OK, It's Not Christmas Decor, But...

...I'm a beginner at this! Think of this as a transitional look. I'm just learning how (with much cussing and spitting) to make changes to the template for my blog.

And if I can find a Santa hat small enough, I'll include a pic of one of the hounds in it, just for Virginia Gal!

A New Look

I'm hoping to do a little holiday redecorating at the Room very soon. Until then, note the addition of the World AIDS Day button in the sidebar. Take a new look at AIDS by checking out one of sites listed on the Google page for World AIDS Day.

A Snowy Day Might Change My Mind

I think I've run out of holiday steam. Thanksgiving used it all up, and I'm pooped! And I think this just might be a good thing.

Still feeling the holiday momentum, we bought a Christmas tree over the weekend. Yes, it's fake. It's a pre-lit tree, and it's slim, so we'll be able to get it into the attic for storage. The tree is up, the lights are on, and there is a tree skirt at the bottom. And that's as far as we got. I'm seriously considering skipping the ornaments this year. Or maybe I'll just put candy canes and garland on it. I guess I'll have to put the star on top.

I started to get the wreaths out for the windows, when I realized that this year's home improvement project (we converted the garage to a family room) means that we need 4 more wreaths for the 4 new windows. Maybe I'll just put one wreath on the door, and leave it at that.

I don't feel like looking for the Christmas bears (I collect bears) or the multiple little holiday tchotchkes I put out every year. I leave candles in the windows all year long, and I'm starting to think that they're good enough to double as Christmas decor, too. I'm not even sure about hanging the stockings or baking cookies. Think of the freedom in January: no grumpy clean-up day, putting away decorations and vacuuming away the last vestiges of glitter, no sense of nakedness in a house devoid of its colorful Christmas raiment.

I'm not saying all of this in the spirit of Scrooge. I just want a simple holiday this year. I want to enjoy the season, go for frosty walks and sip mugs of hot chocolate, drive around and look at everyone else's holiday displays. I want to forgo the madness and just enjoy a simple, pleasant day with the people I love.

One thing could change my mind about all of this. A snowy day off could catapult my latent winter genes into high holiday gear, sending me into a decorating-baking-gift shopping frenzy. So the question is this: will we have snow before Christmas Eve? What's your bet?

The Cup Overflowing

The cleaning and the cooking are done. The leftovers have been wrapped and relegated to the fridge for the time when the impossible happens: we feel hungry and we want to eat. It's difficult to imagine that moment right now, but I know from years of experience that the time will come.

The good china has been placed back into the cupboard for its long winter's nap and the kitchen has returned to normal. Sadly, the guests have gone home, and the house has returned to its usual quiet state. Only the fancy tablecloth lingers as a reminder that this has been an unusual day. The tablecloth will soon be removed as well, exposing the everyday look of the wood table beneath.

Tonight my cup overflows. Good friends are more precious than gold, though I don't always take the time to let them know. My friends, if you read this, know how valuable you are to me: Zelda and Bubba, Pax, Aunt Bubby, and my blog friends, too!

I'm thankful for my family, as well, in spite of all of the usual quirks and such. Imperfect beasts, all of us! Pax's post about the Thanksgiving Day Drinking Game really struck home, and was quoted today at my little gathering. Luckily, no hangovers here, though I owe someone a Chocolate Martini! She knows who she is, and she must collect it soon!

I am most especially thankful for my husband, who was right by my side, helping in all things for the past two days (and always) as we prepared for the holiday meal. He is a rare treasure, but don't tell him I said so!

Somehow the day flew by. One holiday is fading into memory as we prepare to haul out the holly, deck the halls, and put up the tree for the next. There is a rough draft script for the coming holiday, but we don't have to pull it out and dust it off until tomorrow. Just for tonight, we can pause and reflect on the satisfying final curtain for Thanksgiving 2005.

Credit Where It's Due

Mr. Bush sounded much more presidential today when he discussed the controversy over the lead up to the Iraq war. While I feel fairly certain that he has not read my blog ;-) it's as if he saw my post of a week ago, What Divides Us.

Mr. Bush used much more respectful words and intonation in his comments to the press today, and he retreated from the position that those who question his motives for the war are unpatriotic.

Frankly, the insinuation that to question the administration is to aid the enemy is one of the most frightening things I have heard in my entire life. If we cannot question our leaders, then we have lost everything that the founding fathers fought for more than 2 centuries ago.

So thank you, Mr. President, for showing some class today. Here's a toast to many more such occasions!

My Mom

My mom has the Fickle Finger of Fate, which she inherited from her mother. I suppose there’s a pretty good chance that it was passed down the maternal line for several generations before it made its way into my home. And no, it’s not THAT finger!

You might know what I’m talking about; it’s the finger that wags in the air while some truth, ultimatum or homily is being delivered. With one finger, along with some precious one liners, Mom controlled my behavior very effectively.

When I struggled against eating the crust on the edges of the bread, Mom very seriously told me, finger in action, “Oh, you have to eat the crust; it makes your hair curly.” I took two messages from this:

1.Bread crust has magical, medicinal qualities
2.Curly hair is good

I soon began seeking out the end pieces to eat, looking for more crust. And to this day I long for curly hair. (Ironically, my sister, with her lovely natural curls, has always straightened her hair. Wonder if Mom was somehow behind that development?)

When mom suspected that a fib was in play, she’d whip out the finger and ask, "Now is that a true lie or a false lie?” Stymied, I’d give up and confess. OK, I admit it, I was an easy mark. I suppose deep down I just wanted to tell the truth.

As I got a little bit older and started to rebel a little bit against the true lie/false lie double bind, she added, “Tell the truth and spite the devil!” Our home was by no means a place of hellfire and brimstone, but I was an imaginative tot, so this was another very effective ploy. I saw myself as striking a blow for truth, justice and the American Way simply by being truthful. Little children everywhere were the front line against evil.

Mom reinforced truth-telling by making it clear that I’d always be better off if she found out about bad behavior directly from me rather than finding out on her own. I learned to confess quickly and get it over with. And I still tell on myself today, though not necessarily to Mom. In the long run, this trait not only kept me out of trouble as a kid, but has become the foundation for a good marriage. The Fickle Finger of Fate dealt me a good hand.

I’m not sure just how it happened, but the Fickle Finger of Fate seems to have skipped a generation in our family. Neither of my siblings has it, and I don’t have it either, but Mom continues to employ it regularly, so there is still the possibility that he next generation will take up the tradition.

Be Careful Out There!

I’d like to extend a very special thank you to all of the folks who left huge piles of leaves along the shoulder of the street where I live. They provided me with a challenging opportunity to display evasive driving maneuvers this evening when I had to yield to emergency vehicles, which were speeding to the scene of a very serious accident ahead.

How do I know this was a very serious accident? Because every fire truck for a ten mile radius showed up. I should point out that there was no visible fire when I passed the scene, but the trucks continued to stream in. More were arriving as I got off of the road and safely made it into my driveway (no thanks to the efforts of local emergency personnel, or to my husband, who had the driveway blocked when I got there). All of those fire trucks, a couple of ambulances and a police car or two, and NOBODY WAS DIRECTING TRAFFIC around this chaotic, poorly lit site.

All cynicism aside, this looked like a bad accident, and my thoughts are with the folks involved. There aren’t too many accidents on this road, but when they happen they are often deadly. People just go too fast, and they don’t show any consideration for those who are waiting to make turns. They seem to be annoyed when they have to slow down for a car turning into a driveway. This is totally asinine because it’s never a very long wait. It mostly requires a brief slow down. But heaven forbid that they would have to show courtesy to someone else.

I guess I’m especially annoyed by this because my nephew had a very serious accident last winter on his way to work. He had started a new job several months before, and he loved it, but he can’t do that job anymore. He was waiting to make a turn that morning, not two weeks after Christmas, when someone rear-ended him and pushed his vehicle into oncoming traffic. Sadly, tragically, he was not in his new F-350 pickup, which was in for service. He was in an older, smaller Toyota pickup. 12 hours of surgery, 4 months of in-patient rehab (wearing a clamshell), and 1 new wheelchair later, he is still fighting to regain the ability to walk.

I’m sure that the person who hit him didn’t mean to do it, and he has to live with the knowledge that he caused this much harm to another human being. That thought would drive me crazy, and I mean that quite literally. Not one of us can say that we haven’t had a momentary lapse while driving that had the potential to be disastrous. But the long term impact can be so very serious, so life-altering, that we need to take care, both with our own lives and with the lives of others. So be careful out there, OK?

Moonstruck

Last evening, I found myself compelled to gaze at the full moon. It was beautiful, surrounded as it was by a colorful ring of light, and with clouds passing across its face. I took some woefully inadequate pictures with my digicam - this is just about the best of them:

Later, my husband, moved by the same compulsion to gaze at the moon, pulled the telescope out of its dusty corner and set it up. The following pics were taken with the digicam through the telescope in my back yard.

I'll have to get some batteries for my 35 mm SLR. I'd love to see what it can do with this kind of a shot!

What Divides Us

I was just about to start writing about the things that unite us as Americans. I'm so very tired of the Great Divide between left-leaning and right-leaning Americans. Even those of us who tend to be centrist have found ourselves being shoved rudely toward one or another of the political poles by the hatred and invective expressed by our so-called leaders.

I sat down to type, planning to consider how we might go about healing the animosity, how we might begin to open up the dialogue between the two sides. It was in my mind that we must start with the things that we agree about. Surely there is far more to agree upon than there is to quarrel about. Surely?

As I began to log on to Blogger, the president came onto the TV screen, broadcast live from Alaska. With his face beet red, tension in its every line, he began a tirade, a veritable diatribe, attacking the Democratic party and accusing them of,"playing politics," with the issues surrounding the Iraq war.

The president used the Rovian technique of calling my party "The Democrat Party," with the practiced sneer in his voice that always accompanies the words. The not-so-subtle implication is that Democrats can't possibly be Democratic. The extreme right wing says Democrat like they want to say Democrap. I'm fighting the desire right now to start calling them Repulsicans. Name-calling only feeds the fire of hatred in the long run. The reason for an argument may long be forgotten, but an unfortunate name hurled during the fray can hurt forever. Unfortunately, this seems to be the point of the technique for the White House, not just a sorry by-product. They seem to want to cause long-term, irreparable harm.

My stomach turned as the president spoke, and I could no longer see the things that unite us. The rift is too great right now, and the things that divide us are looming too large too see past them.

I don't expect everyone to share my values and my political views. I don't expect a president I didn't vote for to represent my position. But I long to return to a day when we Americans showed some basic courtesy to one another. I want to feel pride in my president's bearing. I would like to respect my president, but, Mr. President, I cannot respect you. You are what divides us. You are the trouble with the United States of America today. When you sneer at the Democrats you sneer at me. In fact, you sneer at close to half of the country. I feel that I am personally insulted by my president on a regular basis.

This is what I ask: please assume the mantle of a true leader. Please stop the hatred. Yes, I know that both sides have to back off, but YOU FIRST. You're the president: act like it. And send Karl Rove back to the sandbox to kick sand in the faces of the other kids. That behavior doesn't belong in the White House.

Unposted

Some of my best thoughts never make it to paper, real or virtual. Last weekend we had beautiful fall weather and I had all sorts of ethereal flights of fancy of posting about, “A Room With a View.” I’ll probably use that title for a post someday, maybe over the winter, when we have our first snowfall.

As I looked out the windows at the flaming colors and, “saw red,” I was ready to compose all sorts of prose about leaves drifting to the ground one at a time, “as if being dropped by an unseen prop master, to create a perfect autumn scene.” By the end of the day, I wanted to say, “My lawn looks as if fall has fallen.”

Well, this week, I’m not feeling quite so romantic. My lawn looks like fall has fallen and it can’t get up. All of our oak trees seem to have dropped their leaves at once. The pine trees have dropped needles all over, too. I see work ahead, a whole lot of work, lots and lots and lots of work.

I must confess that the luxury of seeing autumn through a poet’s eyes was mine alone in our household. While I sat back and mused last weekend about the splendid fall, my husband was already busy, cleaning gutters and installing shields in an attempt to keep any further detritus from getting into them. Yet even he, wonderful human being that he is (I’m planning to have him read this, can’t you tell?), commented on the amazing colors and the pleasure of the cooler temperatures.

All of this unwanted ground cover did provide one moment of comic relief for me late this week. One of my hounds, while snuffling amongst the leaves in the back yard, brought her head up with a pair of pine needles pinched onto the end of her nose, just like a clothes pin. She missed the humor that I found in the moment. I wish I had a photo to share, a picture being worth a thousand words, but this is one of those images that must exist in memory alone. Unposted.

What's on your desktop?

What's on your desktop background? Here's mine right now:

I change my background frequently. I often use my own photos. I came across this image tonight, and I had to use it for a little while. Anyone who knows dachshunds knows that this is quite an apt portrayal!

Anderson Cooper, News on the Move!

CNN has replaced NewsNight with Aaron Brown with Anderson Cooper 360. I miss Aaron already. I like Anderson Cooper, and his show was fine in the 7 pm I’m-not-into-jeopardy-tonight time slot. At 10 pm, I want a serious look at the day’s news with a mature journalist. Sorry Anderson, that’s not you. While it may be pithy to compare the premature graying of your hair to premature ejaculation (in an article titled, Going Gray), it doesn’t create the reliable newsperson image that imbues confidence in your reporting. Why is a self-indulgent article about Anderson Cooper’s gray hair important enough to warrant a link on the homepage of a major journalism outlet? Especially given the fact that this outlet recently cleaned house at its morning show (American Morning) because they wanted to do away with the fluff in their line up in order to provide more hard news.

Anderson’s style of journalism is participatory – he is part of the story. How many times have we seen Anderson, eyes half closed against wind-born debris (hope he has a good ophthalmologist) and hunkered down next to a cement wall as the maelstrom of the latest hurricane threatens to carry him away? I guess this is effective with some viewers, but I find it to be something of an annoying gimmick. The execs seem to be saying, “Let’s get viewers by sending a reporter out to be hammered by Charlie, or Dennis, or Katrina. If it’s too soon to get the story from the soon-to-be-battered residents of the area, then we will be the story.” Viewers get hours of coverage of (not from, but of) soggy correspondents who are hoarse from yelling over the wind. I especially love it when the networks preempt other programs so that we can watch this coverage without interruption.

With frequent trips to remote locations, Anderson Cooper keeps the news on the move. Even in the studio, he keeps the visual stimulation quotient high by having backgrounds that constantly swirl and flash with colorful impressionistic images. This is often accompanied by sound effects and driving music. Again, OK at 7 pm, not so OK at 10 pm.

As I said earlier, I like Anderson Cooper. I just miss the thoughtful look at the news that I could depend on Aaron Brown to provide. It seems like an era in journalism has passed. Peter Jennings is gone, Ted Koppel is about to retire, and now Aaron Brown is gone from CNN. I know that there are still some good journalists out there, but most of them seem to have gone over to the once a week news magazine format. So I guess for the time being I’ll have to choose between MSNBC, Fox, and Anderson Cooper: News on the Move.

Missing Monday

SHEENA LEE COTTO

Case Type: Endangered Runaway
DOB: Mar 1, 1988
Sex: Female
Missing Date: Aug 24, 2005
Race: White/Hisp
Age Now: 17
Height: 5'4" (163 cm)
Missing City: SOUTH BRUNSWICK TOWNSHIP
Weight: 120 lbs (54 kg)
Missing State: NJ
Hair Color: Brown
Missing Country: United States
Eye Color: Brown
Case Number: NCMC1030857

Circumstances:

Sheena was last seen on August 24, 2005. She may be in the company of an adult male. They may still be in the local area or they may have traveled to Elizabeth, New Jersey. Sheena's nickname is Nini.

Case Handled By:
National Center for Missing & Exploited Children

YO!

We're trying to plan an overnight in Philly - take in a Sixers game, do Philly things the next day. Does anybody know the best way to get from Center City to the Wachovia Center without taking the car? It would be nice to park the car at the hotel and not move it until we leave.

The Septa website trip planner isn't giving me great results, but it looks like we could take the Orange Line, if it's running at that time of day. Is it safe? Should we just take a cab? Suggestions appreciated!

Prepare to Give Thanks

Having invited guests for Thanksgiving dinner, I have now paused to take stock of the Room. What is it about issuing holiday invitations that immediately highlights all of the flaws of your household? The minute the words leave your mouth, it's like an automatic zoom lens focuses in on each fault in rapid succession, creating a documentary that will replay in your brain every spare moment until the guests arrive. Carpet in spare room: dingy; clean or replace! Soffit in kitchen: dusty; clean soffit and wash cookie jars. Bathroom and hallway: need to be painted (doubt I'll get to this one, guests will have to settle for clean). Area rugs in Room: shot, not much improved by recent shampooing - replace! Hounds (2): need baths and nails must be trimmed! Windows: BOY do they need to be washed! And of course the list goes on.

So I guess we'll be pretty busy for the next few weeks, cleaning and shopping and painting (yeah, right). And then there's the yard to think about, and the cars to polish (this will be Mr. Merci's first priority, as strange as it may sound), and, OH YEAH, the meal to plan, and the FOOD shopping, and the cooking...

And when it's all over, I'll give thanks in my spruced-up Room, with good memories and all of the satisfaction of a fait accompli!

Sidewinders and Tombstones (or Halloween Down the Shore)

We took a walk in Sea Isle City tonight. Yes, I know that this post is labeled as a Halloween post, and I realize that yesterday was Halloween. Close enough. You didn't really think we were going to walk by the sea alone at night on Halloween, now did you?

Anyway, as I was saying, we took a walk in Sea Isle tonight. It was a bit like a haunted walk on the boardwalk. There were scary critters (yes, Joe, this is, after all, a Merci post, so there must be creepy crawlers) and there were tombstones.

Sea Isle City (SIC) is pretty quiet on weeknights at this time of year. The businesses on the boardwalk are all closed, if not actually boarded up, and most of the businesses in town are closed, too. We often have the boardwalk all to ourselves in the evenings. Sometimes we don't see another soul the whole time we are out. Usually there are a few other walkers or joggers around.

Tonight we headed onto the boards in our usual manner. We took note of the ocean, which was a little rough, and we saw that the wind seemed to be driving the waves at an angle to the shore. We headed into the wind, thinking that it would be nice to have it at our backs on the return trip. It was unseasonably warm this evening, and only light jackets were required.

The boardwalk in SIC is lined with benches bearing dedications from locals and visitors to their loved ones. I'll take a big leap here and hazard a guess that these dedications were made available by the city at a price as a means of bankrolling the venture.

In the hustle and bustle of the boardwalk in summer, we rarely notice the dedications, obscured as they are by warm bodies basted in sunscreen(can you smell that pina colada scent?), beach towels, and bags full of souvenirs (salt water taffy, t-shirts, and little ships sailing on endless voyages in little bottles, no doubt). At night in the off season, there are no swimsuit-clad teens talking on cell phones to occupy the benches, no children with ice cream cones to drip sweet, gooey messes onto the seats.

Tonight the desolation of the boardwalk was emphasized by the pounding of the waves, and we had the feeling that we were wandering through a dark seaside cemetery. The benches were tombstones, each with its own epitaph; In Memory Of... Pop-pop's bench... John and Jane Doe: Remember the good times... Ghostly specters of Tourists Past arose as we passed by each bench, and an irrational frisson of fear coursed through us at the thought of those who had gone before. The tall grasses behind the benches seemed to offer cover for imaginary ghouls. We walked on the ocean side of the boardwalk, not too close to the benches, in the same manner in which one avoids walking too close to headstones for fear of treading on a grave.

This is not the first time we have felt this way, and the feeling was, perhaps, enhanced by the season. We forged ahead. Things progressed normally for the first couple of blocks. And then it happened, the ghouls and beasties began to take shape. First one beady-eyed little critter skittered across our path, then another, then another. Soon every spot of ABC gum, every stone, blob, mark or shadow morphed into a beclawed creature. With pincers at the ready, they sought to grasp the hems of our pants, prepared to hang on until able to mar the flesh beneath the clothing. We started an odd little dance of hops and halts, wincing at the thought of a crustacean crunch beneath a sneakered foot.

These creatures were small, and more nuisance than monster, until we saw Him, the King of the Crabs. Bigger and bolder than the others, he stared us down, daring us to proceed. We waited in obeisance of his will until he had passed, then we continued on our way.

So for our Halloween tale, we walked through a graveyard by the sea. We were attacked by wave upon wave of claw-handed creatures until we were finally taken to their leader, who quickly dismissed us as inconsequential and set us free.

We left the boardwalk for the return trip to our car, forgoing the pleasure of the wind at our backs for the relative safety of the quiet city streets. If ever we fail to return from one of these outings, direct all queries to the King of the Crabs. Our friends may inscribe a bench in our honor, and visit it in the crowded comfort of a summer's day, ice cream and souvenirs in hand.

Quick Post

Just a quick post - I've been a little short on time lately.

My husband just told me that he ordered one of those fundraiser cheesecakes today. He said he ordered the 36" size. Now that's a cheesecake! We'll be serving cheesecake instead of scones at The Room until further notice...

Longer post coming soon!

Favorite Things

A comment by Joe on my previous post got me to thinking about my favorite toys as a child. One of the very best had to be the Thingmaker, for making Creepy Crawlers. This very dangerous toy made you feel like some sort of mad scientist. It allowed you to cook up delightfully frightening creatures to leave around the house in unexpected places for mom to find. Unfortunately, they were literally cooked, in an open "oven." I remember the cord extending from the kitchen table as I baked the little plastic critters. The potential for disaster was great, but it was never fulfilled (by sheer good luck, errrr, because I was a responsible and careful child, that's right). Same with the home chemistry set I had.

A few games come to mind as favorites, including the inevitable CandyLand, Uncle Wiggly, Operation, Masterpiece, Password and Concentration. My ultimate favorite was a game called Voice of the Mummy. I loved that game, and I wish I had kept it. The game board was terraced, allowing you to make your way up the levels to the mummy. You collected pretty scarabs along the way. The coolest part of the game was getting to activate the miniature built-in record player that provided the mummy's voice (yes folks, this was before microchips). Our parents must have chuckled secretly over Feeley Meeley as a name for a kid's game. Hours were spent playing Booby Trap (more laughs, I'm sure), always waiting for the spring to snap that bar and send the game pieces flying.

I had Liddle Kiddles, a Crissy Doll in a bright orange lace go-go dress, Dancerina, and Baby Go Bye-Bye (complete with a pink battery-powered buggy with flower-power decals. I loved my Herman Munster talking handpuppet. When you pulled the string he said wonderfully comforting things like, "Cheer up, it's bound to get worse." Here are the priceless things he said (taken from the ebay listing in the link above):

He says:
"I'm Herman Munster, How do you do."
"My father was such a friendly monster."
"When I was a kid I was homely."
"Cheer up it's bound to get worse."
"Those late late woobies scare me." (Think this should say movies instead of woobies.)
"I eat spinach for my complexion."
"I'm just a green blooded american boy."
"Let's have a picnic in the graveyard."
"Oh you look nice, just like me."
"Hi there I'm your new babysitter."

I'm surprised that I wasn't scarred for life by playing with this toy in my formative years. Seriously, I'd love to have Herman back, too! He was strangely comforting, perhaps because the TV character was so harmless and loveable.

I had a talking parrot named Crackers who delivered the truly original line (via pull string) of, "Awp, Polly want a cracker?" It was hard to get this thing, with it's hard rubber molded feet, to stay on its unbalanced stand. Speaking of which, I had a Dawn Doll with a fashion model stage. The stage actually moved so that Dawn could model her outfits. But Dawn mostly took nose-dives from said stage. Very frustrating for the budding designer, and probably the reason that I'm fashion-challenged as an adult.

Pull strings were big in my day. I had (and still have, though not in great shape) a Charmin' Chatty with records that could be changed, allowing her to be well-versed on a number of topics. I think there was a Barbie with a pull-string, too. And I had a Francie with a flip hairdo and bendable legs. Of course, one leg promptly broke!

I wasn't allowed to have some of my favorite toys because I was a girl, and they were exclusively for little boys. These included Rock 'em Sock 'em Robots and matchbox cars. Somehow I managed to score an Air Blaster Gun, and I had great fun shooting down all of the neighborhood boys.

I can't forget my Hostess Buffet; it had doors that opened to store play dishes, cups, etc. It stood about 2 feet tall or so, and made for some great tea parties, along with my working toy oven (still have it) but it wasn't an Easy Bake Oven. I still have my little sewing machine, too. It actually worked (sort of). Probably still would. All of the domestic things they gave little girls then to mold us virtuously into the little women we were supposed to become. Oddly enough, I don't sew, I rarely bake, and I prefer to throw the kind of parties that call for paper goods rather than the fine china! Guess the social engineering of those toys failed miserably.

I keep remembering more and more things as I Google vintage toys.

Vintage.

My childhood is vintage now.

Heck, let's face it, I'm vintage now!

What were your favorite things as a child?

A Dock Somewhere

Just had a sudden flash of memory, something I hadn't thought about in a very long time.

When I was much younger, I spent several summers working at a camp in Maryland. Staff members had one day off per week. Those of us who did not escape the grounds on a given day off would sometimes tote sleeping bags and flashlights down the steep path to the waterfront so that we could sleep on the dock. Some brave souls actually slept on the little floating dock. The occasional wake from a passing ship (the dock was on a large, well-traveled river) made sleeping on the floating dock a little too daring for me. I can swim well enough, but I did not relish the thought of waking up in that dark, cold water, trapped in a soggy sleeping bag.

The top half of each cabin was screened-in, with tarps to pull down in bad weather, there was no electricity or running water, and it was often hot and humid (remember, this was Maryland in the summer). Sleeping in the cabin on your day off would be a little bit like going to the office on your own time and sitting at your desk; your campers would invariably forget that you were off and you'd usually end up working. Also, it was impossible to avoid the normal wake-up time in the cabin area because of the hustle and bustle of the daily cabin clean-up period scheduled each morning.

But on the dock, there was almost always a cool breeze. It was possible to sleep in the open there because the breeze kept the mosquitoes away. The dock extended well into the river, keeping away the creepy crawlies that would have been encountered on shore. At the waterfront, you could sleep later because activity didn't start down there until after breakfast.

I was young enough to sleep well in spite of the hard wood planks beneath my ancient sleeping bag. In fact, some of the most restful sleep I've ever had was on that dock. The waves lapping gently at the pilings, coupled with the cool, steady breeze, were an anesthetic that made staying awake nearly impossible for a weary camp counselor. The occasional sounding of a mournful foghorn only served to speed the sedation.

I don't even own a sleeping bag now, but I'm sure I could come up with something to put on top of the air mattress that would be de rigueur at this stage in my life. I'd like to find myself a nice dock to escape to now and then, A Dock Somewhere...

First PC

My first PC was a used Tandy 1000, purchased from my brother in 1985 or 86 (or thereabouts). I spent many hours playing Sierra games, including the King's Quest series, The Black Cauldron and Leisure Suit Larry in the Land of the Lounge Lizards.

I used the Tandy for simple word processing as recently as the late 90's, after several years of disuse. I had quite a time remembering all of the commands, since it operated in DOS! I don't think it even had a mouse, just a cheap joystick for gaming. It used 5.25" floppies. Alas, it is no more; finally disposed of it last year. The Tandy was a workhorse, and it would not die!

My only experience with computers prior to the Tandy was brief forays to the computer lab in college for stats and psych testing classes. Of course, I'm quite a bit more savvy now, though I'm not very sophisticated when it comes to web design, html and the like.

Just an aside: I posted earlier this week that I planned to stop blogging. I just don't seem to have a lot of interesting thoughts to write about these days. I'm going to keep my blog up for the time being. I'll photoblog some of the time, and post thoughts when the mood strikes.