OK this is a painting of someplace in Russia. Mia culpa, I don't have one of Jerry's down-east cottage, so this will have to do.
It is many years after and many miles south of Maine that I write this. Why would anyone spend a weekend 200 miles north of civilization in ice, snow,etc? We were young! And perhaps the strangest group of guys ever assembled for a ski mobile weekend. Two high school janitors, a doctor/architect and me.
The trip itself was somewhere in the 4 hour span in Jerry's van. Lot's of beer, plenty of food and meat. Too cold to mess around with vegetables, not manly enough either. Good decision, we arrived at the camp and proceeded to shovel our way off the road...embankment about four feet high. No choice of course as the road was impassable with us in the middle of it. Not that much traffic (logging road), but we still wanted to return to civilization. Thawing and draining the anti-freeze out of the hopper before you could use it left a little to be desired.
We all managed to endure, enjoy and survive this venture. I actually asked about making it an annual thing. Saner minds prevailed! Miles and miles of untouched trails straight to Mooselookmeguntic and the Rangeleys. Fast too! I only fell off once...didn't break a thing. Wouldn't have felt it anyway. It was cold! Forget wind-chill, it was cold!
Everyone of us has moved on. I think one has passed on. Contacts broken, but the memory still there. It was a fun time that won't be forgotten or duplicated. I do wish I had kept in better touch, but c'est la vie!
Since the early 50's this has been the car of my dreams. Not the 'vette, not the 'Bird but Raymond Loewy's masterpiece in metal. Upscaled from his 54-55 models and beautifully embellished with looks still admired and unmatched. The '56 year is my favorite, no fins.
When I hit the lottery...
Most likely I'll need a chauffeur as well by that time. Dream on!
Even before the United States of America existed we were an immigrant nation. Our populace came here, mostly from Europe for the chance to better themselves or to escape some form of intolerance. We got on boats and came here...NO papers required. We gathered together in small enclaves, aka ghettos or slums for strength, economy and familiarity. This is true for the Irish, the Italians, the Chinese and certainly the blacks. They are the only group that didn't choose to be here, yet ironically the group that has suffered the most and given the most in times of war. Slavery was finally abolished by Lincoln during the Civil War. Lincoln did what was right.
Today we still have many of the same misconceptions being played in front of us. If all of the undocumented Americans were forced to return to their"homelands", who would remain? Hint, they are the ones we stole the country from! Hint, you'll find them mostly on reservations. Isn't it funny that many of the ones we are now trying to bar have the same roots. If the nation is truly ruined, as one radical rabble rouser claims, why are these people trying to come here? If they are coming for jobs, whose will they take? Immigrants always start with low paying, usually unskilled labor. And they, as have all others, will make certain that the second generation does not have to live as they do. It's a historical fact, not something Rush, Glen or some other court jester needs to worry over...their "jobs" are safe, too bad, that!
I'm sorry that the gullible actually listen too and believe the clap-trap that these paid fools spread. I am happy that I have the right and a place to say what I think, feel and believe in. They don't have any part in that, except that they exist because of the same rights we all have. Turn OFF and tune OUT!!!!!!!
In the sixth grade, well over 50 years ago we had a music appreciation class. The teacher had this old box victrola that played 33, 45 & 78 rpm records. Big black things with a hole in the middle through a terrible speaker. It was my second introduction to classical music. Her version had rivers running, breezes blowing and guns gunning. Mine had Elmer Fudd, Bugs Bunny, Mickey Mouse, Woody Woodpecker, et al. The music was the same, but the story wasn't. Now my memory of Wagner, Rossini, Liszt and the other great composers has changed over all these years, I just heard a story of a college instructor teaching the course the same as I was in the sixth grade. Granted classical music is timeless and remains pretty consistent...it doesn't change much I still feel that Bugs and company did a better job than she did. After all I remember Bugs, not her.
As story lines go, you have to remember, classical music does NOT have lyrics. Therefore you have to use your imagination. Operas do have the words to follow, but for a sixth grader from North Carolina, the Italian language was a bit harder to follow than Mickey in Fantasia or on Bald Mountain.
Taking this one step further, pretty much every piece of music written is re scripted at some point in a different style. Roll over Beethoven, tell Tchaikovsky the news! Jazz, Rock, Pop, even TV ads have reworked classical to their needs.
Smetena wrote an entire series of works on his homeland. Absolutely gorgeous and I have no difficulty "hearing" the sound of the rushing Moldau as the music plays. But I also like Nutrocker, a version of The Nutcracker as played by Bee Bumble and the Stingers! Getting them to listen is still the point, not what is written on the jacket.
Karen and Kim played with all the kids in the neighborhood. Some of the older ones baby sat for us and some of them might be reading this now with kids of their own. Hello Mark, hello Lisa. Say hi to your Mom. But the two that this blurb is about, Carol and Jerry are the ones that owned Deacon.
Truly this is about Deacon. A big, young, friendly (redundancy coming) Golden Retriever that 40 years later is still an enjoyable memory.
Jerry,Sr. and I were sitting on the picnic table in my back yard. Something wasn't being done, but the beer was nice. Deacon was being patted and the world was good. Some one let Brandy out. She was our seven pound,Siamese, over-sexed,perpetual mother-cat, vicious beast and she had another litter. In heat, pregnant or just delivered...we never had a chance to have her neutered. She was a bit territorial and did not appreciate Deacon at all. The chase was on. Seven pounds of PO'd cat vs. 65 pounds of cowardly pup. Three times around the house while we laughed ourselves silly. And then Deacon took a wide turn and ran into our cement Lion. What do you do when you are between the "rock" and the hard place? You lay down and whimper! Deacon was totally disgraced as Jerry took him, still crying, home . They moved to New Hampshire shortly after. Never recovered from the shame.
Jerry had a house up-country. Houghton, Maine. That's up the road a piece! To get onto his property you had to cross the Swift River. I can verify that it was cold. The two families went up for a Memorial Day weekend. Four adults, including me, four kids and Deacon. A romp. A three day picnic. Deacon took the opportunity to show off. Run and chase. Retrieve, do it all over again. A rock ends up in the river. Undeterred, so does Deacon. He knows there is a rock to be found, so no swimming! No lets walk the river bottom until we find the rock...or another just like it. No shortage of rocks,after all. So, for half an hour or so Deacon walks the line. Bringing us rock after rock until WE get tired. Since then I've met many wonderful pets, but Deacon is the only one that I can still remember the name of. Sure hope he had lots of pups!
When I was younger my self-esteem and popularity knew no bounds. You see for over 35 years I drove a van and that created instant popularity. The number of people that I have moved isn't in my memory bank. Let's start with the fact that I have moved each and every one of my siblings at least once and some several times. I have ten siblings. I also have two sister-in-laws, two daughters, a close friend or two and numerous friends for the day...guess which day.
Those days are past, my van is gone and if you added both of our current vehicles together you could move about four suitcases. Instant friendships have dwindled and familial relationships cooled. Now the question is...is this a paradox or a corollary?
Things are quieter now, I am older, my back feels much better and selective memory hasn't turned "moving" into something that it wasn't...fun. Here are a few loving items from the past. Lowering furniture from a second floor balcony by rope, because it would not go down the stairs. Yep we tried that first. Being attacked by sister's cat while moving her. There's nothing like talons in your thigh while trying not to drop a loaded bureau and hearing the words "nice kitty"! Snow, really don't think I need to expound on that one. Oh, lets not forget, moving into a building one day and out the next...nothing like good preparation and planning. Losing my baseball cards in the one move I didn't help in. These and others just seem funny now, they were not funny as they happened.
Oh, how I miss it...NOT!!!!
OK this is a painting of someplace in Russia. Mia culpa, I don't have one of Jerry's down-east cottage, so this will have to do. 
