Sweet treats; more signs of aging; we're losing good folk

A local shop that specializes in imported fruits and sweets has been especially sweet to our daughter Joanna. The owner of the shop, which is named Cat Tuong -- the name of the owner's daughter -- provides some kind of treat for Joanna nearly every time we visit. I go there primarily to buy oatmeal, oranges and raisins. Joanna enjoys the fruit. In fact, she enjoys anything that has sugar in it, and she can say candy in several languages. The folks at Cat Tuong might slip her some raisins, or a cookie, or a tangerine. The store is pricey, but most stores here that provide fruits like navel oranges, blueberries and strawberries are all pricey. Cat Tuong sells Russian chocolates with liquor inside, but they're mediocre and stupid expensive. The airport sells quality chocolate with decent liquor inside, but you need an airline ticket to buy the chocolates. I'll buy some once or twice a year. Anyway, Joanna and I visit Cat Tuong once a week on our walk. The store is close to a coffee shop we also visit. Here, Joanna eats a packet of sugar and a piece of coffee cheesecake, which is awesome. Maybe it's the heat, but Phuong, Joanna and I love our sugar. I never used to have a sweet tooth, but now Phuong and I have chocolate and half a beer every night. I crave chocolate more than ever.

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Sometimes, I actually forget how old I'm getting. Thank God I have encroaching baldness to remind me I'm heading toward the final frontier. I was looking at some recent family photos and saw that my hairline is no longer receding; it's in full retreat and preparing to surrender. I guess there's technology that combats baldness, but I'm a natural guy. Maybe I'll do an ear hair comb-over. Or let my eyebrows grow out. Don't mind me; I'm just brainstorming in print. Not acting my age almost cost me twice in tennis on Saturday. I was unable to apply the brakes in time and ran into a wall while chasing a ball that I couldn't catch up to. Another time, Phuong hit behind me and I "tweaked" my ankle while trying to stop on a dime, provide nine cents change, and make the return. I completely missed the ball on my return attempt and my ankle buckled, but I kept playing. I compete like I'm young but perform like I'm old. 

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I don't understand the teenagers here who yell "f@ck you!" at me and Joanna when we take a walk. They'll ride by on bicycles or motorbikes, and scream profanities at a balding, soon-to-be 64-year-old man pushing a stroller carrying a 28-month-old toddler -- that would be me and Joanna. If I'm walking alone, I don't care so much. Besides, I always have headphones on so I don't really have to hear people sarcastically scream "what's your name, where you from?" when I walk anywhere. Some people get agitated when I don't answer and they'll scream the questions over and over, occasionally  getting in my face. I've been semi-threatened on several occasions here and had stuff thrown at me, but no one has ever laid a hand on me. Well, people have rubbed my stomach and silly stuff like that, but they've never aggressively pawed me; and I've lived here nearly six years. I guess the "f@ck you!" and "what's your name?" goofballs are just showing off. But showing off for whom? Me? Joanna? What a bunch of chuckleheads.

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Another disarming aspect of aging is that I see Facebook posts about people I know -- and like -- passing away. A woman I worked with in Bakersfield, Mimi McAndrew, recently passed away. She was one of the nicest people I had the pleasure to work with in my 30 years in journalism. She was kind, caring, and one hell of a journalist. We recently reconnected on Facebook and she always commented on my family and how we look so happy.  I'll miss you, Mimi.  My high school wrestling practice partner and semi-assistant coach, Rick Widdoes, also passed away recently. Widdoes was a college wrestler and he would come to my high school wrestling practice to give me a workout and beat the hell out of me. I was our team's heavyweight and there was no one even close to my size on the squad. Widdoes was a good-sized guy with incredibly strong hands. He toyed with me ... BUT ... one time he was showing off and did a lazy sit out, and I seized the opportunity and trapped Widdoes in a killer cradle, and put him on his back. My coach, Earl Helmbreck, who was also Widdoes' coach in high school, started taunting Widdoes. "Johnny Millman's got Ricky on his back. Come on, Ricky, break that cradle." Widdoes -- who was clearly pissed I put him on his back and was even more pissed Helmbreck pointed it out to everyone -- couldn't break that cradle. When the whistle blew, Widdoes complimented my cradle, and then nearly broke my neck when we resumed wrestling, putting me on my back and pinning me. Widdoes was actually more known for his baseball prowess, but I knew him best as an ornery wrestler.