In the Spirit of Reason, Unity and Forward Progress...!!

Reflections and Observations -- A Bright Passage from the Fantasies of Youth 

to Illuminations of Advanced Maturity!

This Episode:     In the Spirit of Reason, Unity and Forward Progress..!!

In the motion picture, The Two Popes, with its brilliant script (written by Anthony McCarten...  that is, many view it as brilliant!), Benedict and Francis engage in a dialogue that every politician should hear and heed!  True, while many of the actual discussions between Benedict and Francis have been well documented, the film's dialogue is McCarten's imagined version of a superb effort on the part of the two to come to a kind of compromise, a consensus, a sort of detente! 

The point is, if we are open-minded, bright and thoughtful enough as a species to engage in a purposeful dialogue -- "We," meaning politicians and political opposites, republicans, democrats, Greens, Independents... -- we ought to be able to effect consensus that actually benefits the American Citizenry.  Oughtn't we??  

In the rarefied air, -- or age if one prefers -- of GeezerHood, we like to think that those of us

who have achieved longevity have also achieved a greater degree of wisdom.  Whether or not it's true is open to debate.  But let's assume, for the sake of this discussion, that indeed it is true.      Here's a syllogism presented as specious (superficially plausible!) evidence:

Older People are Wise
Geezers are Older People
Therefore Geezers are Wise!

Now then...   My life's partner, SweetHeart, and I have long thought that political opposites can in fact actually agree upon some concepts, and therefore we can, in theory, open a dialogue that quite possibly would NOT lead to violence, fisticuffs or possibly gunplay.  SweetHeart and I have canvassed door-to-door for republicans as well as democrats.  We even supported a Green Party candidate at some point in our political experience.  Though we are more inclined

to embrace progressive points of view and the politicians who espouse them, we view ourselves as Americans first.  We were born and christened as American citizens, and not as members of a particular political party.  (Though our respective parents may well have believed otherwise!)

The United States of America, or any nation for that matter, can only be defined primarily and essentially as its body politic, its population of human beings.  ALL OF US!!!  PEOPLE!!  True, by extension, we are a nation of living people who embrace a common code of behavior as embodied in our Constitution and Canon of Laws, but the US of A is US, the People -- first and foremost, primarily and essentially!!! 

Now that we have that matter cleared up, let's get the major point of this possibly preachy rant...  In a somewhat recent conversation with a dear friend who describes and defines herself politically as a Conservative Republican, we came to an important agreement on policy:   Let's get big money, big influence, meaning big corporate influence and its large purses and pocketbooks, the hell out of our political landscape!!!  When elected officials are bought and paid for like so many male and female prostitutes, we place only blatantly mediocre, ignorant, racist, fear-spreading, fools and demagogues in important

elective offices.   

And "Big Money in Politics" -- Getting Rid of That Particular Scourge -- is just one of many issues upon which many thinking political party devotees could actually agree!!  And we don't mean those already gridlocked in Congress, but rather ordinary, voting Americans!!  It could be a start.  If people, American Citizens, are willing to come together in open dialogue to create consensus and purposeful change, wouldn't that help to put a crack, a small fissure, in the outrageous polarization that freezes the political process, a process that could, if thawed, benefit all of us!!  

Perhaps, gentle readers, you may be interested in establishing discussion groups in your own backyards, in your own communities, with political party devotees of varying constituencies!?  Try starting the process by contacting neighbors, friends, relatives...  friends of neighbors, local political organizations, online Neighborhood Discussion forums....  People love to talk and discuss and share their own opinions and points of view, issues, problems...!  Astounding revelations may be but an Email or a telephone call away!  
   

          

Night of the Moth!

Reflections and Observations -- A Bright Passage from the Fantasies of Youth 

to Illuminations of Advanced Maturity!

This Episode:              Night of the Moth!!

You probably know how it is with GeezerHood, particularly if you, yourself are a Geezer.  We tend to recall "Great Stories and Great Events" in our lives, especially when asked to relate such memorable stories or events to our children, grandchildren, other fascinated parties...  meaning anyone who might foolishly ask for a re-recitation.  It's sort of like a great novel being read by someone with a sonorous voice via public radio...  rapturous, mesmerizing!  (Or maybe not!)

A number of years ago, SweetHeart and I, along with our, then, only offspring, rented a cottage on the shores of Lake Michigan, near Cedar Grove, Wisconsin.  We routinely invited SweetHeart's brother and his wife, Boobers and Patsy, to join us.  They were best friends of ours, in addition to being beloved relatives.  

On a memorable early morning on one of those glorious summer days at the cottage, probably about 2:00AM, Boobers and I had consumed a great deal of beer and other spirited potables.  We were in the rubber round of a cribbage match, laughing and belching and telling each other lies and other "true adventures."  

Boobers flicked a cigarette out the screen door.  As he did so, an enormous moth flew into the kitchen area of the compact cottage.  We watched the moth flit about irritatingly, disrupting our keen, if admittedly drunken concentration.  Booby stumbled about, his hand with fingers outstretched, trying to capture the pesky moth.  He, Boobers, became a knight errant, as if fully armored with broadsword and bludgeon at the ready.  Eventually he

succeeded in capturing the moth.  

He cradled the still living winged creature in his hand, stomped boldly with a great sense of purpose while staggering into the bathroom, and thrust the offensive prey into the toilet, flushing simultaneously.  He walked back to the table and our cribbage game, a triumphant scowl on his face!  "It's done for," he announced, confidently!

But then, the moth reappeared.  It had obviously escaped the crazy, dizzying vortex of the flushing toilet, crawled up the bowl and took once again to the air.  "Damn," we both shouted in disbelief.  "How in the hell did that thing get out of the toilet?!" Booby re-captured the moth, this time a bit more roughly and threw it with great force into the toilet, flushing once again as he did so.  "That'll show 'em," he said.

Boobers stayed in the bathroom, just to be sure.  As the moth escaped the whirlpool and began crawling up the porcelain, out of the bowl, Booby used his beer and whisky-laden breath to force the moth into the vortex, flushing and blowing at the thing, like a mighty wind, and glowering at the seemingly indestructible "beast." The moth appeared to be a goner

It wasn't.  It was soon flitting about the room.  It seemed almost to have a triumphant and haughty look upon its mothy face!  Another capture ensued.  More thrusting, flushing and blowing.  Repeated escapes!  Nothing worked.


At this point, our uproarious laughter woke our respective spouses, SweetHeart and Patsy.  "What are you two lunatics doing?" one of them asked in a sleepy and rather irritated voice.  We related our adventure with the moth, pointing out the pesky creature as it flew jerkily around the kitchen, circling the overhead light!  Booby captured the moth yet again.  He had a look of murder in his eyes.  "Wait a minute," said Patsy, "Let it live...  If we can believe your ridiculous tale, the thing deserves to live after all you put it through."

Two more thumbs flew upward -- spectators at a Roman coliseum -- affirming the "winged gladiator's" right to life, after having endured so many indignities and near-death experiences!  

"Oh, alright," said Boobers, resignedly.  He opened the screen door and thrust it out.  Another moth flew in!   

Humbly Submitted, March 4, 2020! -- Joel K.    

The Great "Ice Box" Caper... or, Does it Really Make Any Sense to Plan Ahead?!

Reflections and Observations -- A Bright Passage from the Fantasies of Youth 

to Illuminations of Advanced Maturity!

This Episode:     The Great "Ice Box" Caper...  or, Does it Make Any Sense to Plan Ahead??!!

Reflection on past adventures is sometimes a good thing.  As "elder statespersons," we can share our wisdom -- often gained through ill-advised misadventures -- with our younger, less experienced family members, friends and others of our acquaintance!

And isn't that one of the great joys and benefits of GeezerHood...  You know, to be able to offer wise advice and counsel to those who quite naturally crave our superior thought processes!!

Here's a case in point, a kind of "object lesson" in planning ahead, considering options and probable consequences prior to leaping into tasks that may require brain power!  Many years ago, in my callow youth, my now dear departed father insisted that I visit the home of an ancient and recently deceased auntie to salvage an "ice box" as he termed the object, preferring that terminology to "refrigerator."  The thing was as ancient as the auntie, but apparently built in the age of refrigerants....  or retrofit??  Thus it did not require a block of ice from the Ice Man (who didn't need to cometh)!  

I enlisted the able assistance of my dear friend, Patrick T, who reluctantly agreed to accompany me and assist in the mission.  My father "needed" an appliance in which to store his ample quantities of beer, and instructed me / us to collect the object and then move it into his basement laundry room where he had cleared a space in which to situate that important repository for his vital beer inventories!  

The rear end of the Chevy II that bravely hauled the ancient
Ice Box on a dolly, purporting to be a trailer!  Sort of...

Stupidly, PT and I ventured forth.  I reasoned that we could "hoik" the ancient appliance into my open convertible, a old but serviceable Chevy II, and thus transport it "easily" to its intended new home.  We rented an appliance dolly, tossed it into the back seat of the convertible and went on our way to 38th Street just south of North Avenue, an older but well-maintained neighborhood in Milwaukee, where Auntie had resided for many of her 90-plus years on the planet.  

A reasonable facsimile of the
bungalow flat in which "Auntie"
resided, well into her 90s!

As we soon discovered, the appliance weighed more than two or three pachyderms, or maybe comparable to the weight of a 1950s Buick Roadmaster.  In any case, we loaded the "ice box" onto the dolly, and proceeded to sweat blood and bullets moving the damn thing from an upstairs bungalow flat down a narrow passageway purporting to be a winding stairway!  We put several holes and gashes into the plasterwork in the aforementioned stair corridor, but escaped before the landlord could make his or her inspection of the damage.

(We never heard from that person, perhaps because we would have been unknown to him or her, the "moving out"deed having been done anonymously and rather hurriedly!)

Then came the "hoiking" part.  We could not have lifted the damnable appliance even if we had the benefit of a few powerfully-build piano movers.  The thing simply refused to be "hoiked" into the convertible.

"Wait a minute," said I, brilliantly.  "Let's just tie the dolly onto the back of the car, you know, like a trailer!"  PT agreed, a wary and kind of disapproving look in his eye.  

"Why not," said he.  Although to be honest, he wasn't quite as idiotic as myself, and most likely was unwilling to persist in the feckless effort of trying to lift that beast of an appliance into the automobile's back seat area.  We tied the thing onto the car, and then motored off to 68th Street, the then home of my (accursed) father and sainted mother!  The dolly-trailer, however, did not cooperate as we'd hoped.  It would not manuver the cornering process as might a well-tuned and well-oiled proper trailer.  As such, one of us (PT in most instances!() had to get out of the vehicle and manually re-position the dolly and it cargo to enable it to round the corners of our many necessary turns.  (PT was not happy, and made it clear this was to be the last of his volunteer efforts in my behalf and in my company!!)

We made it to 68th Street in about an hour and a half, a journey that should have taken approximately 15 minutes.  To be accurate about the timing, a couple of police squads halted

My father's home on 68th Street, last known
location of the fabled ice box that weighed more
than some pachyderms and a vintage Buick!

our progress with warnings of citations, amid lots of head shaking and threats of placing both of us in a lunatic asylum, possibly separate rubber rooms.  "Go on," one of the police persons said, "Next time, put a flashing red light on the, uh, trailer...  box car??!!..."

Then came the tricky part.  We began to transport the dolly-laden "ice box" toward the basement of my father's home.  Up three steps to the entry to the home's back hall.  Turning the thing to head down the basement steps, PT in front gripping the dolly handles, me at the rear, lifting and guiding.  About two or three steps into the process, PT announced in a shaky and somewhat terrified voice, "It's slipping...  I can't...  I don't think I can hold it...  Oh shit... RUN FOR YOUR LIFE!!!"

The wall adornment
looked something like
this but included a first
initial and last name!

As PT let loose of the enormously heavy refrigerator anchored to the dolly, I reacted speedily, being a young chap at the time, and got out of the way of the runaway beast.  It crashed into the wall at the bottom of the basement stairs, leaving an enormous gash, actually a gaping hole.  The wall had looked quite elegant, with vertical slats painted in alternate colors of Red and Gold.  Oh, and the ice box destroyed my father's prized wall adornment depicting a scene from Mexico, and bearing his first initial and last name.  We eventually pieced it back together, but never did find the "J."  

Somehow, we were able to extricate the damn thing from the wall, turn it left, move it down the remaining three steps and steer it into the laundry room, where it probably stayed throughout several successive home ownerships.  No one but a demolition crew or a certified lunatic would have been nuts enough to move it out!!  

My dear old father, strangely, was pleased.  I think he loved his beer and his new and actually working beer-specific"ice box" more than he cared about the damage to the basement wall.  "Kris can fix it.  He can fix anything," my father announced stoically.  Kris is my older brother, and he was, at the time, and is indeed gifted with engineering and carpentry skills beyond my own and the comprehension of my male parent or anyone else of my acquaintance. 

Following that particular episode, I never again moved a major appliance without the leadership and guidance of persons with real, apparent or professed expertise.  Oh yes, and, whenever possible, I chose the top end of the project...  or not at all!!  Thank you!  

Humbly Submitted, 02-13-20 -- Joel K.

     

An Admirable Life; A Treasure to Cherish!

Reflections and Observations -- A Bright Passage from the Fantasies of Youth 

to Illuminations of Advanced Maturity!

This Episode:    An Admirable Life; A Treasure to Cherish!

I wonder if it's true??  As we age, as we "step lightly" into the Golden Era of GeezerHood, do we ponder about, let our thoughts preoccupy and dote less on ourselves, and far more about

those good people in our spheres of friendship and family?  I hope that's the case, as selflessness is an attribute for which we should actively and consciously strive! Doncha Think?     

Here's a case in point.  There's a young woman I know...  I'll call her Beth, sometimes, more affectionately, Bethie!  She's a treasure in my life, a gift, brave, strong and remarkably resourceful.   She's a grown woman, and this story focuses on her life in adulthood.

Apologies for the unwanted
jwording ust above, or, just below
theimage of the Graduate!!
Thank you!

She earned a BA degree, subsequently a Master's Degree,  and became an educator in various organizations before joining a high school English Department.  Sadly, because, it seems, too many of our elected officials apparently believe that corruption and mediocrity are the attributes needed to blunder into public office, the teaching profession became marginalized.  Worse -- arguably perhaps the only profession that has the power to cure all of society's ills -- teachers, and education generally, were stripped of important rights and benefits in our state, and others as well.  Government officials can be and are, far too often, fatuous, insipid and outrageously short-sighted! 

Beth eventually left her teaching career and, following some other professional forays, joined a company in the IT field, and became a trainer, succeeding admirably.  She left that position after being courted by a stronger organization.  She was termed a valued and much sought-after "unicorn," her previous employer suggesting that she was merely "lucky" to be considered for a move into sales and marketing.  Today she thrives in her current

employment, and continues to be regarded as and is a highly valued asset, one whose future shines brightly.

Along life's pathway, Beth married -- back in 2004 -- but divorced about 11 years into the marriage.  She and her husband were simply not well matched, and the two parted amicably, having produced two remarkable children, whom they cherish, and of course share in separate lives and households.  A free spirit, Beth has charisma, great exuberance, a lively personality...   attributes her family would not part with for any bribe or promise.

Her children, now 12 and 10, they, Beth and and her parents enjoy frequent get togethers and travels.  She and the kids are delightful, fun and silly, the latter a trait her family prizes highly.  On a trip to Florida -- just to cite examples -- her son and "Papa," the grandfather, swam daily in the pool and played lots of games, including "elevator," amid squeals of laughter.  Romped like carefree fish in ocean waves as well.  Both children are excellent swimmers.  On one memorable occasion, Beth's daughter and Papa sat on the 

balcony, overlooking the sea.  Asked how she was enjoying Florida and various adventures therein, the young girl expressed her answer using the word "very" roughly 1,000 times.  Papa counted the "very's."  Funny stuff...  I mean, to those of us with silly bones! 

Just this past year, Bethie always thoughtful and generous, treated her parents to a week in that very popular northeastern peninsula, a holiday filled with great fun and too much good eating.  You know, like pizza, a rare treat for the parents, if not for the other members of the vacationing quintet!  We swam,

swan-dove, boated, biked and generally frolicked our way through a week of adventure.  Relaxing, renewing...   (Well, for the most part!!!...  Holidays can be taxing, sometimes required a long rest following the holiday!!)

I hope I've done justice to the subject of this writing, to someone I love more than I can adequately express...   my daughter, Bethie.  True, I'm quite proud of her and all that she's accomplished, all that she is and has become!  But being proud, I've long thought, is more a means of self congratulation.  Far more importantly, and perhaps a better way to praise, I'm filled with admiration for her, for her strength, her courage her determination. As a single parent, she's a champion.  As a soccer player, she's also a champion, come to think upon it.  

As you, Beth, continue along life's tricky pathways, I know you'll always choose the right way, the best course for you and those you love, the true pathway that leads to happiness and success, self fulfillment and genuine gratification for all whose lives you touch.  Oh yeah...  Hope you and SLC have a great weekend together!!! 

Humbly Submitted, 01-10-20 -- Joel K. 

  

  

What Was That I Said?...

Reflections and Observations -- A Bright Passage from the Fantasies of Youth 

to Illuminations of Advanced Maturity!

This Episode:

What Was That I Said?  or, One's Brilliant (mis-) Understanding of Foreign Tongues!...   More Travels / Overseas Edition!

Heartburn and other stomach disorders are not exclusively the province of the elderly, or those of us currently experiencing the joys of GeezerHood!  

SweetHeart was at one point in her various superb careers, a Flight Attendant.  She flew for United Airlines.  As such, in our early years of marriage, we could fly like pelicans, unfettered by such impediments as airfares...  well, practically!

On our honeymoon -- that was prior to the onset of GeezerHood, but, after all, one can still recall those blissful days of callow youth -- we decided to jet off to Greece, or Hellas, visit the glories of Athens, as well a few of the Greek Islands.  What the heck does that have to do with HeartBurn??  Well...   lemme explain.

Athens is replete with what I call "Sidewalk Emporiums," at which one can purchase an array of necessaries, including remedies for the body.  On a particular evening, out for dinner and a stroll near the Acropolis, I had a nasty bout with heartburn.   Never traveling without my handy language guides, including a Berlitz Book of Greek, on this occasion, perhaps needless to add, I looked up "heartburn."  No listing.  I then paged to the index to find "antacids."  No listing.  Trying a few other obtuse combinations of Greek words, I finally settled upon the words, "Heart" and "Fire."  

I announced in my finest baritone broadcast voice, hand over my left chest, "Heartfire"!  The young woman who staffed the emporium looked at me as if I were making an unwanted romantic overture, her face a mask of shock and discomfort.  SweetHeart yanked me by the arm and hustled me away from the young woman and her sidewalk shop.  "She has to think you're some kind of crazed masher," said SweetHeart.  "Let's get the heck away

from here before she calls the local police!"  We departed briskly.

 On a subsequent evening, enjoying an "Athens By Night" adventure, along with an international throng of fellow visitors to that ancient land, we told the story of "Heartfire," with many translations and belated laughter arcing and echoing through the crowd.  As the merriment began to diminish, an English couple approached SweetHeart and me, and deposited several antacids into my open and grateful palm.

********************************************************************************

Our elder daughter spent a couple of years in Estonia during her Peace Corps tenure.  We visited her in the month of February, early in the 2000's.  Estonia was not in full bloom at the time, but seeing our wonderful daughter, a photogravure palette of grey and a continuous whispy snowfall made the entire experience delightful and beautiful, an artwork of muted color.  

We settled into Saaremaa, the island off the west coast of Estonia, in the Baltic Sea, where our daughter was based.  She taught, sang and volunteered her time and talent generously for young and old alike, anyone in need.  After seeing the sights and delights of the Island, we ferried ourselves to the mainland, rented a vehicle and motored off to see her fellow Peace Corps friends in Tartu and Tallinn.

On the road, we passed through a small village, a bit too fast, and were halted in our progress by an Estonian policeman who "waved" us down using a long pole, at the end of which was a circular symbol.  I believe the symbol indicated excessive haste!  I did not have a phrase book of Estonian.  No one spoke.  Using a kind of friendly sign language, the policeman and I, that is, I agreed not to speed anymore while the nice official agreed not to assess an enormous fine!  It was the first time in my driving experience that I was "pulled over" by a standing policeman armed with a long pole and a sign at the top!  

Pannenkoeken!  Oh, and Berries!

Our daughter, Bethie, was with SweetHeart, our Peace Corps daughter, Alie, and me.  Bethie made a great and loving impression on everyone we encountered, building relationships and friendships that have endured, even today, nearly 20 years after the fact!  We met Alie's wonderful and talented friends, learned a bit of Estonian, had a kind of pizza in Tartu and generally enjoyed a delicious and highly memorable adventure.  Oh, and "pannenkoeken"! A kind of bread-y pancake-y treat that's found everywhere in Estonia...  (The Netherlands, too, we're reliably told!)  And, we met Alie's Estonian host family.  Wonderful people who enjoyed Alie, her sense of humor and her sometimes stumbling efforts to learn the Estonian language, something she eventually mastered, still uses speaking with native Estonian friends. 

I should mention that Alie was in Estonia and Saaremaa during the "Nine-Eleven" crisis, and was told to "maintain a low profile," as Americans were thought to be in peril during that period of time.  She didn't.  She wrote and recorded her own compositions, including a couple of Estonian folk ballads, and created a wonderful CD of songs.  She was interviewed and landed on the front page of certain Estonian newspapers.  Not exactly a low profile, but she achieved well-deserved fame and praise, donating the proceeds from the sales of her CD to the Estonian Children's Fund. 

*********************************************************************************

Sometime in the mid 2000's, following her time in the Peace Corps, Alie and her now husband, Tad (a remarkably fine man, I have to admit!), decided to cross the Atlantic and visit her various Peace Corps veteran friends.  She had a place to stay everywhere they went, except for France, where the friend, living with parents, did not have suitable accommodations to house

her family.  She asked if we might be interested in a trip to France, specifically the Dordogne Region, the "Smile of France," demarcated slendidly by the river of the same name.  We billeted in an old bakery building, containing an enormous fireplace, lots of bedrooms for all of us, and even a swimming pool in the back garden.  The "all" included grandson, Coen, at the time not quite three years old, and a terrific traveling companion! 

We, SweetHeart and I, took a few basic lessons in French before departing on our journey.  The airline lost all of our luggage, or most of it, necessitating a shopping episode in Paris.  Thanks to the lessons, we navigated rather successfully through the shops and markets.  At one large department store, we stopped to purchase...   Well, I asked a clerk, "Avez vous une costume du plage?"  To which the patient shop attendant responded in perfect English, "You know, we do have a word for bathing suit, monsieur."  

"Uh, " said I, a bit red in the face, "Ou est le cabine d'essayage?"  I don't think she was impressed, but pointed me to the "fitting room."  I also found the underwear department, with a little help from my phrase book!  "Vetements pour ma femme?...   Tout coton, s'il vous plait!"      

And...   a very memorable occasion on which the use of the French language bore sweet fruit:  SweetHeart drew a warm hug from an older woman in Tremolat, asking first, "Do you speak any English?"  The woman shook her head, confused.  Then, SweetHeart asked in perfect French, "Ou est le bibliotheque la plus proche?"  The old woman beamed, and embraced SweetHeart as if she, SweetHeart, were a long-lost daughter!  (The small village did not have a library, however!). Such are the rewards and wonders of attempting to communicate with native people in their own language, especially meaningful and important when in their own lands!!  The village of Tremolat, by the by,  had some of the most delectable baked goods we'd ever tasted!  "Ou est encore cette le boulangerie?"

(Special Note of Dedication:   To all the good and gracious people of countries visited over the seas whose patience and understanding made our travels so satisfying, gratifying and edifying...  We thank you most sincerely!  You enriched the experiences far more than we can adequately express!) 

Humbly Submitted, 12-07-19 -- Joel K.  

             

Travels with SweetHeart!... Domestic Edition!

Reflections and Observations -- A Bright Passage from the Fantasies of Youth 

to Illuminations of Advanced Maturity!

This Episode:        Travels with SweetHeart!...  Domestic Edition!  
  

Traveling by Train is a Tantalizing Treat!

I'm not entirely certain when GeezerHood begins and "robust middle age" terminates, giving way to the era of doddering, slobbering soup onto your tie or tunic and forgetting words and the name of your postal person of 25, maybe 30 years!! **

( **  Apologies to the elderly, my fellow seniors!  Many of us are sentient, bright and in full control of our mental faculties well into our so-called "Golden Years"!  The above paragraph is merely intended to promote modest amusement!  Thank you!). 

I was in my early to mid-50s, possibly late 40s...  It's not important.  I was younger, in any case.  We had a bit of disposable income, and opportunities to travel in those times.  We really enjoyed train travel, motoring as well, but trains caught our imaginations as if they were (still are!) mystical and magical conveyances, like a genie's carpet or a flying broomstick that could carry one to glorious vistas and unimaginable adventure.  

We discovered train travel one summer, boarding Amtrak's Southwest Chief.  At a particular stop along the route, a Native American man boarded and offered a fascinating history of indigenous people, their culture and the lands they inhabited.  The sleeping accommodations were spare but reasonably comfortable, and far superior to trying to catch a few elongated blinks in a standard coach seat or chair.  I believe we even had a private convenience and a shower.  It was something akin to luxury.

We headquartered in Flagstaff, rented a vehicle  visited the Grand Canyon -- a sight that captivates far beyond the initial viewing -- climbed Mount Thomas in Oak Creek Canyon, dined in Sedona several times, exulted in the mysteries of Jerome and its fabled house made of ammunition crates.  Part of Jerome's lore is the jail that slid down a steep hill, it, the jail, having been undermined by overly zealous excavating in search of a certain precious metal.  It happened  back in the 1800s, we were reliably told.  A few inmates perished!  

We journeyed to Jerome at SweetHearts insistence and absolute delight after being told not to go there...  "It's dangerous!  They have cults and strange rituals there...   Oh, and even ghosts and UFOs and weird sightings!  Mysterious lights, New Age devilry!  You shouldn't go there...!!"   

We had to go.  It was a marvelous adventure.  The aspect we noticed most prominently was the struggle for the town's soul, a battle waged by artists and artisans on one side of the spectrum, rowdies, rednecks and hell raisers on the other!  Wonderful stuff!  (The image of Jerome, just above, is intended solely to amuse!  Residents are not being systematically carried off by ghouls and other specters!)   

It might have been the following year, maybe two rotations of the earth round the sun later, we boarded the same westbound train for a trip to New Mexico.  Santa Fe and its particular delights.  But the best of it was a road trip in a rented vehicle to Madrid.  There we visited an unusual (sort of) museum and attended a melodrama, in which spectators were issued marshmallows to pitch at the villain.  Sneers, boos and hoots were encouraged.  The museum, by the by, had the largest (recorded) collection of glass insulators, those things we used to see on telephone poles.  Delightful stuff, all of it!  

And then a couple of years later...   Heading in the other direction, we boarded Amtrak's Lake Shore Limited from Chicago to Boston.  There we rented a motor car and traveled along the coastal road bound for Bar Harbor, Maine.  The coastal road, though remarkably picturesque, was such as jagged affair, owing to Maine's "uneven" coast line, like traveling cross country vs. a leisurely trek from south to north in a relatively small state!!  Along the way we visited the Lincoln City jail with its ancient, intact graffiti left by sailors and other scofflaws who had been incarcerated there in the 1800s. 

On that same journey, we climbed Mount Cadillac in Acadia National Park.  I tried at times to effect the accent of denizens of Maine's Down East region.  SweetHeart thought I might give offense to certain of our "Mainer" hosts!  She was right, of course, and so I stopped aping the accent until we were out of earshot of the lobster-loving residents.  (We did acquire a lobster magnet souvenir at some point!  A treasured artifact!)

(Our journeys to Rocky Mountain National Park, Breckenridge, Colorado, Wilmington and Wrightsville Beach, North Carolina?   Perhaps in a future episode....   I have to think about those adventures, and recall the high points.  Oh, and we enthusiastically recommend the series of travel books -- Off the Beaten Path in...   Wonderful, often quirky destinations featured, well worth exploring this purely marvelous series of books; nearly every state well covered!! Honest!)   

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France, Estonia, Greece...   Next Episode:   Overseas Travel!  

(Special Note of Dedication:    This posting is for SweetHeart, the best traveling companion I have ever known.  Fun, funny, loving, adaptable, delightful in every way!!  Our travels to Greece and a few of the islands in the Aegean were...   well, stay tuned.  Thank you, and Good Night...!)  

Humbly Submitted 10-25-19 -- Joel K.