East Coast Wanderlog, Part 9

Getting a late start today because I got out of bed late. Ever since I returned from my trip, I've been getting up fairly consistently in the morning, but last night I just couldn't sleep. I woke up several times— one time to holier-than-thous knocking at my door to save my soul. I did not answer. I've been thinking about putting a sign on my door, asking people to not knock before 1 or 2 PM in the afternoon. I don't need that much leeway most days, but it would be nice.

Lately I've been hyper-aware how much noise I'm exposed to in my apartment. The windows and walls seem to let in everything. My brother sent me an email last week saying that they were replacing the windows in the room where I stay when I'm visiting him and that the room should be much quieter from now on. Truth to tell, it's already blissfully quiet to me as it's much, much quieter than conditions here at home. All day and all night I hear every car that goes by in the street, every radio playing in those cars, every group of kids or other pedestrians, every motorcycle, street bike, lawnmower engine, grocery cart, etc. I hear it all. On top of that, my apartment— half a duplex house actually— creaks and groans 24/7. The temperature of the day causes it to make noise as it expands or contracts. I've noticed than even just walking around the house or leaning on a wall can cause a sharp creak or groan. I really need to move...

Back on the east coast, in New York city to be specific, Russell and I have left the News building and the sky is turning from late afternoon to evening. I told you that my camera stopped working in the News building. In fact, the battery was so dead that I couldn't even get the lens to retract to the 'off' position so I had to coddle the camera in my pocket the rest of the day. I was constantly worried that I might scratch or break it in some way. It's an otherwise nifty little camera that takes a high quality picture with little effort.

We began walking west again, but with a block or two we passed a building named the Chanin Building. If architecture is your thing, check out the hyperlink. It immediately caught Russell's eye, drawn as he is to art deco, so we went in and checked it out. Like the Chrysler Building it was a delight, an unexpected one this time. Quite coincidentally, I recognized one brass panel therein that is used as the design for the cover of the current (or recent) editions of Ayn Rand's Atlas Shrugged.

From the Chanin Building we continued westward until we got to the Public Library. This is the iconic and instantly recognizable building with the stone lions out front used in almost every film in New York city. We went in— past tight security!— and made our way to the map room. After leafing our way through an interesting map book, we both leaned back and relaxed in our chairs, as several other patrons were doing. I confess, I dozed briefly at this time, probably for five to ten minutes, and it was just the rest I needed. We perked up again when the librarian in the room announced that the library was closing in a few minutes. In fact, by this time, it was already too late to go into the enormous room of the general library, which I had wanted to see, so that's something that will wait for my next visit. We joined the line filing slowly through the security point to leave and re-emerged onto the street a few minutes after 6 PM.

The rest of our day was up in the air at this point. Russell wanted to see more, but his knee was visibly bothering him. I wanted to see more, but my back was sore and I didn't want to push Russell. We walked slowly around the library, along an iron fence enclosing a park on the back side. On the far corner we hopped up on some tall chairs intended for use by a coffee stand during the day. Sitting there we discussed our options.

From our spot, right near the corner, we could look north and see a marquee for Rockefeller Center. This was one of Russell's goals for the day. Another spot of interest for me was along the way so it was soon decided that we would slog on. It was turning into quite the walking day. We had bought the subway passes to cover all trips for the day, and then we ended up not getting their full value in use. Oh well, you don't have to walk the streets of the city long to see that everyone around you is thin, and this has to be a by-product of a lot of walking. So, we got on our feet and headed north.

I have said many times over the years that I am the reincarnated spirit of Dorothy Parker. Sarcastic wit in hand, there was no way I could pass by The Algonquin Hotel and not try to see the site of the famous Algonquin Round Table. It was just a half-block off our route so we detoured slightly to reach the front entrance. After a moment's discussion, we plunged in only to discover that it was immediately inhospitable to the tourist or casual observer. There was no large and empty foyer from which we could stand and look into the bar. Instead, we were at the edge of the lounge as soon as we stepped foot inside. Glasses full of alcoholic drinks were everywhere, and the smoke of many cigars hung in the air. There were no open tables, and had there been it would doubtlessly have cost us a pretty penny to occupy one for a few moments. So, with a shrug, we exited mere moments after entering. As consolation I recalled that Dorothy Parker herself had nothing good to say about the Algonquin eventually.

Onward and northward we then trudged the remaining blocks to Rockefeller Center. We turned eastward upon reaching the southwest corner and when we got to the southern entrance we joined a throng of people waiting outside the door. There were a few limos parked there at the curb, and it was quickly evident that this crowd was waiting for someone specific to emerge from the building. (The other option being that there was always a crowd waiting for whichever celebrity happened to enter or exit next.) We stuck to the back of the crowd, two or three persons deep on our side, and only had to wait a few minutes before a tall, graceful, African-American woman emerged. She was quickly hustled into a waiting limo as cameras— serious cameras!— suddenly emerged from every overcoat or bag. We were in a genuine crowd of paparazzi. Upon later discussion, Russell and I had had the same immediate guess when the woman emerged from the building— Michelle Obama. She had the same elegant hair and statuesque poise, but just as quickly we both knew we were wrong. After she had driven off and the photographer in front of me turned around to re-stow his camera, I asked aloud to no one in particular, "Who was that?" She turned out to be Serena Williams, tennis star. (I've just found a picture online that had to have been taken from one of the photogs standing right in front of us. I will make sure it accompanies this paragraph.)

From the southern entrance, we continued our path around the building and next saw the ice skating rink. There were many ice skaters having a good time, and a deep chill came up to us from the rink below. We stood there several minutes, admiring the view. Personally, I can't see this sight— as I had previously four years before— without thinking of the opening credits of The Critic, one of my all-time favorite animated shows. In that sequence, Jay Sherman, the lead character, steps on the ice of the rink, and the entire ice rink shatters, throwing all the other skaters off their skates.

I desperately needed to relieve myself at this point so we completed our circumnavigation of 30 Rock and headed back down to a diner we had seen next to The Algonquin. There's not much left to report about our day in New York city. After dinner, both of us numbed in different regions, we strolled back towards Penn Station, where we waited for the first train back to New Jersey. As much as I praised the train into the city, I was puzzled by part of the process on the way home. There are many, many tracks in and out of Penn Station, and the regular trains do not use the same terminals day in and day out. The 9:06 train back to New Jersey might be at track 8 one day and track 2 the next. To make this even more confusing the, the track does not appear on the departure board until exactly 10 minutes before the train's scheduled departure. This effectively means that you have hundreds of people loitering around the departure monitors until the departure track is revealed. At that time, these hundreds of people then simultaneously begin pushing their way through the hallways and down the staircases to reach the specific set of tracks. It's madness.

We reached Russell's parents' house again about 90 minutes or two hours after catching the train, and I hit my bed hard that night, stopping only long enough to discharge my camera battery from the camera and load it into the charger.

Part 10 and our trip to Atlantic City tomorrow.

Until next time!

"This is not a novel to be tossed aside lightly. It should be thrown with great force."— Dorothy Parker, regarding Atlas Shrugged

East Coast Wanderlog, Part 8

I bought some lottery tickets today. I don't think I'm asking too much by asking for my turn to roll around. Just once, please.

I noticed with some interest that Blizzard is sponsoring a writing competition. I will, of course, be entering this. Please wish me luck. I'm sure there will be an insane number of people submitting stories, and the odds of me getting near the top are probably about equal to the chance that I'll win the lottery. But, I'm still going to give it a shot...

Meanwhile, back on the east coast—

Russell and I left the Museum of Natural History and Hayden Planetarium at street level and emerged to a gorgeous view of Central Park. The park was covered with snow and seemed to be still and silent. I wished we had the time to walk through it, but there were too many other things on our agenda. (In case you lost the bookmark to my pictures, here it is again: Flickr. The following several paragraphs will be ones with a lot of photo-documentation.)

We headed south along the western edge of Central Park. The day was late into morning, and the air was crisp. There was a reminder of Winter in the air without it being too blunt. You had to watch your step and street corners because the ice and slush could be treacherous. All in all, it was a glorious time to be in the city.

We quickly came upon the Dakota Building and walked around to the south side. This is the very entrance of the building where John Lennon was gunned down in 1980. Now, almost 30 years later, it still doesn't seem possible that someone could have done this.

A few blocks south of this is a building whose real name I've forgotten. I think of it— as I'm sure most of the world does— as the Ghostbusters Building. It's the building where Dana (Sigourney Weaver's character) lived in the first Ghostbusters movie. The entire top structure of the building was created via special effects, but the lower portion of the building is very recognizable. Even more recognizable is the short grey church immediately next door. ("Nobody steps on a church in my town!")

There were a few other notable buildings we passed by on our way south, but I have forgotten them. This area of the city is studded with one beautiful building after another. At one point, we crossed the street and sat for a few minutes on a bench with our backs to the park— there was that much to absorb. After a few minutes, however, we continued walking south and then changed directions and headed west to Broadway. In no time we joined the throngs of people walking up and down that famous street, though we were north of the theatre district. In this neighborhood we saw the Alice Tully building as well as Lincoln Center.

Hungry, we began looking for a place to eat. Russell quickly recognized a restaurant named P.J. Clarke's by its location, and we went there for lunch. Though I am a fan of the movie Annie Hall, I would never have recognized this restaurant as Russell had done. In the final scene of the movie, Woody Allen and Diane Keaton are standing outside, on a street corner, with an open space (or park) behind and off to one side. This scene was shot from within the restaurant where we ate, and, in fact, we were just a table or two from where the cameras must have been placed. At the time, I misunderstood and had no recollection of that final scene. So, in error, I photographed the area where the cameras must have been, thinking it was where the final scene took place. Had I known otherwise, I would have aimed my camera out the window and duplicated the final shot of the movie in my camera. (In fact, I'm sure I would have sent Russell out to stand where Woody and Diane were.) Oh well, it still makes for an interesting story... and an expensive lunch!

Shortly before lunch, Russell had stepped off a curb badly, and his knee was acting up. Lunch refreshed both of us, but his knee kept us to a slower pace most of the rest of the day. My back was also beginning to act up so the slower pace was mutually beneficial.

From our lunch spot we headed down into the subway and rode across town in the most crowded car I've ever been wedged into. I didn't think I would be able to squeeze in after Russell entered. In fact, I'm sure the doors re-opened once because my butt crossed the safety line. Seeing that, however, I sucked it in, and the doors closed successfully the second time. Fortunately, we only had one or two stops to go. We emerged and caught another train headed south. We left this train at Grand Central Station.

If you've never seen Grand Central, it alone is worth the trip to New York City. There are hundreds, thousands, of people streaming around you. You walk up one set of stairs, and then down a ramp, or maybe you take two or three ramps— it doesn't matter because, unless you are hellbent on being somewhere else, your footsteps lead you up and into the most magnificent structure you've ever been in. The ceiling arches over your head and giant constellations are painted on it, making you wonder if the real constellations might not be closer. Everywhere there are people with schedules and agenda rushing past you. It makes you wonder why there aren't designated tourist zones, where one is allowed to stand and gawk. I have several pictures online of the inside of Grand Central, but not a single one of them does justice to the experience.

We left Grand Central in the latening afternoon walking easterly. In a matter of minutes the Chrysler Building loomed ahead and over us. Russell is a devoted fan of art deco, while I am only a casual admirer. I enjoy it only as much as I enjoy other architectural styles as well. The Chrysler Building is a monument to art deco, however, and it is impossible to remain neutral about the style it its presence. Stepping inside the lobby, we were overwhelmed by the murals on the walls and ceilings. The air is thick with gilt lavishness. We craned our necks for several minutes checking it all out.

From the Chrysler building we walked another block or two to the News Building. Like the Ghostbusters building earlier, this building had also been used in movies— it became the Daily Planet in the Superman movies. Far from those glory days, however, it is now owned by Fox News. Inside the lobby we discovered a giant, slowly spinning globe. Several minutes of examining the globe revealed it to be a few decades out of date, which may go a long way towards explaining Fox News...

Sadly, this is where my camera battery died, and I have no further pictures of New York City. Our day was hardly over, though, and I will continue tomorrow with Part 9.

Until next time!

"New York... When civilization falls apart, remember we were way ahead of you."— David Letterman

East Coast Wanderlog, Part 7

I am NOT at Starbucks today. I loaded everything in the car and drove off to have a spot of breakfast before settling down to write. However, when I got back to my car after eating, there was a big dump of coolant running down the parking lot, leading back to my car. So, I decided to play it safe and head home. Some days I would like to shoot my car...

Yesterday was an amazingly productive day for me. Not only did I write a lengthy post for this blog, but later in the day I wrote another in my series of erotic short stories. This one grew to 8K words! I regret that I can't share it with you, but I am trying to find a place where I can have it published.

Enough of that, though, let's get back to the travelogue:

I awoke early and well rested on my second full day on the east coast. We had done a little planning at the computer the night before, and now Russell and I were ready to tackle our trip to New York City. I can't tell you how much I love being in NYC. Ever since I went there for a long weekend with my friend Laura four years ago, I've been yearning to go back. The city makes me feel alive in a way no other city does. I wish I had a job that afforded me the opportunity to live there.

We left the house early and drove 20 minutes to the nearest train station. Even this excited me! I've read too many John Cheever stories to not be thrilled at riding into the city with the commuters. (The truth is, though, we were hours later than the commuters, who grab the earliest trains.) And what a pleasant experience these trains were compared to the Metrolink trains I've been riding for the past four years. The seats are roomy and comfortable and— wonder of wonders!— there is even an overhead rack for stowing your bags, coats, etc. The Metrolink gives you a narrow seat and then expects you to hold all your bags and other items in your lap. To to it off, the commuter train into NYC was quieter and smoother as well.

I spent most of the ride staring out the window at the passing sights. As I've said before, when in the presence of new landscape or other new sights, it's hard for me to do anything but watch. Russell kept me informed about the passing cities and sights as we sped by, and in a short time our train pulled into the famous Penn Station underneath New York City. Penn Station is one of the major hubs for transport into and out of the city.

We got off the train and started looking for the nearest escape routes to the surface. We'd already decided to start the day by having a full breakfast at a nearby diner where Russell's father used to eat daily when he worked in the city. Jack, Russell's father, worked for a time for the Musician's Guild, Local 802, just a few blocks from Penn Station. Around the corner is the Olympic Diner, an authentic NY eatery. We must have had our tourist badges on display when we walked in because we were shown to a window seat and got to spend breakfast watching the street outside. For a 'watcher' like myself, there is no better treat than enjoying steak and eggs with a cup of coffee and watching the street life happen just a few feet away. There were bundled up pedestrians and work men on foot. The vehicular traffic consisted of delivery trucks, work vans, and taxis, taxis, taxis. I enjoyed a huge private laugh when I saw a bus drive past advertising itself as a Christian Tour Bus. I thought to myself that New York City must be the shortest tour they offer!

After eating we walked around the corner to see the Local hall where Jack worked. Russell told me a fascinating story about Jack working there on 9/11. I wish I head remembered to ask Jack myself to talk about being in the city that day. You'll see a picture of the Local hall in my Flickr archive.

(If you're curious, Ground Zero was not on our itinerary for the day. Russell had been there before, and I had visited previously with Laura. It is an emotional sight that can really drain you if you're not ready for it.)

We headed back to the underground at this point, determined to ride the subway north to the Museum of Natural History. I've seen all kinds of security in my travels since 9/11, but the NY subway is one of the few places I've seen police officers patrolling with machine guns. Honestly, they weren't just large single-shot guns; these were automatic weapons, and serious ones at that! It's hard to be anything but nervous when that level of armament is standing 15 feet behind you. It doesn't matter what color uniform he's wearing— you just stand there and hope that this isn't the moment his chemicals go bad.

Day-long subway passes in hand, we dove through the turnstiles and waited for our train. There's an inherent creepiness to the New York subway system. It would take a lot of riding to inure me to the fact that I'm riding under the city of Manhattan. More than that though are the miles and levels of now unused tracks and stations that exist, buried under the city all around one. They are parallel to the active tracks in places, and they are far far below in others. I tried to tell Russell about this, but I couldn't explain it well. Finally I used as an example Vincent's lair from the TV show of Beauty and the Beast... a show which Russell had never seen. So, the point was largely lost. But, if there were ever a place from which chuds might emerge...

The Museum of Natural History basically has its own stop on the subway route. We were able to exit our train and walk over to the museum entrance without surfacing for daylight in between. It being a weekday, there were mobs of school children all around us. In fact, one mob was being ticketed through while we discussed how much we should pay. The Museum of Natural History still functions on 'the honor system,' allowing people to pay as much or as little as they like to enter. (Some special exhibits have their own fees.) There is a suggested donation rate based on age posted at the entrance. Since we were both unemployed, when it was our turn to get tickets, Russell asked if there was a suggested donation rate for the unemployed. Without a hint of sarcasm, disbelief, or displeasure, the woman said we should just pay whatever we could. It was such a magnanimous offer that I gave the entire $8 I had in my wallet at the time. Inside, we could hardly believe how nice she was and we made jokes like "The suggested donation is get the hell out," or "I suggest you visit another museum."

The museum is several floors tall and we went straight to the top, intending to walk down. As it happens, the top floor is all dinosaur exhibits, and you'll find plenty of pictures in my Flickr account. Quite by coincidence, the first door we walked through put us face to face with that iconic T. Rex skeleton towering over us. There is nothing more impressive than that! We wandered from room to room, checking out the different dinosaur displays. In one room, there were smaller dinosaur reconstructions on display, including one of my favorites, the dimetrodon. What was particularly captivating though where the elaborate wrought-iron displays housing the partial skeletons. Those parts of the original skeleton that weren't available were supplanted by the graceful housing itself.

We wandered down one set of stairs to the famous halls filled with dioramas of the world's animals. You will have seen these dioramas in countless movies and TV shows, including the recent Night In the Museum. We dodged children throughout this level, and heard a shocking level of brusqueness from some of the teachers leading their groups. We chalked this brusqueness up to inner city children and the 21st century.

After an hour or 90 minutes in the museum, we decided to skip a few floors and head down to the Hayden Planetarium, attached to the museum on the north side. The planetarium was what had originally drawn me to the museum. The planetarium is an enormous sphere housed in a giant glass structure, looking like a big greenhouse attached to the museum. There were two enclosed hallways/ramps jutting out from the museum to different levels of the planetarium. We chose the lower one, and I was a bit disappointed to find that it didn't lead us to the real show. Instead, in the lower half, there is a brief show, narrated by Maya Angelou, discussing the creation of the universe from the moment of the Big Bang onwards. After that show is finished in three or four minutes, an opposite set of doors opens, leading out to a ramp that gentle spirals down to ground level. This ramp is marked with time divisions and displays marking the 13+ billion years of our universe. It's quite a stimulating and innovative presentation which we casually strolled past. On the bottom then we checked out a few more stationary exhibits. As we were now in the museum about two hours total, we decided to hit the streets. With no other agenda, we could spend the bulk of the day in the museum alone, but there were so many other things we wanted to see.

Stay tuned for Part 8!

Until next time.

"A nickel will get you on the subway, but garlic will get you a seat."— unattributed

East Coast Wanderlog, Part 6

I don't know how this is going to go today. I walked into Starbucks and found the place completely full. So, I am consigned to the smoker's terrace outside. Lucky me, it seems like all of Starbucks' smoking customers have shown up today as well...

Russell and I left Memory Lane when we exited Wrightstown. I had quick flashes of memories or nostalgia at a few other places, but the wholesale wallowing in the past was done.

From Wrightstown we headed into Bordentown. Russell continued his running monologue of sights as we passed by, which was very entertaining. Without me really even noticing we were suddenly at Mastoris restaurant, previously agreed upon for lunch. Mastoris was in business in the 70's and it was a favorite dining spot for my family when we were in the area. Although, I didn't remember the name of the restaurant in advance of seeing Russell, my family all did. I tried to surprise my parents when I later told them about the day, but my Mom jumped the gun and asked directly if we had eaten at Mastoris!

Mastoris grew out of a diner and now hosts quite elegant dining. We asked to be seated in the old section of the restaurant, however. nothing is quite as much fun in a restaurant as opening up the menu and finding anything and everything you could want. It reminds me a lot of the west coast's Jerry's Famous Deli. But, where Jerry's tries to recreate the east coast diner experience, Mastoris is the real thing.

Full, we headed north, through Bordentown into Trenton. Trenton, along with cities like Newark and Camden, is urban New Jersey. The traffic was awful, with streets being one lane in each direction. We had to make several detours in order to get to the places Russell wanted show off, which included the house where he spent his first few years. We also visited a large beautiful park, the site of Russell's first attempts at running. (A joke about learning to run in Trenton is easy and natural to drop in here!)

Our itinerary beyond this point was unknown to me, and I had a great time just riding and looking out the window. From Trenton proper we headed to Washington's Crossing. First, however, we had to cross the most marvelous bridge, and I regret that I have no picture of it. It is a flat bridge, crossing the Delaware river very near the site of Washington's famous crossing of the Delaware. The bridge is metal. There are no superstructure supports above the level of the road. Instead, there is a metal fencing on each side of the bridge, designed, it seems, to keep cars from plummeting off the sides. I say that because the bridge is one lane in each direction and there is very nearly no extra room beyond the width of a single car to each lane. Passage is slow as every car maintains an absolutely straight path down its lane. My Mom, a hater of bridges, was sure to ask if we had crossed this bridge after I told her where we had been. Apparently, it is a bridge to remain long in the minds of those who are uncomfortable on bridges!

The park at Washington's Crossing was only an hour from closing for the day so we were spared an in-depth history lesson. I say 'spared' somewhat mockingly because I'm not a fan of American history. Don't get me wrong— I certainly appreciate the efforts and deeds of my country's forefathers— but, to me, history only gets interesting a thousand or two years ago. American history is too new to hold my interest long.

We sat and watched a small video about the events of the night of Washington's crossing of the Delaware. Surprisingly (to me) it was entertaining and informative. It was not the educational movie of my youth! Russell particularly enjoyed the video as all the actors had strong New Jersey accents, adding a layer or unintended irony. After the video, we then went to view the famous painting. That is, we viewed a new replica of the painting, as the original was moved from this location some few years back.

We then headed north (?) along the Pennsylvania side of the Delaware until we got to a little artistic community named New Hope. I had listened to a debate earlier in the day between Russell and his mother about which side of the Delaware held the better experience here. On the New Jersey side of the river was the town of Lambertville, also artistic, and apparently formerly the more tourist-y of the two. It seems now, however, that New Hope has succumbed more to tourists. We crossed back over the Delaware here into Lambertville and enjoyed a cup of coffee in a non-Starbucks cafe. The towns, as far as I could tell, were both quaint and full of little interesting shops.

Russell's wandering foot on the accelerator next took us to Princeton. To two men of liberal mindset and varying degrees of new Jersey in their blood, there are fewer more respected places than Princeton. Princeton was one of the colleges to which I had been accepted, and the choice to go elsewhere is one of the few regrets I allow myself. I can only console myself that the perceived sting of New Jersey was still relatively fresh in my mind at the time, and I didn't distinguish myself as having a liberal bent at the time. I still remember my parents cautioning me against a few of the schools to which I had been accepted— although, I do not in any way hold their counsel against them. (Princeton was too liberal for their comfort, and the university of Wisconsin, Madison, was still too recently radical.)

To say Princeton is beautiful is to overload the word 'beautiful.' It is stately and gracious, with stone and brick buildings rising everywhere up from the ground. We drove twice around the campus in admiration. If I were Russell, I could add a lot more at this point, but most of the details have left me. My head holds more memories of impressions than facts. As it was late in the day, we weren't able to stay long; although, we did park once and set out on foot. We immediately found a Lindt chocolate store, at which I purchased some dark chocolates for my sister-in-law. From there we walked into a famous bar/pub and admired the pictures of Princeton alumni on the wall. Michelle Obama has recently been added to the wall. As you can imagine, her picture really stands out.

Since I had promised to take the family out to dinner as a way of saying "Thanks" to their adoption of a stranger for a few days, we then pointed the car towards home. It was full night by this time. Fortunately, dinner was only across the street from Russell's parents' house. Literally, we had only to step ff the front porch, look both ways, step carefully across the slush and snow, and we were there. The house— for it had assuredly started as a house quite a long time ago— had housed a small market and meat counter during Russell's youth. (It was Applegate's Market then.) Now, however, it is a pleasant upscale Italian restaurant. We all had a great-tasting meal, followed by Mozart chocolates that Russell had picked up earlier. I encourage you to visit the hyper link and see for yourself what these treats are like.

Needless to say, after a second long day, I crashed hard again that night, this time enjoying a full night's sleep.

Part 7 should begin tomorrow.

Until next time!

"The CIA is made up of boys whose families sent them to Princeton but wouldn't let them into the family brokerage business."— Lyndon B. Johnson

Mouse Fatigue

Sorry, no real post today. I spent the day at Disneyland with friends, and I'm too tired to make sense right now.

See you tomorrow!

"Girls bore me, they still do. I love Mickey Mouse more than any other woman I've ever known."— Walt Disney

East Coast Wanderlog, Part 5

Monday morning. OK, technically, it's Monday afternoon, but I got up late. It's the first time I've slept in since returning home.

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