I love my dog. She's energetic and curious and fun and loves to explore. We go for long walks together nearly every day. We've found some lovely nooks and crannies around the neighborhood, and some mundane stretches of grass or pavement that suddenly become athletic fields or circus rings. A stick or an empty plastic bottle found on the way will cause her to explode in a sustained burst of energy, running full tilt to the end of the extendable leash, back and forth, around and around until she exhausts her cute little self. Then it's off we go again, nose to the ground, seeking the next adventure. She loves to scale steep hillsides (pulling me up after her) and is delighted by deep growths of ivy or piles of leaves, into which she dives, wallows, plunges and leaps, following the lead of her hyper-sensitive nose. Eventually, however, the time comes to head home. As soon as she realizes this, she begins misbehaving, biting her leash, playing tug-o-war with it, leaping up to nip me, and straining to change our course. But I prevail. We enter the house, dry her off and she curls up in my chair to sleep for hours.
The cats are growing accustomed to this monstrous disruption of the household they used to rule. Lucia has actually come to like, if not completely trust Grace. They play chase games around the kitchen and dining area. Lucia sometimes even rubs against Grace when things are calm. Remus pretty much resents his demotion to second class citizen. He hisses and growls and swipes at his nemesis. Grace just wants to play. Remus does not.
Do I have to change the name of this blog? For a month and a half cat juggling has been something I squeeze in between sleeping, working and dog juggling.
Saturday, November 24, 2012
Friday, October 12, 2012
Identity Crisis
I am the Cat Juggler! I keep telling myself that. Carmen has been talking about getting a dee oh gee for many months. I didn't encourage her. I am the Cat Juggler! So yesterday she texted me to say that there was a four month old yellow lab / basset hound mix up for adoption at the Humane Society, and that she was really cute. A few hours later I was at Walmart purchasing a dog crate and bed for our new dee oh gee.
Twenty four hours later, the cats are still freaked out by this new addition to the family. We are optimistic that the cats will settle in. As my dad would say, "These things take time." For her part, Grace is, I think, doing remarkably well, considering the traumatic life she's led since her capture as a stray. She hardly ever barks or whines, and she loves to chew her chew toys. She bites her leash a lot, but she's mostly well behaved.
So far Carmen has done all of the feeding and walking and poop scooping. That was our deal. After all, I am the Cat Juggler!
Twenty four hours later, the cats are still freaked out by this new addition to the family. We are optimistic that the cats will settle in. As my dad would say, "These things take time." For her part, Grace is, I think, doing remarkably well, considering the traumatic life she's led since her capture as a stray. She hardly ever barks or whines, and she loves to chew her chew toys. She bites her leash a lot, but she's mostly well behaved.
So far Carmen has done all of the feeding and walking and poop scooping. That was our deal. After all, I am the Cat Juggler!
Tuesday, September 18, 2012
Cool Cool Kitty
Last night, as we were getting ready for bed, I remembered to pour some dry food into the cat dishes, to possibly stave off any 3:30 wake-up shenanigans. As expected, there were thundering pawbeats to the dishes. Unexpectedly, there was only one set of paws. No worries. Sometimes Lucia doesn't respond to the call of the dry food. But we didn't see her in any of her usual haunts. My dresser drawers had been closed all evening, so she wasn't in there. I tried the one irresistible Lucia juggling trick. Lucia can hear me pour the filtered water decanter into the percolator from anywhere in the house and HAS to come scrutinize this operation. I did so. No Lucia. "Call the emergency vet!" I said.
Then I got a brain wave. "You don't suppose..." I opened the refrigerator. There she was, on the top shelf, comfortable as you please. For the past several months. about half the time when I open the refrigerator, she leaps in. Normally, it's cat feeding time when I open it, so I'm very aware of cat positions. But last evening, about two hours earlier, I had reached in for two cans of seltzer for our human feeding time. She slipped in unseen, climbed shelf by shelf to the top (knocking over stuff on the way, of course) and took herself a little nap. She seemed perturbed at being "rescued."
This morning, when I went in for canned food, she watched from a distance. Maybe she learned a lesson.
NAAAAH!
Then I got a brain wave. "You don't suppose..." I opened the refrigerator. There she was, on the top shelf, comfortable as you please. For the past several months. about half the time when I open the refrigerator, she leaps in. Normally, it's cat feeding time when I open it, so I'm very aware of cat positions. But last evening, about two hours earlier, I had reached in for two cans of seltzer for our human feeding time. She slipped in unseen, climbed shelf by shelf to the top (knocking over stuff on the way, of course) and took herself a little nap. She seemed perturbed at being "rescued."
This morning, when I went in for canned food, she watched from a distance. Maybe she learned a lesson.
NAAAAH!
Sunday, September 16, 2012
My Newest Little Buddy
Way back in June of 2011, in a posting entitled "In Demand" I mentioned my newest little buddy. Audrey Sippel, daughter of Rachel Meerson, came running up to me one Sunday morning after church. She pulled up her pants leg and showed me the bruise on her shin. Well, it just so happened that a few days before this, I had taken a nasty fall at the Community Theatre. I pulled up my pants leg and showed her an inch diameter scab with redness all around it. I beat! We've been buddies since then.
The four of us went to lunch together after church several months ago. We went to Montana Rib and Chop House, where they have a square of white paper as the tablecloth, a fresh one for each party at each table, along with a cup with crayons in it. Audrey and I drew stuff. I showed her how to make an octagon by drawing a square and lopping off the corners. It was fun.
Today I had the camera with me to take pictures of the choir. I took some of my newest little buddy. I hope my little buddy from the 1970s doesn't get jealous!
The four of us went to lunch together after church several months ago. We went to Montana Rib and Chop House, where they have a square of white paper as the tablecloth, a fresh one for each party at each table, along with a cup with crayons in it. Audrey and I drew stuff. I showed her how to make an octagon by drawing a square and lopping off the corners. It was fun.
Today I had the camera with me to take pictures of the choir. I took some of my newest little buddy. I hope my little buddy from the 1970s doesn't get jealous!
Wednesday, September 5, 2012
Vee - Hicle!
When I was in the process of what I laughingly refer to as "growing up," I never wanted a car. My parents convinced me that learning to drive and getting my license would be a good thing to do regardless. In this particular case, I listened. I took driver ed in high school and got my license at eighteen. My first vehicle was a Suzuki 650 motorcycle purchased at age thirty four. Three years later I bought a Suzuki Intruder 1400 motorcycle, the baddest ass machine ever
In 1994, Carmen was tired of shifting her white standard transmission 1987 Toyota Corolla. She bought a green Corolla station wagon with automatic transmission. I drove the white Corolla for two years. Suffice it to say I was seduced by four wheels, a roof and air conditioning there in Central Florida. During that time I was on the lookout for a pickup truck, but not just any pickup truck. I wanted it to be reliable as a Toyota, with automatic transmission, and a bed big enough to lay a 4' X 8' sheet flat between the wheel humps. I spotted it from the highway at the Saturn dealership in Kissimmee. It was a '93 Toyota T-100 with a V6 engine. I loved that truck. I drove it hard from the spring of '96 until we moved to Massachusetts in the summer of 2005. Knowing that vehicles are a liability in Boston, we sold it before we left.
For four years in Boston, one year in Albuquerque and nearly two years in Meadville, I walked many miles a day and /or took public transportation wherever I went. This made me happy. I like to walk, and I like public transportation. A year ago, however, I had knee replacement surgery, and since then walking has not been as joyful as it was in the 1970s. The walk home up the hill from downtown Meadville is exhausting. I take the bus to a bus stop two blocks away when I can, but sometimes I just can't.
Today, Carmen took possession of a 2008 Scion Xb. Nautical blue! It's a beautiful car. And once again I get the white Toyota she's been driving since she bought it new in 2000. It's a Rav4 with 85,000 miles. I'm happy to have a car again. That's hard for me to admit even to myself. But I'm expanding my job search parameters now, and hope to be full time somewhere soon.
This is vehicle number five for me. I'm excited.
In 1994, Carmen was tired of shifting her white standard transmission 1987 Toyota Corolla. She bought a green Corolla station wagon with automatic transmission. I drove the white Corolla for two years. Suffice it to say I was seduced by four wheels, a roof and air conditioning there in Central Florida. During that time I was on the lookout for a pickup truck, but not just any pickup truck. I wanted it to be reliable as a Toyota, with automatic transmission, and a bed big enough to lay a 4' X 8' sheet flat between the wheel humps. I spotted it from the highway at the Saturn dealership in Kissimmee. It was a '93 Toyota T-100 with a V6 engine. I loved that truck. I drove it hard from the spring of '96 until we moved to Massachusetts in the summer of 2005. Knowing that vehicles are a liability in Boston, we sold it before we left.
For four years in Boston, one year in Albuquerque and nearly two years in Meadville, I walked many miles a day and /or took public transportation wherever I went. This made me happy. I like to walk, and I like public transportation. A year ago, however, I had knee replacement surgery, and since then walking has not been as joyful as it was in the 1970s. The walk home up the hill from downtown Meadville is exhausting. I take the bus to a bus stop two blocks away when I can, but sometimes I just can't.
Today, Carmen took possession of a 2008 Scion Xb. Nautical blue! It's a beautiful car. And once again I get the white Toyota she's been driving since she bought it new in 2000. It's a Rav4 with 85,000 miles. I'm happy to have a car again. That's hard for me to admit even to myself. But I'm expanding my job search parameters now, and hope to be full time somewhere soon.
This is vehicle number five for me. I'm excited.
Wednesday, August 8, 2012
The Wild Life
Tomorrow is Thursday. Many of you already knew that. Gradually, since December, I've come to dread Thursdays, because at 4:00 pm until 9:00 I become a dispatcher for Tamarack Wildlife Rehabilitation and Education Center. I mentioned it before in a January Gospel of Rand McNally posting entitled "Texas Toast." The (volunteer) gig is: every hour check messages on Tamarack's voicemail, log them on a call log sheet, and deal with whatever situations arise. Some are administrative calls - organizations wanting a tour of the center or a demonstration at their event. Some are people checking up on animals they rescued or called in first responders for. Most, however, are people with wildlife issues that need resolution.
The outgoing message on the voicemail is very specific. If callers actually listened to it, a lot of my job would be done already. Tamarack takes birds of prey, adult seed-eating songbirds, game birds, opossums and reptiles. The baby bird "rescuers," raccoon trappers, baby bunny finders and bat-in-the-basement hosts would know before I call them to recommend alternatives that Tamarack is not the destination of their problem critter.
I'm hoping the baby bird "rescue" epidemic has subsided for this year. I needed a recording of myself saying, over and over again, "put the baby bird back in the nest. Don't feed it, the parents are much better at taking care of their babies than humans are. The parents won't abandon their babies." And then, when they still want a "rescue" operation, I tell them to call Skye's Spirit near Grove City - they accept baby birds. Then. after I disconnect, I say "Maybe they can convince you."
A lot of baby bunny calls are much the same. I'm grateful for Skye's Spirit as a place to either take in what Tamarack doesn't or be another voice of reason to talk to the unreasonable.
Raccoons are "rabies vector" species. Tamarack is not allowed to handle them, the First Responders are warned away from them, and dispatchers are told to counsel people to leave them the hell alone - don't come near them, don't feed them, call the Game Commission! A lot of people don't want to hear what we tell them. It's tha same old thing: if you're not going to listen to my answer, DON"T ASK THE QUESTION!
The best was a woman in Edinboro with an injured hawk. I called the admitting medic who lives near Edinboro, he picked up the hawk and it is doing well at the center. The worst was last week. A woman in Erie called at 8:25. She had an injured crow. I called every first responder in Erie and all I got was a series of voicemail messages unreturned, a couple of "no" answers, and a woman who would pick it up it in the morning. The crow died overnight.
One person I asked and got a "no" from said she used to be a dispatcher, but quit because it was too frustrating. I understand!
The outgoing message on the voicemail is very specific. If callers actually listened to it, a lot of my job would be done already. Tamarack takes birds of prey, adult seed-eating songbirds, game birds, opossums and reptiles. The baby bird "rescuers," raccoon trappers, baby bunny finders and bat-in-the-basement hosts would know before I call them to recommend alternatives that Tamarack is not the destination of their problem critter.
I'm hoping the baby bird "rescue" epidemic has subsided for this year. I needed a recording of myself saying, over and over again, "put the baby bird back in the nest. Don't feed it, the parents are much better at taking care of their babies than humans are. The parents won't abandon their babies." And then, when they still want a "rescue" operation, I tell them to call Skye's Spirit near Grove City - they accept baby birds. Then. after I disconnect, I say "Maybe they can convince you."
A lot of baby bunny calls are much the same. I'm grateful for Skye's Spirit as a place to either take in what Tamarack doesn't or be another voice of reason to talk to the unreasonable.
Raccoons are "rabies vector" species. Tamarack is not allowed to handle them, the First Responders are warned away from them, and dispatchers are told to counsel people to leave them the hell alone - don't come near them, don't feed them, call the Game Commission! A lot of people don't want to hear what we tell them. It's tha same old thing: if you're not going to listen to my answer, DON"T ASK THE QUESTION!
The best was a woman in Edinboro with an injured hawk. I called the admitting medic who lives near Edinboro, he picked up the hawk and it is doing well at the center. The worst was last week. A woman in Erie called at 8:25. She had an injured crow. I called every first responder in Erie and all I got was a series of voicemail messages unreturned, a couple of "no" answers, and a woman who would pick it up it in the morning. The crow died overnight.
One person I asked and got a "no" from said she used to be a dispatcher, but quit because it was too frustrating. I understand!
Wednesday, July 25, 2012
Joy
Mary Canaan called me Monday night. You know how it is when years later you try to have a conversation with somebody you were once close to - the awkwardness, the uncomfortable silences. Forty years ago, we were best buddies, Mary and I. And while it is unlikely that we will ever be best buddies again, we chatted away for an hour or so without pause. Of course, catching up after forty years gives us a lot to talk about, but the trust we shared back then was still solid.
I came away smiling clear down to my toenails. More than my own joy at finally finding and reconnecting with my little friend, I seem to have brought a great deal of joy to Mary and all of her brothers and sisters. Mary was in tears when she first realized that it was really me sending her messages through Facebook. She has been greedily absorbing all of the memories of that time that I provide. There is no joy greater than giving joy to someone you care about. The Canaan family was pretty much all I cared about during those two years. Evidently I still do.
Years before the term "clinical depression" came into vogue, I had it. From 1966 until 1977 there was a perpetual dark cloud over my life. My association with the Canaan family was the bright spot in my life. Leo loved me like a son and trusted me completely. His wife Norma liked me and trusted me as well. They seemed to naturally involve me in the life of the family. Leo always included me in his big plans for the West Virginia venture. The kids also seemed to accept my intrusion into their world, and Danny and Mary were my special friends. I spent quite a bit of time with each of them.
For four decades I've lived with the fact that in November of 1973 I slunk away from the best part of my life. The Canaans were my life back then.They gave me a shining light of love and hope when the rest of my world was so dark and gloomy. And after the end, I sank down into a deep dark hole that only got darker and deeper for the next three years.
It's a good, healing thing to be able to radiate some joy around those memories. Thank you, Mary. And thank you, Leo, wherever you are.
I came away smiling clear down to my toenails. More than my own joy at finally finding and reconnecting with my little friend, I seem to have brought a great deal of joy to Mary and all of her brothers and sisters. Mary was in tears when she first realized that it was really me sending her messages through Facebook. She has been greedily absorbing all of the memories of that time that I provide. There is no joy greater than giving joy to someone you care about. The Canaan family was pretty much all I cared about during those two years. Evidently I still do.
Years before the term "clinical depression" came into vogue, I had it. From 1966 until 1977 there was a perpetual dark cloud over my life. My association with the Canaan family was the bright spot in my life. Leo loved me like a son and trusted me completely. His wife Norma liked me and trusted me as well. They seemed to naturally involve me in the life of the family. Leo always included me in his big plans for the West Virginia venture. The kids also seemed to accept my intrusion into their world, and Danny and Mary were my special friends. I spent quite a bit of time with each of them.
For four decades I've lived with the fact that in November of 1973 I slunk away from the best part of my life. The Canaans were my life back then.They gave me a shining light of love and hope when the rest of my world was so dark and gloomy. And after the end, I sank down into a deep dark hole that only got darker and deeper for the next three years.
It's a good, healing thing to be able to radiate some joy around those memories. Thank you, Mary. And thank you, Leo, wherever you are.
Sunday, July 22, 2012
Canaan Update
The previous post was for my young friend Mary. I was pretty sure that the Mary Canaan I enearthed on Facebook was "the real" Mary Canaan, but I wasn't absolutely certain. I wrote that entry, posted a picture of her father, and included a link to Cat Juggler in a message through FB. Not being sure whether she would retain any memory of me, I included just a few essential facts regarding my association with her family from the autumn of 1971 through the autumn of 1973, to see if this might jog her memory.
As it turned out, when she finslly - weeks later - saw my several messages, she was flabberghasted. She and her brothers and sisters DO remember me, and have often spoken of me, wondering whatever happened to me. They were thinking I must have died, because I disappeared so suddenly and so completely. She says she was very sad when her friend went away.
My closest association was with Leo himself. Many of my Montgomery Ward friends couldn't believe that 18-year-old I enjoyed the company of 45-year-old Leo. I hung out with him at the restaurant nearly every evening of my life during those two years, helping out when needed, and listening to his big plans. It started out with plans to rent the adjacent stores in the building, knock down the walls and turn Leo's into a classy restaurant. Then he bought the place in Charmco, Wesr Virginia, and the big plans got bigger.
When my bosses at Montgomery Ward were dealing with the closing of the old Coffee Shop in the corner of the store, to be replaced by the new Buffeteria in the opposite corner, they had all of the old equipment to dispose of. They asked me if I thought Leo would be interested in it. I asked. He was. They sold him about ten thousand dollars worth of stainless steel restaurant equipment for $200.00 if he would haul it away. The one time I went with the family to Charmco was to help load, haul and install some of the "new" equipment in the restaurant down there.
Thirteen-year-old Danny and I were pretty good buddies as well. We went bike riding, played pool at the pool hall, went fishing once. This would be on Saturdays, when Norma and Paula were also working the restaurant, and the kids were bored. The most helpful thing I could do was to entertain kids.
Paula was seventeen, and daytime manager/chief cook and bottle washer at Leo's. I had the feeling that she didn't like me much. We had no connection anything like what I shared with her dad. Donna was eleven or so, and somehow, we never really hit it off. David was two. Nuff said.
But my best friend, and hardest for the Wards crowd to wrap their heads around, was seven-year-old Mary. We drew pictures and colored together. We went for walks around the block, played hopscotch and jacks. Once, when the carnival was in town a couple of blocks away from the restaurant, and the parents were too busy to take her, I volunteered. Leo and Norma were delighted, gave her five bucks, and away we went. That memory warms my heart, thinking of the fun we had, and the trust we shared.
I regret the fact that when Leo and I had our disagreement, I slunk away and just disappeared. In hindsight, I realize that we could have mended that bridge and gone on, but I was hurt and embarrassed and unwilling to face him. As much as I missed the Canaan family, my shame won the day in my heart. Coward.
Anyway, suddenly I'm back in touch. Leo and his wife Norma both passed back in the nineties, but the rest of them are very close and evidently talk about me sometimes. Suddenly, they have a lot to talk about!
As it turned out, when she finslly - weeks later - saw my several messages, she was flabberghasted. She and her brothers and sisters DO remember me, and have often spoken of me, wondering whatever happened to me. They were thinking I must have died, because I disappeared so suddenly and so completely. She says she was very sad when her friend went away.
My closest association was with Leo himself. Many of my Montgomery Ward friends couldn't believe that 18-year-old I enjoyed the company of 45-year-old Leo. I hung out with him at the restaurant nearly every evening of my life during those two years, helping out when needed, and listening to his big plans. It started out with plans to rent the adjacent stores in the building, knock down the walls and turn Leo's into a classy restaurant. Then he bought the place in Charmco, Wesr Virginia, and the big plans got bigger.
When my bosses at Montgomery Ward were dealing with the closing of the old Coffee Shop in the corner of the store, to be replaced by the new Buffeteria in the opposite corner, they had all of the old equipment to dispose of. They asked me if I thought Leo would be interested in it. I asked. He was. They sold him about ten thousand dollars worth of stainless steel restaurant equipment for $200.00 if he would haul it away. The one time I went with the family to Charmco was to help load, haul and install some of the "new" equipment in the restaurant down there.
Thirteen-year-old Danny and I were pretty good buddies as well. We went bike riding, played pool at the pool hall, went fishing once. This would be on Saturdays, when Norma and Paula were also working the restaurant, and the kids were bored. The most helpful thing I could do was to entertain kids.
Paula was seventeen, and daytime manager/chief cook and bottle washer at Leo's. I had the feeling that she didn't like me much. We had no connection anything like what I shared with her dad. Donna was eleven or so, and somehow, we never really hit it off. David was two. Nuff said.
But my best friend, and hardest for the Wards crowd to wrap their heads around, was seven-year-old Mary. We drew pictures and colored together. We went for walks around the block, played hopscotch and jacks. Once, when the carnival was in town a couple of blocks away from the restaurant, and the parents were too busy to take her, I volunteered. Leo and Norma were delighted, gave her five bucks, and away we went. That memory warms my heart, thinking of the fun we had, and the trust we shared.
I regret the fact that when Leo and I had our disagreement, I slunk away and just disappeared. In hindsight, I realize that we could have mended that bridge and gone on, but I was hurt and embarrassed and unwilling to face him. As much as I missed the Canaan family, my shame won the day in my heart. Coward.
Anyway, suddenly I'm back in touch. Leo and his wife Norma both passed back in the nineties, but the rest of them are very close and evidently talk about me sometimes. Suddenly, they have a lot to talk about!
Wednesday, July 4, 2012
Twists And Turns
Every now and again I get caught up in wondering how different my life might have been if certain turning points had turned a different direction. The first and biggest one I wonder about occurred in 1968, when my parents decided to move us from Odenton, Maryland to Vero Beach, Florida during the summer. Many things would have been a lot different. Better? No telling. Different, definitely. By the end of ninth grade, I had made a name for myself as a photographer, with my own darkroom and growing expertise. Those in charge of the yearbook informed me that I would be a staff photographer during my last three years of high school. Also, I was a good football player, and I'm pretty sure I would have made the Arundel High School team. Instead, I was moved to a place where I knew nobody, had no history or credibility, and the weather was way too hot to think about donning a football uniform.
The second one kind of grabbed me this past week. After graduation from high school in 1971, I moved back to Maryland and before long was working in the Display Department of the Montgomery Ward store in Glen Burnie. I lived near a little hole-in-the-wall restaurant called "Leo's Sub Stop," where I became friendly with Leo and the whole Canaan family. I was a big help to Leo, and when he bought a restaurant in Charmco, West Virginia, he always included me in his big plans for the place. He envisioned a hotel, a putt putt course, an arcade, a gift shop...But things got off track between us, we had a falling out, and that was the end of that. Recently I've been looking up Canaans, trying to find out whatever happened to Leo, Norma, Paula, Danny, Donna, Mary and David. I haven't learned much, but it appears that Leo's extravagant plans never came to fruition, at least not the Disneyesque venture he had drawn on the napkins of Leo's Sub Stop.
So perhaps I would have stuck with my family away from family for some time, and perhaps not. All I can say with certainty is that it doesn't matter to the rich and full life I've had since the early seventies. But I do wonder whether any of the Canaans even remember me and my two years of devotion to their family.
The second one kind of grabbed me this past week. After graduation from high school in 1971, I moved back to Maryland and before long was working in the Display Department of the Montgomery Ward store in Glen Burnie. I lived near a little hole-in-the-wall restaurant called "Leo's Sub Stop," where I became friendly with Leo and the whole Canaan family. I was a big help to Leo, and when he bought a restaurant in Charmco, West Virginia, he always included me in his big plans for the place. He envisioned a hotel, a putt putt course, an arcade, a gift shop...But things got off track between us, we had a falling out, and that was the end of that. Recently I've been looking up Canaans, trying to find out whatever happened to Leo, Norma, Paula, Danny, Donna, Mary and David. I haven't learned much, but it appears that Leo's extravagant plans never came to fruition, at least not the Disneyesque venture he had drawn on the napkins of Leo's Sub Stop.
So perhaps I would have stuck with my family away from family for some time, and perhaps not. All I can say with certainty is that it doesn't matter to the rich and full life I've had since the early seventies. But I do wonder whether any of the Canaans even remember me and my two years of devotion to their family.
Thursday, April 12, 2012
No Moss
My boss, Diane, is fast approaching her thirtieth anniversary working for Sherwin Williams Meadville. Every time I think about that, I think about the fact that I have not, in my nearly sixty years, lived in one state for thirty years in a row. Yes, I lived in Florida for thirty two years, but that was in four segments, the longest stretching from March of 1978 to June of 2005, just over twenty seven years. This is what seems normal to me. I grew up, from 1953 until 1968, in Odenton, the town adjacent to Fort Meade, Maryland. Most of my friends moved in, told their tales of living in Germany, Japan, Okinawa and many other places, then moved away after two years.
In 1968 I moved to Florida, where almost nobody is a native, and certainly not native to the town where they live now.
When Carmen and I got married in 1986, we began making preparations to move to Central Florida, where there were better employment opportunities than what was available in Vero Beach. When we left Florida in 2005, we had inhabited, during our nineteen years together, five dwellings in three cities.
Then we moved to the Boston arier (that's how Bostonians say 'area') and were suddenly surrounded by people who had lived in the Boston area their whole lives, most of them in the same town, and some in the same house. I worked in Norwood, Massachusetts with a guy who was fifth generation still living in the house in which he was born. The forty year old guys who still lived in Norwood, Canton, Foxboro, Stoughton, Dedham and other nearby towns all still went to their high school football games and carried team rivalries into the workplace. And whereas I was excited for the opportunity to spend several weeks installing exhibits at the Museum of Science in Boston, those guys had been going to the MOS on field trips since elementary school, and were not at all interested in going back.
In 2009, as we were approaching Carmen's graduation from seminary and our move to Albuquerque, I was full of excitement for this next leg of the adventure that is our marriage. I explained to people that we would be in Albuquerque for a year of internship, then - who knows. The guys would just look at me as if I were from another planet - and I guess to them I was. Shawn Marler, on several occasions, said to me "A rolling stone gathers no moss." I guess that explains my moss free lifestyle.
Diane listens to me telling about the eleven cities in five states where I've lived during her lifetime in Meadville, Pennsylvania, and she doesn't have that 'another planet' look. She looks more like someone in her fifties who has worked in one job and lived in one town her whole life and is envious of someone like me. Well, except for that moss thing.
In 1968 I moved to Florida, where almost nobody is a native, and certainly not native to the town where they live now.
When Carmen and I got married in 1986, we began making preparations to move to Central Florida, where there were better employment opportunities than what was available in Vero Beach. When we left Florida in 2005, we had inhabited, during our nineteen years together, five dwellings in three cities.
Then we moved to the Boston arier (that's how Bostonians say 'area') and were suddenly surrounded by people who had lived in the Boston area their whole lives, most of them in the same town, and some in the same house. I worked in Norwood, Massachusetts with a guy who was fifth generation still living in the house in which he was born. The forty year old guys who still lived in Norwood, Canton, Foxboro, Stoughton, Dedham and other nearby towns all still went to their high school football games and carried team rivalries into the workplace. And whereas I was excited for the opportunity to spend several weeks installing exhibits at the Museum of Science in Boston, those guys had been going to the MOS on field trips since elementary school, and were not at all interested in going back.
In 2009, as we were approaching Carmen's graduation from seminary and our move to Albuquerque, I was full of excitement for this next leg of the adventure that is our marriage. I explained to people that we would be in Albuquerque for a year of internship, then - who knows. The guys would just look at me as if I were from another planet - and I guess to them I was. Shawn Marler, on several occasions, said to me "A rolling stone gathers no moss." I guess that explains my moss free lifestyle.
Diane listens to me telling about the eleven cities in five states where I've lived during her lifetime in Meadville, Pennsylvania, and she doesn't have that 'another planet' look. She looks more like someone in her fifties who has worked in one job and lived in one town her whole life and is envious of someone like me. Well, except for that moss thing.
Monday, April 2, 2012
Time On My Side
Those who know me know that I have a certain fascination (obsession?) with time. Years ago I was going nuts because every clock in the house and car had a different time. In those days there were no cell phones to check, no home computers etc. There wasn't even a telephone time service in Central Florida like there was in Baltimore or even - at that time - Vero Beach, FL. The best I could do was wait for television or radio to announce the time or change hours of programming. Geezers will remember the *ping* at the hour on television and radio stations.
Then one day I was at Sam's, and saw, for only twenty five bucks, a clock that recalibrates itself daily with the atomic clock in Fort Collins Colorado. Such a deal! Ever since then, I have always had one unimpeachable authority as to what time it really is. Even my cell phone isn't as accurate.
One of my (many many) pet peeves is the twice annual time change. It sends everybody into a jet lag state for days afterward, and I have a hard time believing it's worth it. The one in spring is the hardest adjustment,
because the hour is simply removed from your life. But even when you get it back in fall, there is a biorhythmic jolt.
BUT!!! As a licensed professional cat juggler, I have learned to make the springing forward work for me. This year, before the time change, the kitties would start trying to wake me around three am. Now I get to sleep in until four or sometimes even five! I hate having a reason to like the time change!
Then one day I was at Sam's, and saw, for only twenty five bucks, a clock that recalibrates itself daily with the atomic clock in Fort Collins Colorado. Such a deal! Ever since then, I have always had one unimpeachable authority as to what time it really is. Even my cell phone isn't as accurate.
One of my (many many) pet peeves is the twice annual time change. It sends everybody into a jet lag state for days afterward, and I have a hard time believing it's worth it. The one in spring is the hardest adjustment,
because the hour is simply removed from your life. But even when you get it back in fall, there is a biorhythmic jolt.
BUT!!! As a licensed professional cat juggler, I have learned to make the springing forward work for me. This year, before the time change, the kitties would start trying to wake me around three am. Now I get to sleep in until four or sometimes even five! I hate having a reason to like the time change!
Tuesday, January 3, 2012
Back To Normal
Sunday evening we landed in Pittsburgh after our week in Texas. It was raining. We knew it would be raining in Meadville, because it's usually raining - or snowing - in Meadville. We followed Hermione's directions from the airport to Interstate 79 and hauled our butts on home to our sweet little kitties.
I exited the car out front because the lid was open on the mailbox and there was something behind the storm door on the front door. I pulled a week's worth of wet mail out of the box and closed the lid. As I did so, my next door neighbor Donnie opened his pickup truck door. "Back from vacation just in time for the snow!" he said. "Supposed to get ten inches!" I thanked him for the info and proceeded to get the week's worth of dry newspapers in a special 'end of vacation' plastic bag carefully placed between the front doors by our excellent newspaper delivery geezer - the one who will deliver the paper to the front storm door through a foot of snow at 5:00 in the morning. Which he did this morning.
Yesterday morning at precisely 3:30am, Professor Remus J. Lupin woke me up for breakfast as usual. I looked outside to see about an inch of snow on the road and still pouring. By 8:00am it was about four inches deep. I spent a little over an hour shoveling. Four inches is about the tipping point of the 'shovel vs. snow blower' equation. By the time Carmen came home, about 5:30pm, there were maybe two more inches down. I let it ride.
This morning's feeding (they let me sleep in until 4:01) I looked out to see at least a foot of snow in the driveway. Around 9:00 I snew blew the driveway and front walk. Then I shoveled the steps and walkway to the door. It was snowing to beat hell, and the driveway was a good half inch deep again already. I came in, showered, got dressed and walked to the Orthopedic Associates of Meadville for my 'three months with a new knee' appointment. I got my clearance to return to work and came home.
Diane at Sherwin Williams says I'll be back to work on Monday the 9th.
It's been a long three months recovering from surgery. Feeding kitties, scooping litter, walking around town and shoveling snow let me know that life is back to normal. Whoop-dee-doo.
I exited the car out front because the lid was open on the mailbox and there was something behind the storm door on the front door. I pulled a week's worth of wet mail out of the box and closed the lid. As I did so, my next door neighbor Donnie opened his pickup truck door. "Back from vacation just in time for the snow!" he said. "Supposed to get ten inches!" I thanked him for the info and proceeded to get the week's worth of dry newspapers in a special 'end of vacation' plastic bag carefully placed between the front doors by our excellent newspaper delivery geezer - the one who will deliver the paper to the front storm door through a foot of snow at 5:00 in the morning. Which he did this morning.
Yesterday morning at precisely 3:30am, Professor Remus J. Lupin woke me up for breakfast as usual. I looked outside to see about an inch of snow on the road and still pouring. By 8:00am it was about four inches deep. I spent a little over an hour shoveling. Four inches is about the tipping point of the 'shovel vs. snow blower' equation. By the time Carmen came home, about 5:30pm, there were maybe two more inches down. I let it ride.
This morning's feeding (they let me sleep in until 4:01) I looked out to see at least a foot of snow in the driveway. Around 9:00 I snew blew the driveway and front walk. Then I shoveled the steps and walkway to the door. It was snowing to beat hell, and the driveway was a good half inch deep again already. I came in, showered, got dressed and walked to the Orthopedic Associates of Meadville for my 'three months with a new knee' appointment. I got my clearance to return to work and came home.
Diane at Sherwin Williams says I'll be back to work on Monday the 9th.
It's been a long three months recovering from surgery. Feeding kitties, scooping litter, walking around town and shoveling snow let me know that life is back to normal. Whoop-dee-doo.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
