A big night out in Ambler

One doesn’t need to travel into Philadelphia to have a really nice evening out. There are a lot of options in the suburbs, every one just as pleasing as the next.
But I have to hand it to Ambler. What a great job the borough has done offering a big night out on the small town.
Finding a quality place to eat downtown is no problem. (Shameless Promotion Alert): There is the Trax Restaurant and Café, The Shanachie Irish Pub, Bridget’s Steakhouse, From the Boot and Dettera Restaurant and Wine Bar.
In addition, there are two wonderful entertainment venues in the Act II Playhouse and the Ambler Theater.
For The Blonde Accountant’s birthday we went to dinner at Dettera’s. It was our first time there, and really, it was superb. The food and service was as good as anything one would find in Philadelphia.
We then went to see “The Story of My Life” at Act II. What a wonderfully written and acted play in an absolutely first-rate venue. The play’s run has been extended through this weekend, so you’ve still got a chance to see some quality theater.
There are a number of restaurants in Montgomery County that we enjoy, too numerous to mention here. And we’ve long been fans of the Sellersville Theater 1894 and the Keswick Theater in Glenside for quality entertainment.
There really aren’t enough adjectives to describe the opportunities we have here right in our own back yard. But this time, special kudos goes out to Ambler and what it has to offer.
And even better, I didn’t pay an arm and a leg to park for the evening and after the festivities ended, I was home in 10 minutes.
That’s just beautimous.

I'm done with these TV dramas

I’ve pretty much had it with television dramas. In particular, my days of watching “Grey’s Anatomy” and its spinoff, “Private Practice,” as well as “Desperate Housewives” and “Brothers and Sisters,” are over.
Why? Well, too much drama for me. Duh, that’s why those shows are called dramas, huh?
I really don’t have much invested in “Grey’s” or “Housewives.” If I miss those two, I don’t lose sleep. I like “Brothers and Sisters” because I like watching Sally Field and Rob Lowe perform. I go all the way back to Ms. Field’s film performance with Burt Reynolds in “Smokey and the Bandit” and I like Lowe’s character on “West Wing” several years ago.
And I started to follow “Private Practice” from its inception because of Kate Walsh (Dr. Addison Montgomery), who I had the opportunity to interview during the 2008 presidential campaign when she was in Montgomery County stumping for President Obama.
Ms. Walsh was very gracious and articulate during the interview. I would be remiss in my job if I also didn’t report that she is what we in journalism call “very humma humma” in the looks department. (Just doing my job there folks.)
But it was “Private Practice” that finally put me over the edge. In this year’s season finale, there was an accident (there are always accidents in TV dramas, which of course is no accident); a pregnant teenage in the accident, forcing the doctors to choose between saving the baby or operating on the mother’s spinal injury so she would not lose the use of her legs; an engagement, ill-timed at best; all kinds of romantic feelings flying between the characters; and the death of one of the regular characters on the show.
All in one episode.
And then Lowe’s character on “Brothers and Sisters” died in a horrific multi-car crash in the same week as well.
It was too much for me. Real life is difficult enough, filled with challenges and tragedies.
I am no longer am interested in being reminded that real life can stink. From here on out, I’m sticking to watching the Phillies on TV. If they stink, I’ll just turn the channel to something less dramatic and more cerebral . . . professional rasslin’.

The class and grace of Robin Roberts

It was in the mid-1990s and Robin Roberts was appearing at an autograph signing event, the proceeds of which would benefit something called the Bottomley-Ruffing-Schalk Baseball Museum in the little central Illinois town of Nokomis, a spot on the map just outside the state capital of Springfield.
Named after National Baseball Hall of Famers Jim Bottomley, Red Ruffing and Ray Schalk, the museum honors people from the central Illinois area who have contributed to baseball in some significant manner.
Roberts, the Hall of Fame Phillies pitcher, was born in nearby Springfield and would occasionally go back to his hometown area for events such as this one.
The weather was uncomfortably hot that day, like many summer days in central Illinois. The small museum — which lacked air conditioning — couldn’t accommodate the overflowing crowd that a hall of famer, and a local boy at that, had drawn. Fans eager for Roberts’ signature had crowded toward the table where he sat, making it even hotter and more uncomfortable than it already was.
I had met Mr. Roberts a few times before that day in the museum. At that point in my career, I had no idea I would move from central Illinois to the Philadelphia area and would have many more occasions to be in his company and interview him for stories I was writing.
Like that day in Illinois, Mr. Roberts always handled himself with grace and class, even under trying circumstances. He signed every autograph request, and it became quite a windfall for the tiny museum out in the middle of nowhere. I remember thinking at the time that the ex-player was the epitome of grace under pressure.
Once I moved out here, Mr. Roberts would occasionally show up in the Ambler area, mostly in October for a golf outing at Limekiln Golf Course, owned by another Whiz Kid, Curt Simmons. Although I’m not a golfer, there were a few occasions before tee-off where I got sit in the golf course clubhouse and listen to some baseball stories.
I crossed paths again with Mr. Roberts at the National Constitution Center in 2008 when it hosted a traveling exhibit from the National Baseball Hall of Fame in Cooperstown. It was there that I got a chance to interview him for a story on the exhibit that appeared in Montgomery Newspapers.
His baseball career ended in the mid-1960s and I never got a chance to see him pitch. But he was a hall of famer in every sense of the word, especially off the field. Never in the dozen or so times I was in his company did he have a cross word for anybody or refuse an autograph request.
Robin Roberts died last week in his Florida home at age 83. He was a first-class player and a first-class human being. Not only was he one of my favorite baseball players, he’s one of my favorite people of all time.