCon pics! (Should I
>be
>worried?)
Naah ... it's really a great shot! I copied and forwarded it (giving you
appropriate credit, of course) to my sister and brother-in-law -- also Maker's
Mark ambassadors. They thought it was suitable for framing.
I just hope somebody mails Brady
>back
>his glasses...
>
Brady lost his glasses?? How did I miss that??
I guess I'd better read the other trip reports soon.
Kate