CROSSING THE FINISH SWINE

Should I be embarrassed to say that the main reason I registered for the Flying Pig's 10K race is because of the logo?  Cincinnati is hosting this year's All Star Game and as soon as I saw the adorable little piggy in the baseball cap I knew I had to have a medal of that.

The all-powerful Shrinky Dink charm.

I did not go into Saturday's 6.2 mile race with any great expectations.  In the back of my mind had always been the goal of finishing just under an hour and 30 minutes.  That would require a pace of a little better than four m.p.h. the whole way.  I can walk that fast, but not necessarily for six miles.  And Cincinnati has some hills.  Quite a few hills.  This was not like walking loops around a high school track.  As of Friday evening my personal best time had been one hour, 33 minutes or roughly a 15:06 per mile pace.  To finish in goal time, by the skin of my teeth, I need to average no more than 14:30 per mile.  Ugh...  Yeah, I couldn't do that.  I'd never done that.  Still, Friday night I kept thinking about it.  I even made a tiny Shrinky Dink tag for my shoelace.

I honored my Earthathon team on my racing bib.

My cheering section for the 10K consisted of my sister (the Inmates' beloved Uncle Chester) and my husband.  For some reason my children turned down the chance to get up at six a.m. on a Saturday so we could get downtown and in position for the eight a.m. race.  In fact, my sister regularly stays up until three or four in the morning, so she wasn't running on all eight cylinders, either.  (Even on her best day she's lucky to be running on six.) 

The race's corrals were lined up on Joe Nuxhall Way next to Great American Ballpark.  I was in corral F, reserved for those of us who thought it would take us longer than 1:30:00 to finish the race.  Yeah, we were literally the end of the line.  But we were festive!  There were piggy hats and piggy tails and sparkly tutus, my favorite on a burly 30-something man.  What we lacked in speed we made up for in attitude.  Fearing footage of me plodding along the course would turn up on YouTube, I made myself as inconspicuous as possible in capri pants and the Flying Pig t-shirt.  I have this phobia about going viral on the Internet...  At one point my sister suddenly glared up at a window above the Reds Hall of Fame and Museum before realizing the man looking down on her was actually a poster of Pete Rose sliding into third base.  (Later at lunch she said she felt like she was having a "flaccid assback".  She'd meant to say "acid flashback."  Yeah, she needed some sleep.)

I handed my jacket off to the Vulcan and my purse to Uncle Chester.  They both wanted off the course before the race officially started and they got trampled by a woman wearing a pig nose and sequined pink headband.  As the 4500 participants slowly moved as one toward the starting line, I plugged in my earphones and got my Green Day-heavy playlist ready.  While the handy Flying Pig app allows family and friends to track folks in the real races (i.e., full and half marathons), my cheering section was stuck with the lower tech version of me texting my husband at each mile marker.  As we went over the starting line, I clicked the chronograph feature on my watch and set out to the tune "500 Miles" by The Proclaimers.  So I wasn't really going to walk 500 miles, but at that moment it kinda felt that way.  (Anyone familiar with Cincinnati and interested can see the course map here.)

I walked along for about a quarter of a mile, my legs gradually warming up and getting looser.  Then I did the strangest thing.  I started to jog.  I had sworn I was not going to do my basset hound trot in public, but there is power in the combination of adrenaline and a slight competitiveness.  I began to pass people.  And every time I passed some boney-ass looking cute and perky in her Lycra jogging shorts, I felt a shot of energy go through me and I went just a little faster.  I know, I know.  It's petty and bitchy and juvenile.  Damn, it was fun. 

I crossed that bridge at some point...I think...

We crossed the bridge into Newport, Kentucky.  I glanced at my watch at the first mile marker as I fumbled to pull my phone out of its case and text The Vulcan.  It read 13 minutes and change.  Wow, that was well under the pace I needed.  I continued to walk, tossing in a jog about a third of the time.  At the second marker I was still well under pace.  I felt the energy shoot up again.  Could I do it?  Could I actually get in under 1:30:00?  I tried to do mental arithmetic and figure how much my pace could slow and still make the goal.  I gave up as I slurped water at the 2.5 mile station, spilling more on my shirt than I got in my mouth.  My notorious lack of a sense of direction left me wondering why nothing in Cincinnati was looking familiar.  We had crossed the bridge back into Ohio, yet my surroundings still looked like northern Kentucky.  It wasn't until I got to the three mile mark and we started to cross the big bridge that I realized that other bridge had been over the Licking River and we were still in Kentucky.  Yeah, this is why I never leave home without my phone and MapQuest app. 


As we crossed we were saluted with honks and waves from a guy in a cement mixer and the driver of the train going the opposite direction.  Once over the bridge into Ohio I knew I was past the halfway mark.  I glanced at my watch and the time was under 41 minutes.  Holy crap!  I was still on pace.  A little more Green Day, a little more jogging, a little more adrenaline when I lumbered past the skinny bitch in the pink jogging skirt.  Okay, she may have been a perfectly nice lady, but she was thin and had nice legs and probably would have made fun of me in high school, so I used my bitterness to my advantage. 

By mile four we were back near the stadium and the spectators had increased significantly.  So did my anxiety.  I slowed down to a walk again and tried to figure out if I could reach my goal without any canine cavorting.  Then I thought, "To hell with it."  I caught my breath, then went back to my ungainly gallop.  At mile five I texted my husband for the last time.  All that fiddling with the phone and its case and trying to type was slowing me down even more and I needed all the seconds I could get.  I shoved the phone case in my pocket and checked my watch.  It read an hour and six minutes.  A few quick calculations and I realized I could walk the last 1.2 miles at a very moderate 3.2 m.p.h. and still come in under 1:30:00.  I couldn't believe it.  I could make it.

As "I'm Too Sexy" by Right Said Fred blared in my ears I started to get worried.  What if I suddenly hit the wall?  What if some muscle decided to pop and I could only limp the rest of the way?  I had visions of me crawling to the finish line as all the skinny bitches ran past me and my goal slipped away.  I started to jog again.  By that point I probably looked like I was wearing ankle weights, my feet fighting gravity with each step.  I chugged up the tiny incline on Pete Rose Way that now felt as steep as Mt. Everest.  The six mile marker was in sight.  I could make it.  I think I can, I think I can...  OK, only two-tenths of a mile.  I inhaled deeply and slowed down to a walk.

Up ahead I could see the "Finish Swine".  I was gonna do it!  I looked to my left and could see my cheering section.  I waved my arms at them and then saw their looks of recognition as they picked me out of the crowd.  I gave them two thumbs-up as I walked past and there are few times in my life when I've been quite that happy.  I intended to just walk across the line, but in my peripheral vision I caught one last bouncing Barbie coming up on the inside.  With a final jolt of adrenaline, I scuttled away from her and across the line.

I tried to catch my breath as a teenage boy put the medal around my neck and another guy handed me a Mylar blanket.  I'm sure I looked like an idiot, smiling to myself as I wandered into the recovery area practically jumping up and down.  I slurped a cup of Gatorade and grabbed a bottle of water.  My cheerleaders were to meet me outside this participants-only area.  I didn't see them, so I took the opportunity to email my mommy.  My official time, I found out later, was 1:21:41.  I honest to God didn't think it was possible.  I didn't think I could move that well if I had a zombie on my ass and a donut truck in front of me.

So, do I consider myself a great athlete now?  Not hardly.  The real athletes were crossing the finish line before I hit the first water station.  It never was about me being fast or good compared to anyone else.  It was me compared to a past me, By-Default-Girl.  I remember trying to do Jane Fonda's workout tape when I was in high school, her second one that had an aerobic section about three minutes long.  I couldn't do it.  I had no stamina whatsoever.  That certainly didn't improve as I got older.  My joy isn't because I did something no one else could do.  It's because I did something I didn't think I could do.  And there's magic in that, I tell you.  Magic.

FLYING PIGS, SHRINKY DINKS, AND THE EARTHATHON

Remember that kid in grade school who was always picked last for teams in gym class?  That wasn't me.  I was the other kid.  You know, there are two kids left and one is picked last for a team and the other goes to the second team by default?  And then the team groans because they're stuck with that loser?  Yeah, that was me, By-Default-Girl.  I was a lousy athlete, I freely admit it.  I sucked at catching and throwing and kicking.  I had no arm strength and no aim and was completely uncoordinated.  I was also the fat kid, a double whammy.  I still feel intense resentment over that damn rope they tried to make us climb.  Combine lack of strength and coordination with an over-sized body and you can imagine that little bit of humiliation.

I mention all this because I'm doing the 10K at Cincinnati's Flying Pig Marathon this weekend.  No, I'm not running it.  I'm simply walking, but hopefully at a fast enough pace that I finish just ahead of the last place finishers, probably a group from the local elder care center slowed down by their canes.  My husband asks why I don't jog part of it.  I do jog in short bursts on the treadmill, little one-lap intervals between various walking paces.  The problem is I steadfastly refuse to run in public.  This meme came through as a Tweet from a member of my virtual running group and sums it up perfectly:

The Vulcan assures me I do not look like that.  I'm convinced I do.  I once saw slow motion video of a basset hound running, jowls flapping and flab undulating and I just know that's what I'd look like if I broke into a trot.  And since there may very well be news cameras in the vicinity, I'm not taking any chances.  Just finishing will be enough.  Well, let's say finishing and not being dead last.

My mommy was very proud.

I did the Flying Pig's 5K last year and I still marvel at it.  Not because I had some earth-shattering pace, but just because I did it.  Me.  By-Default-Girl.  In an organized athletic event.  If you had told that rotund kid in phys ed that some day she'd walk 3.1 miles and get a medal for it she would have thought you were nuttier than the ice cream Drumstick she had every day at lunch.  And if you'd said the next year she was going to walk 6.2 miles?  Forget about it.

 To motivate me to walk 25 miles or so on the treadmill every week, I joined the Earthathon.  It's a virtual relay race in which ten teams are running the circumference of the earth.  As a group we are going to put in the mileage equivalent to circling the earth ten times, roughly 250,000.  It's only slightly competitive.  When the first team finishes running the circumference, those members then will help another team reach that milestone and so on until there's one big team finishing the last lap.  When I signed up I said to put me on whichever team needed me.  I could have been on a team like Legs of Passion or Stars on the Run.  My team?  United Snails.  At first I was slightly bummed.  Not exactly a name to inspire.  Then I got to know my teammates through Twitter and they turned out to be so enthusiastic and supportive and fun that I realized I was on the PERFECT team for me.  And, let's face it, the name totally fits.  I embraced my inner snail.  I found a piece of clip art (here) and made it my own personal logo.  I had my sister put it on a shirt for me.  Last week I got out the Shrinky Dinks and made myself a necklace and a charm for one of the 5,017 Rainbow Loom bracelets my daughter made me and a tiny snail for my gym shoe.  Call it snail mania, but for my birthday I got a little silver snail pendant and I bought myself a stuffed snail to put on the shelf over my treadmill.  And I may have a Littlest Pet Shop snail on my desk.  Maybe...

So, at age 45 am I an athlete?  Not even close.  I still can't throw a ball (or catch one).  I'm totally uncoordinated and fall down regularly.  In the summertime I do little in the pool but tread water and the best I can manage on a bike is to stay upright.  Having said all that I can also say that, at age 45, I'm in the best shape of my life.  That's not saying much.  I've always been overweight and out of shape and compared to a real runner, I'm a pathetic mess.  But compared to the me of the past, By-Default-Girl, I'm at the top of my game.  I can't help but feel slightly proud of that, even if my children do tell me I'm past my expiration date.

AN AFGHAN FOR ADDIE

Rusty

Shortly before I took my tumble on February 1, my mother's beloved 14 year old hound, Rusty, died.  At the time she said she didn't think she'd ever get another dog.  After about two weeks, my mother and sister, who lives with her, could stand it no more.  They had to have a dog in the house.

Recycled Doggies was taking part in the My Furry Valentine event, a huge gathering of rescues from the greater Cincinnati area.  I checked out their website of available dogs ahead of time and e-mailed my mother about a little hound/dachshund mix named Lilly.  Turns out my mother already had her eye on her.  After a few e-mails with Recycled Doggies regarding the dog's temperament and disposition towards cats and other dogs (in case some day the new pooch would have to come live with me), we decided she sounded like a winner and planned to get to the event right when they opened, before anybody else could scoop her up.  My mother went from  not wanting a dog at all to desperately wanting this dog in the span of about 24 hours.

At My Furry Valentine,
waiting to go home.

My Furry Valentine is so huge that it was held at the distribution center for leash makers flexi USA.  Parking was across the street and a shuttle bus brought visitors to the door.  My husband had come along, he claimed, because he wanted to see the new dog.  I think it was really just to ensure that I didn't bring a new one home myself.  I tried to tell him I had my arm in a sling and was hardly in a position to stealthily sneak a dog into the house.  He turned out to be useful since Lilly was terrified of the whole thing -- noise, people, dogs -- and refused to go with us on the leash.  He carried her through the warehouse, across the parking lot, and onto the shuttle bus.  Then off the shuttle bus, across another parking lot, and into the van.  I think he was sorry he came.

On the way to the event we discussed names.  Emily was almost chosen, although Foghorn kept insisting on Viola for reasons known to no one but her.  Then my sister mentioned the name Addie.  She was thinking of the little girl in A House Without a Christmas Tree, one of my mother's favorite Christmas shows.  I immediately got an image of Tatum O'Neal in Paper Moon.  Either way the name seemed to fit this small, slightly fluffy pooch.

I've always said my mother has a knack for ending up with neurotic dogs.  She manages to attract the Woody Allens of the canine world and Addie is no exception.  In all fairness, we think the poor little thing had quite a life before ending up with Recycled Doggies.  She was dumped at a rural Kentucky shelter by her family who was moving and decided not to take her with them.  Their loss is our gain.  Actually, their loss is also Addie's gain, as I don't think she was treated well.  She's very nervous and extremely quiet, to the point where the first week we thought her barker was broken.  She's terrified of men, even my husband.  He takes this a little personally since he hauled her furry butt all over the place on adoption day.  She no longer runs and hides in another room when he's around.  She mostly cowers behind one of her owners and barks at him.  She will eventually accept some treats, but it takes all her courage and she immediately ducks behind a caregiver after swallowing.

Despite her emotional issues, she's just about the sweetest little thing in the world.  She can't get enough love and attention and petting (at least from those of us without a Y chromosome).  She loves to lounge on the couch on a big pillow and my sister covers her up with an afghan at night.  Well...in that case I could hardly wait to get my knitting fingers back so I could make Addie her own afghan.

Addie's Afghan

It didn't have to be big, so I chose the Sunny Baby Blanket by Lucie Sinkler.  (My Ravelry notes are here.)  While the pattern is intended to be made in one color, I decided to use up the leftover yarn from the Hoover Blanket I made for my mother last year.  I love the Depression green with the rose pink together.  Plus it was a way to use up a couple partial skeins of yarn I had left over.  Plus I figure if it was using left over yarn my mother wouldn't decide the afghan is "too nice" for the dog to use.  (She has yet to use any of the dishcloths or place mats I made her because they're "too nice" to get dirty.) 

 

Addie's fitting in nicely in our family.  She has a nickname from me ("Addie Banaddie") and every time I see her I have to break into "Let's Have Another Cup of Coffee."   (I'll never get Tatum O'Neal out of my head now.)  At first she gave me the bug-eyed, freaked out look common to those listening to my singing.  Now she's gotten used to it and accepts that I'm not a maniac.  Well, she accepts that I'm a harmless manic...who can knit nice soft blankets.

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LAZY, HAZY, AND A LITTLE BIT CRAZY

We are past the halfway mark of summer vacation here, which means The Warden's nerves are seriously frayed, the sibling arguments are getting more frequent, and I've put on seven pounds.  (Last year I indulged in dozens of pints of Ben & Jerry's ice cream for medicinal purposes, the year before I went with the creamy whip's banana splits, also known by me as "housewife heroin", and this year packaged cream horns seem to be feeding my addiction.)  We've been seriously hampered in our summertime outings this July thanks to weeks of temperatures in the upper 90s, topping out at 100 or more some days.  Hard to believe we're having snowstorm-like cabin fever during the hottest month of the year.  Nonetheless we have managed to squeeze in some memorable activities beyond our usual trips to King's Island, Coney Island, and Grandma's swimming pool:

1.  Niagara Falls - We started out the summer by heading north, all the way to a foreign country.  (A nearly blow-by-blow account can be read by checking out my Facebook page.  You can "like" it by clicking on the link in the upper right corner.  Uncle Chester also kept a daily account on her blog, which you can read here.)

Preparing for the Maid of the Mist ride

Perfect weather

Canada's Butterfly Conservatory.  Only The Professor was
enthusiastic about this one and it turned out to be
fabulous.  I never thought I'd be that impressed
by butterflies.

The Whirlpool Aero Car

Chester doing a Fred Sanford on us.

The Hubbard-Roycroft Museum in East Aurora, NY.  Lots of
arts and crafts-style goodness.

Frank Lloyd Wright House in Buffalo.  Lots of art deco-style
goodness.

At Fantasy Island amusement park.  Foghorn's first time
behind the wheel.  She spent the whole time either turned
in her seat looking at her brother in the car behind her or
stopping dead in the road to pretend to light a cigarette.  Sigh...

Ohio State Reformatory in Mansfield, Ohio, the supposedly
haunted prison where they filmed large chunks of
The Shawshank Redemption

 

 
2.  Let's go surfin' now - The Professor and I took in the Beach Boys' 50th anniversary concert when they stopped in Cincinnati.  Much to The Vulcan's dismay, I returned home with an autographed program.  Hey, when you're talking about a band with only one member under 70, you gotta figure you need to grab collectibles like this when you can.

Die-hard Beach Boys fans will understand how I felt
seeing Brian Wilson on stage with the rest of the band.

3.   Mermaid time - Swimming is not an unusual activity for us in the summer.  What is unique is how often Foghorn has done it this year and how rarely The Professor has.  King's Island's water park was revamped over the winter and opened this year as Soak City.  The new, huge wave pool and the ability to ride in it in inner tubes was a hit.  What they did to the lazy river was not.  It was once a relaxing float along a meandering waterway with only the occasional water hazard or screaming, splashing kid to contend with.  Now it's a constant assault by water guns, spurting fountains, and overturning buckets.  The Professor was so mad we haven't returned since.  On the other hand, Foghorn is improving in her swimming thanks to weekly visits to Grandma's pool with Uncle Chester.  The Professor has declined all invitations to accompany them, opting instead for hours spent on his computer playing Minecraft and watching videos on YouTube.

4.  Doggy overnighter - A few weeks ago a dog rescue had a transport that was stopping overnight in Cincinnati.  (For those unfamiliar with the concept, dogs in shelters have been taken in by rescues in another state and need transport.  It ends up being like the pony express, with dozens of volunteers driving dogs an hour or so away and then meeting up with a new team who take them on the next leg.)  A plea was put out for a place for some of the dogs to board overnight or they wouldn't get on the transport and would have to be left behind.  Despite The Vulcan's objections, I volunteered and we played host to the sweetest seven month old hound pup named Billy.  Even The Vulcan agreed he was incredibly cute, although he admitted this after he was sure I had safely deposited Billy with the next driving team.  He's always so sure that if an animal enters our house it will never leave...just because that's been the case every time so far.

Foghorn and Billy had a special bond.

He didn't make a peep all night until he spotted a couple
deer in our backyard.  That got his attention.

A total cuddle-bug.

Foghorn in particular became extremely attached to Billy.  I've often thought we should be a foster family for Recycled Doggies, taking care of some canine cuties until their fur-ever homes come along, but I wondered about the emotional toll it would take on the kids.  This overnight experience, unfortunately, taught me that it would simply destroy Foghorn to have to let dogs go.  She cried in the middle of the night, while Billy was still there, and then rose at 6 a.m. to cry over him as I was preparing to take him to the transport meeting place.  I would judge her for her sappy, wimpy ways if I hadn't cried all the way home myself after dropping him off and saying goodbye.  Despite her mourning, she was almost immediately talking about the next time we have a dog over for the night.  The Vulcan wandered away mumbling to himself and locked his office door.

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EASTER BUNNIES AND FLYING PIGS

The top secret Easter knitting finally got finished and distributed to the recipients. For my mother and sister I decided to try out my recently acquired Fair Isle knitting skills on some socks. For the warmer spring months, I opted for cotton instead of wool, in this case Rowan's Siena yarn.

For my friend Lori's dog, my beloved Tristan, I couldn't resist knitting up a new tug-o-war toy. I used the Nummy Bunny pattern (found free on Ravelry here) and did it in springtime colors of lavender, light blue, and yellow. It ended up being much bigger, and taking much longer, than I anticipated, but I think it turned out pretty cute. Of course I know the thing will be destroyed within the month (if not within the first week), but I always get to see pictures of a joyful hound enjoying his new toy with his schnauzer brother and that makes it all worthwhile.

My beloved with his brand new toy.

My beloved a couple weeks later, surrounded
by the bunny's guts.  Can you see the big
piece of stuffing hanging from his mouth?

On the subject of Tristan, as I've mentioned before Lori is raising money for the rescue group Recycled Doggies via her weight loss efforts. Well, in big news this week she finally passed the 50 pound mark! She has been working so hard, exercising religiously, and I'm so proud of her for sticking with it even when the scale wasn't moving as quickly as it should. Of course she's looking so much fitter now that her scale really doesn't matter. She's currently in training to do the 5K at this year's Cincinnati Flying Pig Marathon. If you're interested in helping out a good cause, please consider sponsoring the Dog-Lbs. team. (You can read more about it on her blog here.)

The Inmates, their Uncle Chester, and I will also be at the Flying Pig next Saturday, taking part in the kids' Final Mile for the third year in a row. Starting early in the year, the kids log their miles on a chart with the goal of getting to at least 25. Then they complete the 26th mile on a course near Great American Ballpark downtown, thus having completed the same mileage as a marathon (just stretched out over several months). Given the pathetic state of my feet (I live in Birkenstocks) this is as close as I will ever come to doing a marathon. Fortunately parents can sign up as well so the kids have someone to walk with and we get medals too. I'm just crazy about those little metal piggy butts (or maybe I should say medal piggy butts). Get your oink on!

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{this moment}

{this moment} - A Friday ritual. A single photo - no words - capturing a moment from the week. A simple, special, extraordinary moment. A moment I want to pause, savor and remember. -- Inspired by SouleMama

 Usually my Friday posts are wordless, but in keeping with the spirit of NaBloPoMo, I'll give just a little explanation.
 

In the lights of Aronoff Center,
the sparkles on the dress shimmered
just like ruby slippers.

On Sunday, Uncle Chester and I took Foghorn to see the musical Wicked at the Aronoff Center in downtown Cincinnati.  Months before I had found a darling, sparkly red dress at the consignment store (brand new with tags no less) and naturally I quickly dubbed it the "Ruby Slippers Dress."  And, yes, it was the perfect outfit to wear to see Wicked.  My sister wrote about the outing on her blog here, so rather than retell the story, I'll just mention the part my husband found most amusing (especially since he wasn't there to see the stares).

My flying monkey doll. 
I don't know why Chester found
his riding position obscene.

At intermission I quickly took Foghorn to the bathroom and we managed to be about eighth in line.  Just as we got to the stalls, Foghorn looked back at the line of people now stretching completely out the door and hollered, "In your FACE, people in the back of the line!"  I hastily shoved her into a stall, growling about her making a spectacle of herself.  After washing our hands, we pushed our way out the door and saw the line stretching all the way down the hallway.  And, of course, Foghorn couldn't resist one more bellow of, "In your FACE, people in line!"  I tried to explain that what works at a Cubs/Brewers baseball game at Wrigley Field just might not be appropriate when wearing velvet.






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THINGS TO DO IN CINCINNATI - SPRING GROVE CEMETERY

When thinking about fun, family-friendly activities in the Fall you probably don't think cemeteries (unless you have a ghost meter and a paranormal investigator license).  If the cemetery of choice is Spring Grove Cemetery and Arboretum, however, the outing switches from the macabre to the beautiful.

Located minutes from downtown Cincinnati, Spring Grove  is America's second-largest cemetery and a National Historic Landmark.  The original intention was to have a park-like cemetery, close to the city, with a natural setting that would have a contemplative atmosphere.  Over 165 years after the first interment, Spring Grove still lives up to that original goal.  It encompasses 733 acres with 15 lakes, a waterfall, 1200 species of trees and shrubs, and 44 miles of paved, winding roadways. It was on one of these beautiful lakes that Uncle Chester learned you should never cheerily call, "Here, swanny, swanny," unless you want that particular fowl to swim over and attempt to peck your nose off.

Besides the lush surroundings, there are also the burial monuments themselves.  Some of the most well-known and rich Cincinnatians are buried there, with ornate statues, mausoleums, and obelisks at every turn.  And if you're a Dark Shadows fan it doesn't take much imagination to feel like you're at Collinwood, hanging around the mausoleum of Barnabus and his clan.

Among the famous buried at Spring Grove are:

• Salmon Chase - Ohio Governor, Senator, Chief Justice of the Supreme Court, Secretary of the Treasury under Lincoln, and founder of the I.R.S.
• Powell Crosley - Cincinnati Reds owner, inventor, and television pioneer.
• Andrew Erkenbrecher - Founder of the Cincinnati Zoo.
• Charles Fleischmann -- Of Fleischmann's Yeast fame.
• James Gamble and William Procter- Founders of Procter & Gamble.
• Robert Gibson - Founder of Gibson Greeting Cards.
• Joseph Hooker - Famous Civil War General for the Union side (and remembered more for his role in prostitutes being nicknamed "hookers").
• Theodore M. Berry - Cincinnati's first African-American mayor.
• Alexander McGuffy - Co-Author, with his brother, of the McGuffy Reader series.
• George Stearns - Co-Founder of Stearns & Foster Mattress Co.
• Waite Hoyt - Major League Baseball player and long-time Cincinnati Reds announcer.

This is hardly a comprehensive list.  There are literally hundreds of well-known politicians, medical professionals, and business owners of all kinds buried there, including lots in the brewery field.  (Cincinnati has always been a beer-drinking city.)  Spring Grove is also the resting spot for the founders of many of Cincinnati's department stores including Shillito's, Pogues, McAlpin's, and Mabley & Carew.








I also give you a few of the lesser known occupants, but ones which give me a particular thrill:

Mr. Miller was a singer and a bandleader and, most important, wrote the "Uh, oh, Spaghetti-O's" jingle.

Mr. Mulford was a pioneer sports editor and coined the term "baseball fan."

I've been to the touring exhibit of Titanic memorabilia 6 or 7 times, so naturally I have to love Ms. Stone, Cincinnati's own Titanic survivor.

That statue looks just like my dog, Frank, when he sees me packing suitcases.  I want him staring longingly at me for eternity.

This looks so much like me at the end of the day that I want a small scale model to put on my fireplace mantel.

We tried desperately to find the grave of Dick Von Hoene, but had to  give up the search.  By that point in the day I had two hot and grouchy children, one tired mother, and Chester, just being herself.  Those outside the Cincinnati viewing area probably won't known who the hell Dick Von Hoene was, but for folks around here in the 70s he will be remembered as "The Cool Ghoul."  Since I couldn't find his grave, I give you a clip instead:

For more information on Spring Grove Cemetery & Arboretum, please check out their website here.   Be sure to stop in the office.  They have some great pamphlets and informational sheets including a self-guided walking tour and a list of  notable burials, including the section number.  They also have a couple maps online here.  They are open 8 a.m. to 5 p.m. every day.  From May through August they are open late on Mondays and Thursdays until 8 p.m.  Spring Grove is located at 4521 Spring Grove Avenue, Cincinnati, Ohio  45232.

Although we always seem to visit in the autumn, it's a beautiful place for spring flowers in bloom or a summer stroll.  Heck, I bet it's even beautiful in winter with a layer of snow on the angel statues.  Enjoy!








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