Thursday, October 02, 2003
Margaret's diary entry:
Eaton Lake Campground outside Long Lake in Adirondack Park, New York, USA
35 degrees and snowing
I've just returned from a stroll through the campground, both the open and closed-for-the season portions. The leaves aren't quite as brilliant here as we've seen in the higher elevations we've been driving through but it's beautiful nonetheless. I picked up a few of the most brilliantly colored leaves to bring back to the van and compare with my New England Leaf Identification printout I downloaded from the internet while I still had access to our handy 8 cubic foot laser printer at home. I successfully identified the Red Maple as the reddest tree (surprise, surprise), sugar maple took a close second, but I couldn't quite sort out the quaking aspen versus birch phenomenon. I'm sure it'll sort itself out before we head south for the winter.
I find myself frequently daydreaming as I often did in the year following my graduation from college when I was single and endlessly dreaming of what I might make of my life. We could settle down in some sleepy little town just inland from Santa Rosa. Roger would be able to wear his T-shirts on warm summer evenings and I would still have the convenience of civilization and the Junior College just over the hill where I could audition for dancing parts in musical productions on occasion. We could find ourselves a small house on a big piece of land where we could grow something that wouldn't take much maintenance but we could harvest it once a year and celebrate the fruits of the earth.
* * * * * * * *
These Adirondack Mountains seem like a pleasant place to settle down, though I am afraid I might not feel that way at less than optimal times of year. The villages and hamlets are especially endearing. There is so much history and richness in the natural surroundings. I feel like I've never seen so many trees in my life. The distinct differences in color make a mountain carpeted with trees more obviously populated by countless distinct organisms than what is possible to perceive from an endless expanse of green redwood trees- a site that is more familiar to my northern Californian sensibility.
Today at the Adirondack museum we learned about the complex political issues that have brought the park to its current state. It appears to the untrained observer to be endless pristine wilderness but there isn't an acre of the park that hasn't been logged at some point in the last 200 years and there was a time when as much as a million of it's six million acres was completely stripped of the trees that otherwise coat every mountain and valley.
I also learned of the origins of the Adirondack chair-- a distinctly angled outdoor chair apparently designed by somebody's father who was simply trying to make a comfortable place for he and his family to sit on the porch of his cabin while gazing upon Lake Champlain. The original design was actually called a Westport chair, after the town where it first became popular. But the wide boards required for the one-piece back of the chair became increasingly hard to find as the big trees of the region were toppled, one by one, to send down river for milling. Eventually the Westport evolved into the less expensive Adirondack Chair with backs made of several pine slats that would otherwise have been discarded as scrap.
I like it here.
Thursday, October 02, 2003
Roger's diary entry:
Subscribers to the Marogeret newsletter were given a
special treat yesterday, as they were among the first to view a picture of my
new 'doo. Armed with
nothing more than a clipper and electrical receptacle in a
campground on the shores of Lake Ontario, Margaret gave me the mohawk I have
long dreamed of. My mother's reaction was expected, which is quite a bit
different than saying the hairdo was what she expected. Here are the
contents of her entire email (capitalization was her choice, not mine):
ROGER,
OH MY GOD! WHAT DID YOU DO TO YOUR HEAD? WHAT WERE YOU
THINKING?
love,
mom and dad
Well, I'm glad she still loves me. For the record,
folks, the mohawk lasted less than five minutes. Margaret quickly shaved the
rest of the hair off, and now I'm as clean as a cue ball.
Why did we do it? One, for simplicity in camping. No
hair means nothing to get greasy and look funny in the morning. No washing or
combing. Second, it seemed like something fun to try. If we don't like it,
we'll just let it grow out, right? Third, I like surprising people. In
college I decided I didn't want to be just another boring cog in the wheel of
society. I wanted to be easily remembered, and that meant being a bit
different. Some people who know me never really saw that side of me, like most
of my ex-coworkers at Helix. But for others, there's an added dimension to my
life that I love to reveal. It is nothing shocking, mind you, like a sado-masochistic
torture chamber hidden in the house. But there have been painted fingernails
and toenails, long hair, comments from way out in left field, and my signature
thumbs up in many photographs. And of course there are my writings, like this
journal. These words will immortalize me, assuming they don't get destroyed
at some point. Will my grandchildren read them? Will excerpts appear in a museum
hundreds of years from now? Will anyone besides me even find them interesting
or valuable? It's kind of funny that I don't really like writing very much,
but I feel driven to do it to entertain and inform friends, family, and
strangers, preserve the past, and – most importantly – preserve my life in a
way that neither science nor religion will ever achieve.
Moving on to less philosophical musings, today we
moved into the heartland of the Adirondacks, in north-central New York. The
trees are at peak color changing, and we saw many vivid reds, yellows and
oranges that made the landscape look like a real life impressionist painting.
There are still substantial numbers of green leaves, though, even though
weather.com reported this area at "peak" colors two days ago. They also
reported that other areas, such as Vermont, New Hampshire, and Maine were not
yet at peak. For this reason and also because we just want to stay in one
place for more than one day, we've decided to settle at the Eaton Lake
campground for a couple days.
Our campsite is nestled on the edge of Eaton Lake
among thick stands of maple, elm and birch. The snow is gently falling
outside, and we overheard some people say a few inches could fall overnight.
How exciting! When I look up from the keyboard I see mist gently wafting
across the surface of the lake, partially obscuring the thick forest a half
mile across the lake. Kiya is running like a bullet back and forth through the
trees, thrilled to be set free from her kennel on wheels. The camp site is
mostly empty, and at least three empty sites separate us from our nearest
neighbor. I look forward to a hot shower in the morning. We plan to rent
canoes for a twenty four hour period, which will allow us a sunrise and sunset
paddle, and hopefully some great pictures.
This morning Margaret and I were talking about acid
rain. You know, the kind where sulfur emissions from industries return to
earth and acidify the lakes and soil, unbalancing the ecosystem. We were
wondering if it was still a problem, since neither of had heard the term in
years. Our questions were answered today at the Adirondack Museum, a giant
complex of several buildings in Blue Mountain Lake. It is still a
problem, and the beautifully clear lakes we see are actually a symptom, because
it means the lake is devoid of life. In 1977 a study showed that ninety
percent of the lakes about 2000 feet in Adirondack Park had no fish or plants, while the figure
was four percent in the early twentieth century. They didn't say whether
things have improved since then, but they were clear that it is still a
problem.
Monday, October 06, 2003
Roger's diary entry:
A steady drizzle inspired us to drive rather than hike two days ago, and we ended up settling down for the night at the most beautiful rest area just south of Burlington, Vermont on I-89. It was clearly inspired by colonial architecture and traditional farm life, as it looks like a cross between a huge barn and a farm house. Thick naturally stained wooden beams formed the high pointed ceiling, and the visitor area, which you walked through on the way to the rest rooms, was staffed by extremely friendly Vermontans (Vermonters? Vermontites? Vermontonians?) who eagerly asked if they could help you with anything. Fresh baked goods encased in plastic wrap were sitting in a basket at the counter, and three flavors of specialty coffee were sitting on the counter. Only a donation was asked in exchange. Flyers advertised a barn dance and the Fifteenth Annual Vermonth Sheep and Wool Festival.
Maragaret suggested we check out the sheep and wool festival, which was only a few miles away. So the next morning we set out, and we arrived right at their 10am opening. They had border collie sheep herding demonstrations, a sheep shearing demonstration, a loom demonstration, clog dancing performances, and dozens of vendors selling fresh sheared wool, hand-spun wool, machine-spun wool, carded wool, and wool products, such as mittens, sweaters, and afgans. And that was just the wool stuff. Of course, you could find carders, spinners, and needles, too. Nothing motorized here - all strictly human powered. One woman recently harvested all the green tomotatoes in her garden just before the first frost, and made a delicious green tomato relish, which she was selling by the jar. Another husband and wife team were selling mild and sharp sheep cheese they made on their family farm. A homemade video showed their production process.
Everyone was so friendly it almost didn't seem real. For example, as Margaret rummaged through piles of yarn, a woman asked if she knitted. Margaret said she only crocheted, and that she had forgotten how to knit because it's been so long since she learned. The woman promptly began teaching Margaret how to knit. Everyone had smiles on their faces, and were eager to talk.
For the last six months or so the appeal of living in a small town has grown on me. Everyone is a stranger in the city, and business interactions are usually formal and curt. I long for familiar faces, for a smile that greets me on the street and asks about my parents. I want to be friends with the parents of our children's friends.
After the festival we headed southeast to Canterbury, where the Ben and Jerry's factory sits. Admission was $3, and that gets you a six minute video, a trip to a platform overlooking the production floor, and two free tablespoons of ice cream. Very few people are satisfied by this meager sample, as nearly everyone - including us - purchased full size cones afterward. Not mentioned was the fact that Ben and Jerry sold their interests to a corporation a few years ago.
Wednesday, October 08, 2003
Roger's diary entry:
Welcome to the completely redesigned Marogeret web site!
Margaret and I have been working on this for a few weeks now. We've made it standards-compliant to allow it to work well in all modern browsers (at least as standards-compliant as Visual Studio.Net allows). We've restructured the links to make it easier to navigate. Finally, we've gone with an all-new style that we hope pleases your eye.
Many of the links aren't working yet, but we'll be working on them as soon as we can. Stay tuned!
Tuesday, October 14, 2003
Roger's diary entry:
So much has happened in the last several days, I don't know how I'm going to fit it all in before I collapse from exhaustion (it's already 10 pm).
Back in New Hampshire, we were the only people the White Lake State Park Campground. Not even staff was anywhere to be seen! We picked a choice spot next to the lake, and enjoyed a quiet night. The showers still worked, so we were able to get cleaned up.
We saw a sign for pick-your-own apples along the highway, so we pulled into the gravel driveway and parked next to a red barn. There was a large farm house on the grounds, and small groves of apple trees surrounded all sides. The small, unlabeled store contained a few apples stuffed into several bags, but that's not what we wanted. We wanted to pick them right off the tree. The aging hippy behind the counter directed us to the proper orchard, and we told him we were living in the van and travelling the country. We went out to the orchard, where Kiya bounced happily among the trees. After we had filled our bag, we returned to the store. I reached for my wallet.
"How much do I owe ya?"
"Just take 'em. I was once starting out like you."
I guess the Volkswagon van, left-wing stickers plastered on the rocket box, and Margaret's granola dress and the hippy-ish t-shirt I was wearing caused him to wax nostelgic about the good 'ol 60's, when he probably did the same thing. I didn't bother to tell him we owned our own home, had a GPS, laptop, and cell phone, and could easily afford a $3 bag of apples.
As we headed into the southern half of New Hampshire on our way to Boston, the cars became more frequent, the towns started to run into each other, and the quiet solitude of country driving was replaced by the hectic pace of urban workers rushing home from a hard day in the office. Margaret and I started a new game. The first one to spot a Dunken Donuts would slam a fist on the dashboard and shout "Dunken Donuts"! By the end of the day Margaret had a slim lead of 9-8.
There is a wonderful Chinese restaurant in Mansfield, MA called Cheng Du. They have the most amazing crab rangoons, and every time I travelled to Mansfield on business I would stop there first. This time was no exception. We met a couple ex-coworkers for lunch, and I had a wonderful time devouring the all you can eat buffet and catching up with old friends.
After lunch we spent a lazy afternoon in a Mansfield city park. The weather was sunny and in the mid 70's. Just beautiful! Margaret read, and I worked on our web site until the laptop battery ran out, and then I read one of my programming magazines. Grade school and high school children were practicing football nearby, and I enjoyed watching them.
Next stop was Washington, DC for the annual Freedom From Religion Foundation convention. Traffic was very busy the entire way, and we encountered the first rest area that wouldn't let us sleep overnight. That was Connecticut, and they had a maximum two hour stay posted prominently in the parking lot. We hopped on the internet and quickly found a WalMart a few miles away.
The closest campground to DC was the Cherry Hill Campground, which I can only describe as an RV metropolis. They offered a hot tub, swimming pools, full hookups whether you wanted them or not (including cable TV), an activity hall with disco ball and dancing, gift shop, grocery store, and even a bus stop right on the grounds. We didn't want any of it, but still had to pay $37 a night (thank goodness for the AAA discount, which reduced it from $42.)
The convention was a lot of fun, and we really enjoyed the talks by famed lawyers Alan Dershowitz and Michael Newdow. FFRF does a lot of work trying to protect the wall between church and state, and this is a benefit we all enjoy, regardless of our religious preferences. In fact, it was mentioned at the conference that a strong church/state separation greatly benefits religion because it is therefore not regulated by the government. That explains why America is - by far - the most religious of all western countries.
Wednesday, October 15, 2003
Roger's diary entry:
"The day we nearly died"
Those who know me also know I have many stories that start with "That was the day I nearly died." Not that my life is particularly dangerous, but I always get the listener's attention this way.
So, now that I have your attention, let's get to the meat of the story. In this particular case, we nearly had a blowout from - not one - but three of our tires. They were damaged so severely that there is little doubt they would have lasted much longer. The right front tire had a large, deep gash in the side. The right rear had three-inch diameter flat spots worn at even intervals around the inner edge of the tire, some protruding through the steel belt. And - I'm saving the best for last - the left rear tire was no longer round! If you were to roll a tennis ball along the circumference, it would have bobbed up and down like a country highway in the hills of Kentucky. And one spot was worn so flat you could see two layers of steel belting completely worn through!
You're probably thinking that an unround tire would make its presence known to the occupants of the vehicle, right? Well, you'd be exactly right. We've been noticing a vibration for some time now, and it's been getting worse. At twenty miles per hour, there's a distinct thump-thump-thump. At forty the entire cabin begins to resonate like the hull of an airliner about to disintegrate. At fifty five the resonation disappears and a subtle and quick whumpity-whumpity-whumpity takes over. It's been quite annoying, and has gotten worse in the last couple weeks. On the 10th I told Margaret that I should take a look at the tires and see if anything looked unusual. That's when the shit hit the fan. First, I noticed the abnormal wear on one of the tires. Then, when I showed Margaret what I found she cried out "Holy, bejesus!" and promptly went for her dainty folding mirror. Upon inspection she found the area worn through two layers of steel belt. We immediately put the spare on the worst tire and kept our driving to an absolute minimum until we could sort things out.
The last time we had our tires balanced and rotated, the mechanic told me the two rear rims were bent and might cause a small vibration in the cabin. That's why we weren't concerned at first. But now we were faced with the possibility of bent rims ruining our tires. Do we need new rims as well? Ok, this is going to take a bit of work (and a nauseating amount of cash) to sort out.
Because of the abnormal wear on the two rear tires, we decide we need two new rims. But the spare rim is good and can therefore be used to replace one of the bent ones, and the least bent of the bent rims can be relegated to the spare. I figure we need to buy one new rim. So we walk into the nearest VW dealer and order one for $130. It will be in the next day.
Next up were new tires. One can't just walk into a Big O Tires and expect to get new tires for a Eurovan Camper. No, special tires are needed that can handle the 6,000 plus pounds of this behemoth. Tirerack.com had been recommended on the Yahoo! Groups ev_update list, so I went to their web site and ordered four new Michelin Agilis tires for $450 total. They are to be shipped to a nearby tire shop.
Now we must wait for the shipments to arrive. I remember that my friend Anna has grandparents in the area. Anna had previously suggested we visit them, as they are apparently quite friendly and would be happy to befriend complete strangers. So I called up Anna, who immediately called her grandparents. Anna called back and said we were invited to stay with them. Names, address and a phone number were exchanged, and we programmed their address into our GPS and followed the highlighted route straight to their driveway.
We are greeted by an enthusiastic elderly couple, who promptly invited us in and give us the scoop. Rosetta started first.
"We're so glad you came! We are quite informal, as you will soon see. I'll tell you how the operation works, and then we'll leave you alone. We've got our own lives and plans, so you'll have to fend for yourself around here. Help yourself to the kitchen. Make yourself at home. You'll stay in the rec room. Stanley will show you how the bed works in a minute. Here's your key. What are your plans for the next few days? Do you need any assistance? What can we do to help?"
Questions, comments and statements of fact come in rapid-fire succession from both Rosetta and Stanley. We can barely answer one question when one of them would change the subject to something else. At one point I asked Stanley, who had just mentioned how his arthritis was particularly bad lately, if he had any advice to a young fella about staying healthy. He talked nonstop for twenty minutes, and only the first couple minutes had anything to do with health. But I learned about his long and distinguished career working with computers and technology. And he's still at it. He's currently cowriting a book proposing a new way of looking at education.
Both of them are still incredibly active and their brains are sharper than most, regardless of age. Their wit, knowledge, and vocabulary dwarfed mine, and more than once they marveled at how we could not be familiar with a certain term or name. I have never met two people more qualified to be contestants on Jeapardy. They would surely kick ass.
The next day they generously drove us to the subway station so we could spend a day visiting downtown Washington, D.C. We ended up spending the whole day in the American History Museum, but managed to get in a whirlwind walk past the Lincoln Memorial, Korean War Memorial, and Vietnam War Memorial in the last hour before heading back to their place. Rosetta broke her own rule about making us fend for ourselves by having a special dinner of green salad, cantelope, salmon, noodles, and Entenman's prepared especially for us, even though the main meal was served two hours earlier.
Which brings us to today. Whew! We picked up the new rim from the VW dealer and drove to the auto shop, where the recently shipped tires were ready to be installed. This was a small, simple shop. They used jacks to lift up each axle. No auto lift here. But they seemed competent. As the mechanic inspected the worn tires, he informed us that a front end alignment is badly needed as well as new shocks. They couldn't do the work, but he recommended a National Tire and Wheel shop a few miles away.
We marveled at the smooth ride as we drove over to NTW, even as we silently cursed the idea of spending more time and hassle fixing a new problem we didn't know we had.
Well, NTW couldn't lift our vehicle due to the 5800 pound maximum load rating of their lifts, but they recommended yet another place called Reliable Tire, who could handle larger rigs like ours. So that's where we headed. We walked in the front office, and I explained our situation.
"It's first come, first served around here, so if you get here by 6:30 tomorrow we'll be able to get you in."
"Can we sleep in your parking lot?", Margaret asked
"Sure. You wouldn't be the first."
So here we are, sitting in their parking lot, waiting for morning to arrive. Sure hope they have the shocks in stock...
Friday, October 17, 2003
Margaret's diary entry:
The Dilemma of the Moment:
The challenges of living on the road deviate dramatically from those faced in a sedentary lifestyle.
For quite some time now we have been confused by the reliability of the latch on one of the storage cupboards in the back of our van. We call this cupboard "the vanity" (so named because of a mirror strategically place on it's outer door's surface for self-inspection useful in determining the urgency with which we must pursue acquiring our next shower). The vanity's latch is made of plastic and upon inspection gives no indication as to a need for concern regarding it's dependability in a variety of driving situations. The door even emits a satisfyingly loud "click" when shut.
However, some time back in September we heard this click while driving along some lonely Montana road. "Hmph" Roger and I expressed in unison after glancing back for a clue as to the source of the sound. (There comes a point when it is neither interesting nor necessary to use words to communicate with someone with whom you've spent 23.5 hours a day with for a number of weeks.) Several days later I thought I saw a glimpse of the inside surface of the vanity's door in the rear view mirror as I turned a corner. Another audible "click" moments later confirmed my suspicions. Roger and I soon concluded that we needed to be more diligent about closing and latching the vanity door.
You may be asking yourself "Who cares if the cupboard door opens and closes now and then? Are things following out of it? Does the mirror create distracting reflections as it swings back and forth?"
Well, the trouble is our dear, sweet, mutt Kiya. She is a gentle sort, the type who feels the need to bark assertively at such benign objects as an empty Oreo cookie package wavering in the breeze of a New York Wal Mart parking lot. When something moves suddenly or creates an unexpected noise in the back of the van she tends to jump up with a fearful look in her eye and move up to the front of the van (her rear legs only partially obstructed by her tail she had placed firmly between them) towards us where we pet her and verbally reassure her that we didn't intend to have her rudely awoken from her peaceful slumber by the tennis shoe or dish scrub brush we neglected to adequately secure. Occasionally, she is so struck with fear that she attempts to shimmy through the chaos between our captain's chairs and into the passenger seat's leg space.
The vanity latch problem seemed to disappear over the following weeks but has since appeared again. Yesterday we pledged to make closet-latching a regular part of our pack-up-and-go routine. This morning our worst fears were realized; the latch has a mind of it's own.
While tootling along a curvy blue highway in south western Connecticut the latch emitted a particularly loud "clomp". Kiya promptly pushed her way through our assorted power and data cords, past our US Atlas and, being disrupted by my strategically placed leg, turned herself around and plopped her bum down directly on top of the power inverter. I began the ritual comforting but her heart had barely begun to slow its rapid, adrenaline-induced pounding before the engine revved up dramatically and a particular four letter word was emitted from the seat to my left. Roger had been using Cruise Control and Kiya's bum had apparently shifted the Automatic transmission lever forward, red-lining the engine and triggering our pituitaries to dump a little adrenaline into our circulatory systems. Thankfully, the engine got smart and slowed itself down before any significant damage was done and I gave Kiya a swift shove that hurt only the few pages displaying Connecticut, Delaware and Florida in our atlas.
Needless to say, something needs to be done about that latch. But being another one of those intermittent problems with an unknown cause the solution continues to elude us.
Monday, October 20, 2003
Roger's diary entry:
Looks like our favorite anti-terrorist should have read his daddy's book. This is an excerpt from the book A World Transformed written 5 years ago by George Bush the elder in which he explains why he did not go after Saddam Hussein after the end of the Gulf War:
"Trying to eliminate Saddam… would have incurred incalculable human and political costs. Apprehending him was probably impossible… we would have been forced to occupy Baghdad and, in effect, rule Iraq. …[T]here was no viable ''exit strategy'' we could see, violating another of our principles. Furthermore, we had been self-consciously trying to set a pattern for handling aggression in the post-Cold War world. Going in and occupying Iraq, thus unilaterally exceeding the United Nations' mandate, would have destroyed the precedent of international response to aggression that we hoped to establish. Had we gone the invasion route, the United States could conceivably still be an occupying power in a bitterly hostile land."
Tuesday, October 21, 2003
Roger's diary entry:
Well, our tire story ended more happily than I expected. The tire place aligned the front tires for $62 and did not recommend changing the shocks. They inspected them and found no leakers. They said it was possible the wear we noticed on the right rear was the result of an imbalanced tire, not necessarily a bad shock. So, with our fingers crossed, we resume our holiday.
We've come back to patriot country, where the leaves are now at their peak splendor in Massachusetts. It's hard to find a campground open this time of year, but a little digging turned up a KOA in Middleboro. I don't usually like paying for all the useless extras like mini-golf and playground, and this time was no exception. But we did get a heck of a bonus this time. Daniel Rodriguez was camping in the next unit!
Don't feel bad. I never heard of him, either. But he isn't a nobody like me. Daniel is a recording artist known as "America's Beloved Tenor". Or so his web site says. He was a New York City police officer when September 11 hit. Soon after he was consoling a nation with a cappella performances of "The Star-Spangled Banner" and "God Bless America". There were appearances on "The Oprah Winfrey Show" and "Larry King Live". Now he was signing 1400 CD's of his latest release in site 281 of a KOA campground. Right next to us.
We talked a couple minutes. He wasn't shy about listing his accomplishments, and I filled him in on The Gypsy Tour. Later, I was tempted to take a beer over and talk some more, but I didn't want to appear like I was being sociable only because he was famous, which was of course true. Besides, maybe he wanted peace and quiet. I left him alone.
Today I started a five-day gig with my old employer, Helix. The planets kind of lined up just right for this to happen, as I wasn't planning on working again for many months. But I happened to be in the neighborhood, and Helix was on a data conversion project and could use an extra hand. It will be quite a challenge over the next few days, but I'm up for it. After Saturday Margaret and I are again free to resume the nomadic life.
Thursday, October 30, 2003
Roger's diary entry:
NEWS FLASH!!! The house has gone under contract! There was an offer, then we counteroffered, then they countered the counteroffer, and finally we accepted. Whew! The scheduled close date is December 1, so we have a month to get back to Colorado and get our stuff out of there.
Suddenly it's become very real - the idea that we will be homeless. Our entire lives will be contained within a storage shed and our van. It's a sobering thought, and one that I would have thought unthinkable a few years ago as I was trying to establish my career. Back then I felt very motivated to make something of myself - to prove to myself and the world that I can contribute something to society. And now that I have (I think), I feel a desire to drop back and just enjoy myself for a while. To live for me. It won't be long before I'll be feeling the need to get back into the rough and tumble business world, but not now. Now I want to relax.
But before the relaxing can begin, we have to move out of the house. We've decided to take two weeks to stroll back. We'll cross the heart of the heartland, passing through Pennsylvania, West Virginia, Kentucky, and whichever states lie beyond that look interesting.
Enough looking forward. What's been happening the last few days? My gig with Helix ended four days ago. It felt good to work again, especially since I knew it was temporary. I hope we can work together again in the future.
We spent an evening in downtown Providence, Rhode Island, visiting Margaret's cousin Paul, who is a freshman at Brown University. It was parent's weekend, and as luck would have it, Paul's parents were also there. We all strolled along the river at dusk, enjoying the last WaterFire event of the season. This is a weekly event in the summer where small campfire-sized bonfires are placed in floating metal baskets every few dozen feet in the river. Invisible speakers loudly play New Age music, creating an eery atmosphere that made me feel like I was about to be initiated into a cult. It was a pleasant experience, and Margaret and I both suddenly wished we were back in college.
We picked up two weeks worth of mail at the Mansfield, MA post office. We had called PostNet a week earlier and asked them to ship all our mail general delivery. Getting mail is always an exciting event for me, and this time was no exception. Several new magazines are now in my "to read" pile.
Then it was on to New York City. We took a ferry to Long Island and drove west along the north fork, passing by farms, fruit and vegetable stands, and wineries. We stopped by one and enjoyed a few free samples. Finally we worked our way into the busy urban outskirts of New York to Smithtown, where my ex-coworker Greg and his family lived. They graciously insisted we not sleep in the nearby WalMart parking lot. They have a charming three year old boy who drew Margaret and me several drawings - all of which were cars. He likes cars. A lot. This little guy can draw you the hood ornament symbols of every major automaker. I was amazed.
We spent one whirlwind day walking about midtown Manhatten in New York City. We toured the United Nations, where we saw the big rooms where each desk has a different country name on it. Then we walked to Central Park and visited Strawberry Fields, a 2.5 acre garden whose caretaking was funded by a donation from Yoko Ono, John Lennon's wife. A long-haired middle aged man strummed a guitar and sang Beatles songs next to the famous Imagine mosaic. I sat on the bench and listened for a few minutes, thinking briefly about how the Beatles affected not just my life, but millions of people's lives, and how just one person cut John's life much, much too short.
Our walk back to Penn Station took us past Time's Square, where we saw The Late Show's studio, MTV studios, CBS studios, and ridiculous excesses of commercialism and advertising. The streets were packed with honking cars, cabs, and delivery trucks, and the streets were packed with thousands of people trying to mind their own business.
That was yesterday. There was much more to see in New York, but Margaret and I couldn't stomach another $40, hour and a half train ride into the city, so we filled up the van's water tank at Greg's house and headed west. Over the George Washington bridge into New Jersey, and continuing west as fast as our little van would take us, toward Pennsylvania. And that's where we are now, in a WalMart parking lot in Reading. We aborted a last minute plan to tour the Hershey's factory in Hershey, since we found out they don't actually give tours. So instead we'll drive through Lancaster County, well known Amish country.
It is really nice to be out of the city.