Some Things Never Change

 

Sometimes it takes a grandchild to make me think.

Not about  campus parties, or academic achievements, or scholarship funds. Sometimes it is no morw than a book that Granddaughter Jill shared with me. A really thought provoking book entitled "Riding the Rails."

Shortly after I graduated from high school I got a job on a weekly newspaper. Early on my primatry task was editing gossip columns from small communities surrounding the home town of the newspaper.
As time passed I graduated to photographer, and sports editor, and eventually to writing feature articles.
One of my assignments had to do; with a hobo from the 1920's and '30's. Because the town I worked in was a major raailroad center at the time, it was an ideal location for hobos to congregate or switch trains. We had the Rutland Railroad to the north, Boston and Albany east and west, and the Harlem Division of the new York Central System south to New York City. Along with the migration of hobos were souvenirs they left behind. For instance, my news paper assignment was to photograph the unique initils on one particular hobo that had left his 'mark' on a grade crossing shack of the Rutland down the street from the paper. It turned out that his mark had been found in thirty-some states.

But there were other marks left by hobos. We've included a picture of some of these which indicated conditions other hobos might find in a town they stopped at. Some of the signs offered hope fo the wanderer - other reflected warnings. It all went together to remind us that hoboism was not an individual life - it was very much a community efoort where, in many cases, they helped one another in whatever ways they could.

The book I'm reading looks at transient life in a different way. I remember seeing adult hobos hirtching rides on trains when I was young. I remember my mother and grandmother warning me of "tramps" that might come to the back door. There was a fear that hobos would take off with young people, much like fear of gypsies.

However, I never syopped to think that young kids - even pre-teens - left homes to go on their own. Sometimes it was because families "couldn't afford' the children. Other times children and gteens escaped abusive home environments.It wasn't just a few - It was estimted, in 1935, that there were as many as 250,000 so-called 'wild boys' either hitch-hiking on the highways, or riding the rails, in, on, and on top, of railway boxcars. Some just followed wanderlust - other sought any kind of work in the desperate Great Depression years.  It was estimated by the Interstate Commerce Commission that, in the single year of 1932, almost six thousand  so-called trespassers were killed when riding, or trying to ride, on railroads. Of these well over 1,500 were youth under 21.

Things have changed a lot since he Great Depression. But the tragedy of the homesless continues ever today.Their modes of transporation may have changed, but the tragedy of poverty or homelessness continues. Our to picture reflects the concerns of an organization in Florida. The fact of the matter is, homelessness and 21st Century hoboism, if I can call it that, continues and probably always will be there, perhaps amplified by the challenges of today's economy. It's tragic to say the least..

Where's Flo?

Maybe you've seen it - an advertisement by Flo's favorite insurance company. I found this one in Popular Mechanics and I saw a couple of different ads like it in a doctor's waiting room. The thought was the same: in every ad you were asked to see if you could pick out Flo from a picture of a large crowd. Try as best I could, I never found her and I venture you might have a problem yourself.

It's something like a 'Where's Waldo' event within our family circle this past week. Our grandson Keith is in the Army and he was granted a leave to come home for a while from a deployment in Afghanistan. Nobody seemed to know when he was to leave and when he DID leave where he was. So, we watched a bunch of exchanges on Facebook asking 'where's Waldo?', or more accurately, 'Where's Bubba?'

Well, Keith finally showed up in Dallas, Texas and eventually got home to the Seattle area a few hours later. It took him three days to make it back from Afghanistan. I hope those three days were not chargeable to leave - and I hope the time going back is not chargeable either - that would make for a short visit home.

More personally, it's like my closet. The closet that Joyce would like to empty out. Or even more, the workshop I used to have. She'd ask when I was going to get rid of some of that 'stuff' and I'd say, 'One never knows when you might need that piece of wire, or when that old battered knob would fit on a door.' Now that I think of it, why did I keep the old hard drive from a computer that died years ago? It's just the old idea that someday that may have a use - but keeping a hard drive that doesn't work - or whatever?

Or the 'man thing' when I come into the living room and ask if Joyce knows where an object is. 'It's probably in the storeroom,' she suggests. But where? What box is it in? Or could it have been left somewhere we used to live? Or could it have been thrown out? Or sold in a yard sale? (Our children are still talking about a yard sale over thirty years ago where they say I was willing to sell anything or everything for a price - maybe including pets or kids.)

So, a year after our last move I still play 'Where's Flo', or 'Where's Waldo" from time to time. And like the picture above, where I couldn't find Flo, there are still things around the house that I can't find.

And is it even important anymore?

Well, as far as Bubba is concerned, it was worth the wait to know he was back in civilization and that he was no longer lost in the crowd. Some treasures pop up eventually and the make the finding a special event.

Last Rites

I'm going through a loss in the family. A death if you want to call it that. Or maybe a partial death.

My trusty computer began to exhibit some strange quirks a few weeks ago and it proceeded to get worse.
To begin with, it began to feel a bit warm to the left of the touch pad. Then it would sign itself off of its own accord right in the middle of some procedure. Finally, the screen would come on and then go blank and eventually (finally finally) the screen wouldn't come on at all. My favorite computer guru pronounced that the computer had an incurable malady and there fore it was time for last rites on that one and off to the computer store for a new one with all the upgraded goodies. Not only am I trying to get used to the new programs and operating system, I have been struggling to transfer what I can of material from the old computer to the new one. I'm not done in that department and I expect to hav it all done by 2014. if the wind is in my favor. And to top all of that, the new confuser has a different keyboard which is an interesting experience for someone who types with two or three fingers and two thumbs.

I got to thinking about my experience with computers. I started with a Radio Shack TRS-something or other
back in 1983. I can't remember whether its capacity was in kb's or mb's but I'm sure in was kilo's - not much memory but enough that I could learn programming in Basic. Plus, it used a small cassette recorder.
A year or so later I was transferred and that church had early Apple computers - not Macintosh but enough that I could write stuff with it.(I looked at Macs, but they were too much for my wallet)

When we moved to Winter Park, Florida, the Chairman of the Trustees (through the church) gave me an early PC computer with twenty megs of memory. He claimed that it would simplify my writing and I found that it shortened to time to edit stuff I wrote and I went through a true computer conversion experience. As the years passed I climbed the computer ladder - my first Windows unit, to Windows 95 and 98, eventually to Windows XP an now Windows seven. With each upgrade the computer memory capacity made quantum leaps and so in thirty years my memory capacity has gone from 30 or so KB through a couple hundred of so Megabytes on up to 150 gigabytes and now its almost 500 gigabytes (whatever gigabytes are) Too bad my brain memory system has been downgraded every time the computer memory went up - it isn't fun to get old.

They say that one can always learn something new - and I'm working at that. Meanwhile, you can notice in the picture that my touch pad was well-worn. But there are enough good parts (I think) in the oldtimer to keep Joyce's identical computer going for a while. At least I hope so.

Fall Again

We just got back from a quick trip up north to Michigan and we discovered that it is fall up there where it is ALMOST fall here in Indy. Not quite peak color where we were, but enough to remind us that summer has pretty well given up for this year.

We left Indianapolis at around 11 am last Monday and got to Tawas City on the shores of Lake Huron around five in the afternoon. In the process we checked our gas mileage and found that it took 342 miles to Bay City and it took 10 1/2 gallons of gas to top the car off. Figured out to almost 33 miles to the gallon. Love that Dodge Caliber. They can say what the want about all the other cars but that Caliber (bought in 2008) was great before all the rest of the economy cars started tooting their horns.

Had a nice visit with one of Joyce's sisters and her husband - they were in the process of packing up for a move back down to the Detroit area. Thay.like us, have a lot of mixed emotions about leaving the northland. It's a really beautiful area and very peaceful. Living in Oscoda was life ath its best. However, as the years piled up, I guess we all found it to be more condusive to good health to be closer much closer to civilization, and in my case, closer to medical care. Not that it wasn't adequate 'upnorth', but a lot of times we had to drive 75 miles or more for significant and specialized care. So, I love the convenience of the city, but I also loved country living and country folk when we were up there. As you can see from some of the photos, it's beautiful country, a great place to enjoy the best things nature has to offer.

One thing we did was to walk down well over 300 steps to see the shoreline of Foote Pond and Iargo Springs. It's a beautiful spot - I had been down there a few years ago. But this time Joyce could go down with me (her knee replacements made this possible)). She loved it as much as I did except that both of us came to the conclusion that it may have been 300 or so steps down but it felt like 700 or more coming back up. If anybody ever wants a natural stress test, that's the way to do it. And at our ages we were amazed not to have any aches and pains when we got done.

I hope you enjoy these pictures. They don't do justice to what they call "Pure Michigan". Try a trip 'up north'sometime - you'll like it there.

Meanwhile, I don't want to sell Indiana short either. We went to Brown County State Park yesterday and it is beautiful as well. And before I get a reminder from our Seattle area son,

I want to remind the world that the State of Washington is fantastic as well. So is Oregon - and Nevada - and Colorado. Yep - I guess there is beauty all over - if you only take the time to look around you.

Bobby Took Us to the Pour House!

And you thought we had gone to the poor house? Not quite yet, but life is more and more challenging for us as anyone else. I think of the Poor House and am reminded of the old folks home in Ghent, New York. It was where aged without families or resources would go years ago. There probably a lot of those years ago and I felt sad about the one in Ghent on one hand, but felt comforted that those people had somewhere they could call home. But getting back to the subject of this blog, note that we went, not to the poor house - but the POUR house. As in Cambridge City, Indiana. A nice place for a good cup of coffee, a great sandwich, and super fudge.

As a diabetic, I should avoid the word fudge but, hey, fudge is good no matter how you spell it or say it,like, "Ohhhhh,........fudge!"

Bobby is our worthy tour leader at church and she is driver, navigator and whatever else she does to keep her passengers happy. A few weeks I talked about our trip to Delphi, Indiana, and this trip took us east, almost to Richmond along the old National Road, otherewise known as US-40. Cambridge City is known for its antique shops and it has a great history. The picture of a sign above talks about the Overbeck family of artists and sculptors who were famed in the artworld. Near Cambridge City is the Huddleston House, built in 1839 ( now a museum) and in great shape. In Greenfield are great memories of poet James Whitcomb Riley.

And sharp-eyed Joyce saw a Studebaker sign between Greenfield and Indianapolis. One of the great cars though Joyce did not like my 1950 Studebaker Commander because it was black, but the sign piqued my interest to the point that later we drove back and found it was an outlet for parts and memorabilia of this famous auto and truck manufacturer long gone but not forgotten. You may even find a Studebaker sticker on my Dodge Caliber, not that I don't love my Caliber but memories reign supreme in the hearts of some of us old guys.

At any rate, it was a fun trip and I'm grateful for Bobby's efforts to put trips like this together, and for the 'Ancient Mariners' group that fill the bus each trip. Now, we look forward to a Brown County trip later this week and we'll report on that later.

The March of Time

The two pictures are of the same spot. The bottom one is the 'before' picture; the top one is the 'after' view of the same location. They were taken 25 years apart.

Maybe the same think has happened in your neighborhood. Joyce has reflected on the same kind of thing where she grew up. Before World War Two her street was out in the country. After the war the whole area blossomed with homes and today Detroit's suburbs have moved quite some distance west.

It so happens that the pictures I've used are of Elmont, Long Island New York. In the 1930's it was a quiet rural suburb of New York City. Some 120 families live on and worked the farms. I remember going with my father out to Long Island and seeing all the farms. Once in a while we would stop and watch the airplanes flying in and out of Roosevelt Field, from which Lindbergh departed on his historic flight to Europe. To get to Long Island we would ride a ferry from New Rochelle, New York across Long Island Sound to Port Washington.

Twenty five years after the 'before' picture, parkways and Interstates were built as well as some beautiful bridges. The door had been opened to new 'settlers' and Elmont had changed from a farming community to a 24,000 community. In fact, it became wall-to-wall residential communities close to New Yorks major airport, first known as Idlewilde Airport and what is now know as JFK airport.

The world just marches on - growing and populations increase as well. So, if we have any thought that things will never change, they are never true around cities. There are a lot of rural areas - scenic areas - that continue to exist. But as I said, time just marches on and you never know what tomorrow and the tomorrows years from now will look like. But it is fun to look back in history and think of what used to be.

"So Round So Firm So Fully Packed.....

.....That's my Girl" was the name of a country music top seller a lot of years ago.

However, So Round So Firm So Fully packed also describes an object in our refrigerator. Well. half of it anyway. It has to be the biggest cantaloupe I have ever seen. Fact is, when I weighed the remaining half this morning it weighed five and a half pounds so when it was new and fully intact I presume it weighed at least ten pounds, maybe more. About like a bowling ball.

A few weeks ago I mentioned how much I love watermelon. Believe it or not, this critter was as big as a small watermelon - I don't mean one of those puny little watermelons - I mean a small full-size watermelon. I never knew cantaloupes (or whatever is the one in the picture) could be so big - but it is/was good. There was some concern by my beloved that it might not be good because it was so big but it was the sweetest melon this side of Chicago. Well, maybe even this side of Tucson, Arizona. After having been accused of taking the biggest melon on the shelf, I was very much relieved that it was perfect eating.

A long time ago -back in the mid-1950's - we had another experience with melons. It was either in Sacramento, California or Tucson, Arizona (we moved so often in those days that some events tend to congeal) that we saw a fruit stand along the highway. They had cantaloupes as well - priced at ten for a dollar. But they were small and nowhere near as tasty as our Indiana prize. And yes, this came from a roadside fruit stand as well. It cost a bit more (three dollars) but it may well have weighed as much as the gross weight of the ten we got in the '50's. So, all you folks who live in crowded cities, or areas that don't have cantaloupe ranches or farms or whatever, eat your hearts out while we eat some of the best cantaloupe this side of heaven.

Hot as it may have been (or is) in Indiana, I'll accept the heat along with the great fruit and veggies we enjoyed this year.