Fritters without works is dead

Rolling Pin Donuts here in Camarillo kills it with their apple fritters- no other place comes close.

Greatness since the days of Donna Lee!

Someone may tell me about a little old place in New Orleans or Chicago, but I am certain I would leave disappointed. I have a hard time touching an apple fritter from somewhere else. (Unless my kid gives me one, like yesterday- thanks Jake!) Sinatra famously had Grimaldi's pizza pies flown in from Brooklyn to Vegas when filming Ocean's 11. Rolling Pin is like that. Camarillo tap = East River water, the proof is in the dough.

Remember in The Godfather when Rocco whacked Pauley? His instruction was, "Leave the gun. Take the cannoli." You wouldn't leave behind a Rolling Pin apple fritter either. The pink box provides ample protection from any blood splatter.

There is one thing I know, in my heart of hearts, beyond a shadow of a doubt, and that is no other bakery provides what Rolling Pin allows customers to experience when they go up to their window at 12AM, as these luscious little bits of heaven are birthed from the fryer. I have not been every other bakery in the world, but what I have experienced precludes that need. I came, I tasted, and I can testify. (Can I get an amen?)

Like butter!

Being a good Mormon boy, it stands to reason that one of the people I have the highest admiration for is a Catholic. Mother Teresa of Calcutta preached the word and worked what she preached, but this good sister endured a significant trial of faith.  

In 1948, she wrote, at the suggestion of her confessor, "Lord, my God, who am I that You should forsake me? The Child of your Love and now become as the most hated one---the one--You have thrown away as unwanted, unloved. I call, I cling, I want--and there is no One to answer."  

And again, in 1955, to her confessor, "Such deep longing for God--and...repulsed--empty--no faith--no love--no zeal. The saving of souls holds no attraction--Heaven means nothing--pray for me please that I keep smiling at Him in spite of everything."

For the last nearly 50 years of her life, except for a 5-week period during 1959, she felt painfully distanced from the God she served. Yet continue to serve she did. 

Who does that?

"Peace begins with a smile."

People seem to need instant and immediate gratification. (Don't believe me? See what happens if you wait 5 minutes to respond to a text message.) Delay that gratification and like children, emotions flare or interest is lost. This woman had a delay that lasted decades, and while she struggled, she soldiered on. She felt doubt, yet continued to work. There is probably not a better example of grit out there.

I hear people profess faith, and even more than that, profess knowledge, and that is wonderful. It would also be wonderful if their actions were always aligned with their testimonies, instead of like some who know that brushing their teeth prevents cavities yet choose to not brush.

This leaves me feeling all verklempt. Here's a topic: Does professing that one "knows" put them in a more elevated sphere than those who don't profess such certainty? Discuss.

Bummer if you don't get this.

Having doubts is different than actively doubting, which is something Mother Teresa's actions suggests she didn't do. She showed up to work. I imagine that there are plenty of people who professed greater knowledge and faith, yet did but a fraction of the good of Mother Teresa, whose faith waned.

We need more Mother Teresas out there. People who say, "I want to believe, but I am not quite there," but still move their feet. People who may have doubts, yet power through them because they have principles and character and intestinal fortitude.

Or they value other things more than certainty.  Mother Teresa endured her trial of faith, and my guess would be by focusing on other things.  Like beauty and goodness.  Paul's letter to the Corinthians (King James Version) may ring true here, "And now abideth faith, hope, charity, these three; but the greatest of these is charity."

What a person knows pales in comparison to what they do and who they are.

Anyway, that's my 2 cents, which I will apply towards an apple fritter.

Grandkids: the ultimate consolation prize

Item One: A cheery disposition

Goodbyes suck. I have never been one to embrace change, but when it happens, I handle it really well. Like a colicky infant.

The beginning of the end. Take for instance our taking Courtney up to college a little over five years ago. Millions of parents engage in their children's rite of passage, only to find out it is THEIR rite of passage too. After a 15 hour road trip, we pulled up to Court's new apartment building in Rexburg, and were met by student volunteers stationed in the parking lot to help unload SUVs and minivans full of new student stuff. As we hopped out of our vehicle, students in blue polos descended on us like locusts and bada-bing, Court was all moved in.

Unlimited . . . my future is unlimited!

We toured the campus with her, and there were more students in blue shirts strategically positioned all over the place to not only direct us where we needed to go, but to accompany us to make sure we got there. Tracy and I were pretty darn impressed, and felt like our little bundle of joy would be well cared for here. (Sensing any separation anxiety?)

We grabbed a bite, then walked Court into her apartment to drop her off, and all of a sudden the moment to say goodbye came crashing in, as a complete and utter surprise. 18 years of constant presence, late night movies, Broadway musical quips, having her friends over, kisses on the cheek after every goodnight prayer. . . seemed to pass right before our eyes. And the look of sadness and uncertainty on Court's face was unforgettable as we did our best to boost her up. With big smiles, because "it's what you wear from ear to ear, and not from head to toe that matters."

Ask me how the drive home was. (Don't ask Tracy, the wound may still be fresh.)

Six months later she would be married.

I knew that day would come, but geez, first semester?? Pithy sayings like, "When it's right, it's right" and "Everything happens for a reason" are fine and all that, until it "happens" close to home. Her husband Tommy is a terrific guy who would pop a dude in the mouth if he offended Courtney, but we just thought we had more time. Like ten years.

I remember the day Tracy called me at work to tell me that Court had met someone, (sort of like remembering where you were when Kennedy was shot) and this was someone I ought to be nice to. I seriously have no idea what she meant, I am friggin' delightful to all the boys my daughters date.

You're really not a bit the gawkish girl that once you were . . .

The wedding and reception were the stuff of magic, I may blog on that some day, but the day after the wedding? Sucked. The months of planning were over, the successful event had concluded, the AMEX was maxed, so the only thing that remained was the exodus. Jake was just 9, and Court had helped care for the kid since the day she cut his umbilical cord; so watching her say goodbye to Jake as he slept in bed, stroking his hair, well, add that to the list of things that sucked.

Fast forward a few years.

Grandchildren. There is something really special that happens when you lock eyes for the first time with your first grandchild. I can't explain it, but in that moment, I knew that I was destined to be one of those stereotypical boors who shoved pictures of their grandkids in other people's faces. I jokingly tell people what I heard my dad say about grandkids, "I wish I would have had them first!"

Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens . . .

Grandma's House. Why is it never "Grandpa's house?" One thing I quickly learned when becoming a grandpa is that being a grandma is a different order of magnitude entirely. While I love the heck out of those kids, Tracy's connection is worlds above mine. Parents may be equally yoked, but move up a level and it is grandma driving that train. THAT is why it is called "Grandma's house." I have to think it is an instinctual or perhaps a spiritual thing, because this was instant and powerful.

Being there right after Evangeline was born, and for the next two weeks, was wonderful for Tracy. Being in the room when Alice was born, well there was probably no better experience in the life of this young grandma. (You reading this, Lindsey?) But I think it was Tracy's role in mothering her baby in this fragile circumstance, more than the introduction of the newest family member, that made the experience precious. Not to mention Tommy's generosity in allowing that to happen.

Which makes the goodbyes a tougher pill to swallow! Below is the end of the two weeks Tracy spent with Court. That was one rough sayonara.

Ask me about the drive home.

I love you that's why I, say "Cheerio," not goodbye . . .

Unexpected blessings. Something unexpected I experienced as a grandpa is the joy at seeing how your child and her child interact. Watching Court dote over her babies, and watching her babies respond to their mama, is one of life's great treasures.

One more cool thing is experiencing a child who wants to share their child with you. I would hold and play with the baby selfishly all day long if allowed to, and I could see that Court appreciated that bonding. I sensed that it was important to Courtney for me to love her kids. (As if there was a choice!) Being a grandpa is an honor.

Change? Still hate it. Goodbyes? Still suck. But with consolation prizes like these, I think saying adios to Linds and Jake will have the perspective of a silver lining. (Look for future whining when we become empty nesters.)

Yeah, you've got a friend in me

PS. We are as of this date officially over the loss, in fact, it is a net gain.  The great plan is in affect, and we are living happily ever after.

I will NEVER stand for another concert

Sheryl Crow, these seats didn't suck, and my squat stayed popped.

I shall sit!

Last Wednesday I went with my friend Don Palazzo to the Grammy Museum (where he is a member) in downtown LA to listen to Sheryl Crow sing a bunch of her hits, as well as some new stuff. Live music is great. Live music with killer musicians is crazy great. It was an intimate setting with only 200 seats in the room, so we just sat and chilled for two hours soaking in some great tunes. The next night she was at the 5870-capacity Greek Theater. (This was better.)

The cool thing about this type of experience is it transcends the artist and show and music, and focuses you on the message. And you don't have to agree with the message to appreciate it. She is a left leaning liberal democrat and sings about related things, which I am not really on board with; but underlying her songs was a message of peace and love and authenticity.

That was the way to see a concert.

I don't think I will ever go to another concert where I can't chillax in my seat. Paying good money for seats and then not using them makes about as much sense as planting tomatoes in October.

Sabbath- Garden Box, feet crossed, hands laced behind my head

A few months ago my friend Craig Husband and I went to the Hollywood Bowl to see Black Sabbath in their career finale tour, which was kind of cool. (What the heck am I doing watching the Prince of Darkness Ozzy Osbourne.) Our friend Michael Miley is the drummer of Rival Sons, which was the opening act. He got us Garden Box tickets, which aside from constant drifts of marijuana smoke across our seats threatening to give us a contact high, were awesome. The folks in the box next to us had their wine and cheese out; it was all very genteel.

We had reservations at the nice restaurant The Backyard inside the Bowl before the concert, and I expected to see a harp playing in the corner as we dined and made polite conversation. Then a long-haired old-school metal head screaming, "Sabbath! Sabbaaaaath!" entered, apparently trying to generate some additional excitement.  He pointed at me and yelled, "Sabbath!" and also pointed at others in succession yelling, "Sabbath! Sabbath! Sabbath!"  We just stared back, uninterested, and passed the Grey Poupon.

Garth Brooks, box seats between the lower and upper bowls

My friend Dave Pacheco hooked my wife and I up with with some sweet box seats to see Garth Brooks, someone Tracy had wanted to see in the early 1990s. (Got to check that one off her bucket list, but it was her old 1990s bucket list!) So we jumped in the Prius and 6 hours and a buck-fifty in gas later, arrived in Sacramento. The parking lot was full of country folks pre-partying before the show, including impromptu groups of people line dancing. (If only I had learned the Achy Breaky.) Our seats were half way up, but dude; we kicked back for 3 hours slouched in our chairs, sodas on the table, and loved it. The people above and below us stood up the whole time. I had my shoes off to let the little piggies wiggle.

Berlin, seated right at the stage

Berlin. My buddy Paul Arbon and I, children of the 80s, jumped at the chance of seeing this New Wave group we grew up listening to. We showed up early to listen Sly's baby brother Frank Stallone sing, and he was pretty darn good. When he finished, some silver-haired ladies seated up front, apparently only interested in the opening act, bailed before Teri Nunn took the stage; so we were on those seats like white on rice. Good thing because the place was standing room only, packed with people our age who still think partially ripped inside-out day-glo sweatshirts and pegged jeans would be cool to wear in public. Act your age, people. Anyway, Teri has PIPES, and my favorite song, among all those I enjoyed as a teen, was her singing of "The Little Drummer Boy." It was Christmas time, and I loved it.

Eminem, first row in section so our rears were planted

So, my brother-in-law David Pipher and I were at LA Live in DTLA, about 10:30PM on a weekday, and we saw that the Staples Center was hopping. Unbeknownst to us, the E3 (Electronic Entertainment Expo) was happening, and Activision had Staples rented. David can talk a guy out of his last dollar, so we were able to sweet talk our way into free VIP passes. We expected to see a bunch of nerdy pocket protector wearing geeks donning caps with propellers on top. What we saw was the place packed to the rafters to see the new Activision games being announced, while accompanied by Soundgarden, Usher, Jane's Addiction, etc. Something surreal about Dave Navarro playing out a video game.

At the end, Eminem came out and performed. That dude is one angry human being. I never saw anyone completely captivate a crowd like pied piping Marshall Gathers. Those VIP passes got us anywhere in the joint, but we chose a nice spot at the boxes where, yep, we sat. Comfortably. Until we left. Early.

I will definitely not stand for another concert, but as Yoda would say, "Sit, I will."

Thanks for the Memories!

It is probably rude to point.

Hi- My name is John and I am a recovering wrestling referee.

I officiated my last match on March 4, 2017.

Quitting is a little bittersweet, as I had a heck of a lot of fun as a ref, starting almost as far back as when canvas was stretched over horsehair mats. Below is a picture of me in my first year, 1987, taken by former Ventura High assistant coach Paul Garcia. Catch my rookie mistake? Yep! I had the wristbands on the wrong side! The first in a long but consistent line of officiating gaffs.

I wasn't much of a competitive wrestler, but I did enjoy the sport. I also had been on the business end of some home-cooked calls, and I thought I could do better than a lot of refs. My dad had started officiating a few years previously, and I figured it also would be fun to join him. And make a few bucks. (That turned out to be a bad financial decision!)

Over the years, I officiated matches at various levels, from kids on up to NCAA Division 1, in a lot of different venues, including California, Utah, Texas, Colorado, Kansas, Iowa, Montana, Nevada and North Dakota.  I primarily called high school matches until 1998, at which time I (foolishly) decided college wrestling would be more "fun." Exciting, challenging, thrilling and intense come to mind, but I have to admit that having a gym full of crazies boo me over a call wasn't all that fun. Or some of the nose-to-nose conversations with coaches whose job depended on their win-loss record.  But actually, I had a ton of fun.

I thought I would be like my friend Erwin Goldbloom and go for 50+ years. A few years ago, I would look at other refs who retired, stepped away, or just quit like a little baby, and thought, "Well, that is weird." If you love something, why stop? However, over the past couple seasons, I have experienced a few changes that were indicative of being at the end.

First was the amount of time required.  Tournaments seemed like they were lasting way too many hours, the overall time commitment felt burdensome, and the travel was becoming a pain in the kiester. Not to mention feeling like I wanted to spend time with my family instead of with other peoples' kids.

Arizona State vs Cal Poly

Second, I started to hear coaches getting chippy more than in the past, and I have to admit that I became cranky with them. Heck, I think I penalized coaches more this last year than in all my previous years combined. (But that North Dakota coach had it coming!)

The proverbial straw on the camel's back was when I was at the NAIA National Championships a couple months ago, I got food poisoning the night before the first day, and was up all night experiencing the worst imaginable result of eating bad food. The word "nuclear" might describe how things went down. I don't know how I made it through that day, (those watching would say I didn't!) but I remember thinking, "Maybe the Good Lord is trying to tell me something."

So I told my wife that I thought I was done.  Then I cautiously told a friend or two.  Then I told my wife I was done, definitely.

I have too many memories to list them all here, but some do stick out . . .

Again, it is rude to point.

Most nervous event: Iowa vs Fresno state, 1999.  My first big dual where there were a dozen All Americans and 5 national champs on the mat. A Youtube video shows me actually tiptoeing around the mat! Last match of the night was NCAA #1 vs #2, which would be re-wrestled at the NCAAs later that year. Lucky for me the score was 14-1!

Most fun dual: Defending D2 champ University of Central Oklahoma beat defending D3 champ Wartburg 17-16. Each won 5 matches, but UCO had 2 major decisions and Wartburg just 1, and it was one heck of a heated dual meet.

Now THAT'S a crossface!

Crappiest experience: BYU kid looked like he had both the Penn's kids in a freestyle leg lace when he hit a roll, but as he was hitting the move, I saw he only had one leg. The Penn kid desperately tried to roll with him to minimize the twisting, but I was late getting the situation stopped, so his knee got tweaked pretty badly.  After finally getting the situation stopped, the kid from Penn, with pain, just looked at me, holding his hands up in wonder.  His coach came on the mat and said, "That is the #3 kid in the nation that you just let get hurt." He ended up as the national champ the following year, but that one bothered me for a while.

Best wrestler: Stephen Abas.  That guy was a wizard on his feet.  He would warm up doing these acrobatic Capoeira moves that looked like it would put him in the hospital if he did it wrong, then go out and toy with his opponents like a cat plays with its food.

One of the CA High School State Tournaments I called

Making stuff up:  I hate it when it seems like refs get creative in their interpretations, but I have been guilty of just that a few times . . . Cornell kid had a leg ride in and was putting the boots pretty good to the other guy, I forget where from. Bottom kid took exception, tried to headbutt him backwards, and was throwing weak punches backwards from his compromised position. Cornell kid responded with a couple big MMA type elbows on the back of the other kid's head. Textbook-no-brainer call is flagrant misconduct- DQ. But I was kind of curious to see how it played out, plus I didn't want the paperwork, so I called it a "wash" and just penalized them each a point. They finished out just fine.

Toughest coach: Now there could be a pretty good list here. Those Boise State coaches seemed to try to get under my skin every stinking time, and I rang them up for penalty points every stinking time. But none tops Paul Keysaw of Fresno City. I cut my teeth on Keysaw's matches, and always felt like a rookie on his mat, even 20 years later, so I went out of my way to act like I wasn't intimidated. Keysaw has the best one line insults in the game, and most times you were just glad they were directed at other refs!

Funnest environment: Stanford at Cal Baptist, on an outside platform with over 2600 in attendance to set the outdoor record. Which Iowa beat by having one in their football stadium before a football game. The wrestlers, coaches and fans at Cal Baptist are the absolute nicest anywhere.

I should probably seek help for this pointing habit.

Biggest missed call:  At JC state, two defending state champs from different weights the previous year met in the finals.  One took the other down straight to his back, and according to half-the-gym, I didn't get in position in time to see the pin, even though I hustled. It happens. The kid got off his back with a 0-6 score and came back and won. The losing kid's dad followed me into the locker room to "talk things over." Lucky for me, the East LA coaches were coming out as I was going in, and I got them to bodyguard me while I dressed, and escort me to my car. Thanks Ralph and Monico!

Most interesting wrestler: Anthony Robles.  Born with one leg, he had a roll through tilt that he could hit from anywhere. It was funny how early on, he was someone that people looked at as an inspiration.  By the end of his career, opponents not only failed to see his disability, but were complaining that he had the advantage of the body of a 157 pounder while competing at 125.  The kid was impressive.

Most intimidating wrestler: Cain Velasquez of Arizona State, former UFC heavyweight champ. He seems like a nice guy and family man during interviews today, but I hit him for stalling once, just once. That is the only time I thought an athlete might come after me and do some damage, and he looked like he had enough crazy in him to do it.  I might have let him stall after that.

Last event: NAIA National Championships, with my good buddy Art Lomelli.

What I will miss the most: My fellow officials, many of whom I feel are like my brothers, like Erwin, Sergio Cortez, Chuck Harrison, Les Rasmussen, Tony Trabucco, Cory Salmon, Doug Perrin, Tony Ovalle . . . can't even begin to name them all.  My good buddy Joe Rios is always in my thoughts.  A great ref and a wonderful friend, he was a family man through-and-through who was taken way too soon. In a world of male toughness, he frequently said, "I love you, John" on the phone. I miss the heck out of that guy.

One of the coaches, Vince Silva at Santa Ana College, asked me what I am going to do with all my free time now.

Hmmm, I will have to think of something . . .