My apologies to the two or three readers I still have. I didn't mean to skip a posting day yesterday, but after getting home late from a day spent with friends, I just didn't feel up to it. I am discovering the truth behind a creative practice I've learned from many writers and other creative people over the years: Write as soon as you can or as soon as you're comfortable after arising in the morning. Most of last week I got up, showered, had something to eat, and then wrote fairly early. That schedule seemed to work well, and I got to go through the day with an early sense of accomplishment.
Anyway, on to the next chapter:
I slept reasonably well that first night in the attic. For me the first night in any new bed is rough as my body makes adjustments. However, after having been up just over 24 hours, I was able to drift off immediately. In fact, 'drift off' is probably the wrong phrase to use to describe how fast I feel asleep. Unfortunately, I awoke in the middle of the night and it took a long time to get back to sleep because of my internal California clock. When morning rolled around, I was groggy, but ready for the new day.
After a quick breakfast, Russell and I hit the road with little agenda other than seeing as much as we could see. The first stop on our route was a neighboring historic mill named 'Waln Mill.' We parked on the road and walked up a slushy, muddy dirt road to walk through the restored mill, which was interesting in a Rube Goldberg way. I was fascinated to see how they turned the simple motion provided by running water into all the machinery needed to produce flour from raw grain. On this morning of crunching snow under our feet, we were the only visitors to the site, and as we entered the mill, we were greeted by a scraggly cat who immediately began to show us how much we were loved for being there by rubbing the backs of our legs repeatedly. I wonder if he wasn't performing some secret cat ritual of stealing body heat. If he was, he soon got his as an accidental backward step ended up on his tail, causing him to flee the mill with a loud yell. We saw several other cats on the grounds but never saw that one again.
From the mill we went to tour the main house. A park ranger unlocked the house for us and basically let us roam it freely. It was very like Russell's parents' house in construction but larger. I apologize for not having any pictures to accompany this stop, but we were largely wandering about in cold, exposed places, and my hands couldn't hold the camera long. I quickly abandoned it.
From Waln Mill we took off through the back roads again— this time in daylight— and most of my pictures of snowy fields are from this leg of the trip. I couldn't get over all the snow. I've seen more snow accumulation in my life, but not for a very long time. It was such a joy to see everything whitened and to walk through the snow.
After passing by a few places from Russell's childhood, we arrived again at the off base housing area. There were a few more cars moving about at this time of day, and as we drove around, streets were being blocked off for construction or renovation efforts. It was disconcerting and dreamlike to see barricades where we had been just the night before or, in some cases, where we had driven only minutes before. We drove through the courtyard of the row house which was my family's first unit. I was able to point out the units of friends, including the one where a girl that my brother and I played with lived. At one time I knocked out one or more of her front teeth with a baseball bat. (Sorry!) Another unit was where two boys lived with whom we spent at least one Summer playing a lot of Hot Wheels. Their family also had a white cat named Frisky, and when she went into labor to deliver her kittens, they called us down to watch.
We drove through the courtyard and back onto the street, making a large 'U' through the housing area and ending up on Gander Way, the street where our second house was. Unlike the houses to either side, our old house was still occupied and kept up in good condition. I didn't notice until later, after looking at the picture, that a high wooden fence had been added to the backyard. In my memory it's still open, stretching seemingly endlessly down to the neighbor's yard. As someone who had to mow the backyard frequently, it seemed to be the biggest yard ever.
We drove past the path that ran through the woods— a paved path, linking the church and the schools to the housing area. Unfortunately, because of barricades, we could drive the short distance around the woods to the schools. Instead, we had to exit the housing area and drive clear around to the front entrance and re-enter. The schools, at the time named '1', '2', '3', and '4' (as Russell joked, after important numbers), have since been re-named after space shuttles. For some reason, only pictures of schools 1 and 3 made it into my camera. I must have been too swept up in nostalgia to remember photos of the other two.
When we started school here, I began in school 3. I finished out 3rd grade there, went to school 4 for 4th and 5th grade, and then finished my elementary education at school 1 for 6th grade. What I have neglected mentioning so far is how very nearly connected I have been with Russell's family many times during this period of my youth. In 5th grade I had one of my most favorite teachers ever, Mr Borden. (I list him in my private directory as an 'inspiration.') During Summers Mr Borden was a house painter and he painted Russell's family's house one Summer. He is a friend of the family to this day. A few years after I passed through 5th grade, Russell's father replaced him as the 5th grade teacher, and Mr Borden went to 4th grade.
In 4th grade (I believe) I began playing the clarinet. By 6th grade I was pretty good, and I played in the school band at school 1. The band instructor at the time was Mr Inverso. However, a few years earlier the band instructor had been... Russell's father! In fact, upon stepping down from that position, Russell's father had nominated his friend, Mr Inverso, for the job. According to Russell, at this time his mother was also librarian in school 1. As I was a heavy reader then, I must certainly have met her many times.
We exited the area of the schools and base housing altogether at this point, heading along the road that ran between the base proper and the housing area to Wrightstown. Fort Dix, an Army post, sits next to McGuire, and Wrightstown sits right outside the gates to Fort Dix. During my youth, Wrightstown was about the scummiest place you could go— probably every Army post has had and will always have an area like this where cheap thrills are to be had. Had I known what a hooker was at the time, I'm sure I would have been able to identify many during our frequent trips through Wrightstown.
Before getting to Wrightstown, however, there was as a shopping plaza along the way. When Russell and I passed by, we almost jammed on the brakes of the car because the Thunderbird Lanes were still there! I hadn't remembered the Thunderbird Lanes at all until I saw them again. It was— and may still be— a bowling alley, of course, with a huge lit sign outside of an native American 'thunderbird.' (Please see my posted trip pics.) For some reason, seeing this sight also made me remember watching roller derby and wrestling on TV.
Wrightstown has made improvements over the years. It's much cleaner looking now, and most of the businesses have changed. The topography is largely the same though. The shopping plaza where we shopped during the final days of Grants is still there. (Grants was a chain of department stores on the east coast.) But, the McDonalds that used to be across the street is now an empty lot, and the Carvel ice cream store is gone as well. I saw no hookers and recall no porn shops. In their stead, I did point out to Russell a German restaurant. We went in to check it out, and it seemed fairly authentic. Russell grabbed a menu to take home and maybe someday a report will trickle back from his parents.
I'll leave off here for the day as someone has just knocked on my door and my concentration is broken now. I may or may not be back tomorrow as I am tentatively scheduled to go to Disneyland with friends.
Until next time!
"The bowling alley is the poor man's country club."— Sanford Hansell, bowling alley manager
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