Stuff I Like

These two birdhouses are on "the other side of Doran Avenue," as you go toward Atlas. It's a nice block to go through on a sunny afternoon, with houses that show work and imagination. An old guy sitting on his porch with his dog told me his neighbor makes the birdhouses and gave some to the other folks on the street. Imagine! I wish I was creative enough to do that--maybe set up our garage with a jigsaw, some wood, and work a few hours each weekend. It would not take much except for that one missing element: talent. Well, I have the talent to discover things on my little excursions around and around....

When we were in Kansas City, we came upon a small cul-de-sac in the Crossroads Arts District. There we saw an open lot with trees, and then we noticed they were filled with birdhouses. You could miss them--they were sort of hard to see at first unless you walked into the lot and went under the trees. Quite a happy small-scale art project it is. There were also some nicely painted birdhouses along the street.

Now I am thinking they are birdfeeders, not birdhouses, but I am not sure. More whimsical little things I noticed around the Glendale neighborhood are this little man-figure that stands on the sidewalk of the auto repair on Metropolitan just past Aubrey, and this little car, which I see everywhere. The owner is happy to tell one and all about it, and I have spoken to him several times. He tells me that his GemCar E2, is a good investment and good for the environment--and very rideable in NYC. I say Yeah!

And then there's that purple house on 88th street with the cats in the windows!

If Kevin was a cat...

more animals

Neighborhood Update

I quickvisited Panera on Woodhaven, just to pick up a takeout menu, and the place was pretty full for a late Sunday afternoon. I think people like the soup and sandwich combo. The place has nice looking artisanal breads, plenty of space for dining, and seemed to appeal to couples. I see just a few doors down they are making space for a hamburger place--something called Five Guys or something? A chain, I guess, like Panera (which is not named after a big hair band). There is also a mixed martial arts school ready to open. I guess the micro-economy of the neighborhood is improving. Glendale was pretty quiet for years. Our deceased neighbor Mr. Phleghardt, who lived here forever told us candidly that "the problem with this area is too many old people!" He was old. I liked that. The area is changing, with young people moving in, more dog walkers. Hard to get a fix on who they are or what they do. Not quite like hipsterhaven Bklyn, but....changing.

We attended a meeting of theGlendale Civic Association and the 104 Pct. reps told us about crime stats (slightly up in some of the 7 major categories), and several of us neighbors complained about Yerman's Pub and also the Amici Cafe/Bar. The commander knew both places.

Our favorite site queenscrap.com has a story about Atlas Mall today. I like that site, and like reading the lively comments.

A little closer to home, in fact inside our home there has been a name change. Pawla Newcat now goes by the name Nosey Nora.

This Old House

Cold it is, and colder it will get. I am concerned about the house, since it is old, and has many drafts. And because I am really not handy. We neglected to take out the screen in the back door and replace it with the glass. That will wait until Sunday because it is dark when I leave for work and dark when I come home. Kimberly put a curtain up and it really helps. Maybe we need drapes across the front room windows; my mother used to make a big deal putting up these very thick, very red drapes, using some kind of turned needle attachment. Our home in Levittown was drafty, too.

I wonder if the basement will be as cold as last year. Dave replaced the basement windows and I feel the difference, since there was about an inch of space before that. Last winter, I wrapped some of the water pipes in pieces of foam tubing that I got at Home Depot, and this year maybe we should get a blanket for the water heater. They say that is one of the biggest drains on $, as it heats and reheats all day while we are at work. I just wish I knew more and could do more.

The front door--a problem: drafty. I wish the previous owner (Curse him! hahaha) had put insulation on the walls of the entranceway, as the wind whips across 72nd Drive and hits the house like a tsunami. We put tape on the door, but the opening and closing messes that up. And we have a cradle we never got time to install.

And lastly, the heater. We went another year without an inspection, or a contract, and that might be a risky choice. We will see. We have blanket and sweaters, and the cats have fur. I hope they are OK. We don't like being cold.

Change We Needed: The Making of a President

I am only halfway through it but on this election eve, I recommend the new book by David Pietrusza, 1960: LBJ Vs. JFK Vs. Nixon. I just finished the chapter on how Sinatra's Rat Pack (and Hollywood in general) stepped up to help elect JFK. Parts of it are shocking reminders of another time. Pietrusza tells how Sammy Davis, Jr. was first applauded and then cruelly booed (by the Mississippi delegation, while others looked on) after he started singing his part in a large group sing of the national anthem that opened the Democratic Convention in Los Angeles, July 1960. Davis was deeply hurt, and Sinatra was very angry. Still, they stuck with the campaign, and Davis even called Sinatra, after the convention horror, to tell him he was "delaying" his marriage to May Brit until after the election! However, things quickly soured, mostly due to Joe Kennedy. It's a fascinating chapter in a big story.

Pietrusza's book is informational, if not definitive. It fills in a lot, especially for me who was pretty young at the time. I was reminded just how Rove-like and ruthless Ol' Joe Kennedy really was, how incredibly obnoxious Bobby could be at that time, and how much the Kennedys worked all angles, steam-rolling the opposition with intimidation and cash. Interesting it is, if Pietrusza is to be believed. There are some good chapters on the VP selection process, as Pietrusza tells how JFK took a big step beyond ego in seeking the assist of rival LBJ (who comes off here as pretty meek next to some other portraits by other writers). Here the author includes Kennedy's "I am not going to die in office" quote. He also relates the almost forgotten story of Nixon's odd move towards the center in an effort to get Nelson Rockefeller on his ticket, only to be humiliated when, after a whole lot of negotiation on Rockefeller turf, he was turned down. Rockefeller leaked an agreement, The Compact of Fifth Avenue--new to me--which was a set of points on national and domestic policy that included Civil Rights. This was incorporated into the party platform, and it may have cost Nixon the election--and paved the way for Goldwater....All conventions and campaigns are different, and each has lessons. I wonder where the events of 2008 will lead, and what we will learn about them in the many years to come.

La Tavernetta Europa on Metropolitan Avenue!

Flash: you read it here first. La Tavernetta, the popular but cramped restaurant based on 88th St. in Glendale, is opening another location--on Metropolitan, one block past Alberto. The awning says La Tavernetta Europa. Ah, that sounds good. And the place is spacious compared to 88th, though still a single room like most of the places on restaurant row. The Forest Hills address gives it a little more cachet, and I am sure it will bring draw more customers with more money. I wonder if the menu will be modified. Less salt please, I say! (And, hmmm...the Glendale site? Yikes!)

The whole area is changing, what with that new bread place Pantera or whatever opening on Woodhaven, across from the old bowling alley.

That is our neighborhood update for this week.

Saturday Night at the Movies

Tonight we watched "51 Birch St.," an independent documentary (aren't they all) about how, following his mother's death and the surprise marriage of his father to his former secretary three months later, a filmmaker sets out to discover the true nature of his parents' life together. Much is revealed through old home movies--our director was a tireless, and probably tiresome, cameraman--and new interviews with his father, the new wife, and the director's siblings. His deceased mother is ever present through 20 years of diaries, discovered post-mortem, in which she poured out her personal thoughts, which include her frustrations about her marriage. To avoid spoilers I will say no more about the notebooks. The film says a lot about what it was like to be married in the '50s and '60s--and what it is like now. Among other things, it underscores a main point of Betty Friedan's "The Feminine Mystique," whose opening lines I am struggling here to recall. It also touches on the difficulties of relationships, though this is beyond the grasp of our director, who I think is in denial on his own marriage. We had a good discussion after the film, watched the extra features (nothing great) and we agreed to rate this film 3.5 to 4 stars.

"51 Birch St." reminded us of other good docs we enjoyed including "Following Sean," "Capturing the Friedmans," "Who the #$&% Is Jackson Pollack," "I Like Killing Flies," and the wonderful "7-Up" series. Add to that "My Best Fiend Klaus Kinski"--a real freakshow--and that one about the grizzly man!! Joining Netflix helped us break our sometimes not so healthy TV watching habit, just as signing up for Fresh Direct broke us from our unhealthy walk through the aisles and load up the cart grocery store habits.

PS--Looking for that small film on Levittown, but no one seems to have it.

The Rat

Perhaps you've seen this guy around? The Rat? I remember seeing him first, years ago, on the Upper East Side. I think he's grown bigger over the years, just like me. I smile whenever I see him because my sympathies always lie with labor. Such a simple and direct message--so much more effective than a line of sad people with signs, led by a guy with a whistle shouting,"What do we want (Jobs!); when do we want 'em (Now)." How much more potent would labor be if it deployed humor and mockery to fight big business?

Anyway, here's our rat--today in front of Atlas Mall. I spoke to the workers very briefly and they have some beef with some of the stores in the mall. The rat is a thumb in the eye; they are saying: "Take that Hummdingers! Shame on You!!!"

Introducing...Pawla Newcat Ferns

Pawla Newcat Ferns, who showed up in our yard and returned again and again over several days, is named in honor of a recently departed actor. There is a sad part to her story, for some other time, but we hope to make her future a safe and happy one. Anyway, in-house cat #7 looks good and seems to be OK with people. We'll see if she is OK with other cats in a few days when she gets out of isolation following her medical ordeal.

401 NOT OK

The true impact of the money system failures are becoming evident as Americans across the nation open their mail and view their new 401K account statements--which for us are down many thousands! If you do not get a statement in the mail (usually quarterly) check online ASAP! And I fear that there is more bad news to come in the next statement. Are we just fools, handing money over each payday to these guys to gamble with? At least in a savings account your principle is protected; in a 401K it can all disappear. And then there are those fees!

Related to this, I recommend a book THE BIG SQUEEZE by Steven Greenhouse, the labor reporter for the NY Times, which tells how companies are seeing big savings by nickel-and-diming workers out of things we once reasonably assumed were standard for workers in this great land. The pension fight is over and we lost; health benefits will go next. And clearly, there is no balance of power in the company-worker relationship. Hard times.

Neighborhood Update

Our once quiet little section of Glendale, bordered by Woodhaven Blvd., Union Tpk., Cooper Ave. and St. John cemetery, and 80th St. is a little enclave of what was, in 2000, quiet streets and mixed residential and commercial. Today it is pretty crowded, and our once sleepy streets now have bumper to bumper parking and traffic whizzing through all day and night. Not to mention lots of foot traffic going to and from the mall. I like the mix of residential and commercial because that means fewer people, and there is sometimes an interesting architectural variety. But all is in flux. Inevitably, we will see further development, and all parcels are up for grabs. There are a few sites on 88th that I am concerned about. For now, here's' a status on small changes:







Our old reliable Glendale Latticini is under new management and has a new name, though this picture shows they kept the awning with the old name and put up a new sign above it with the new name. One mistake they made is not keeping the local staff that worked the register in the morning and weekends. People like to see that.

A new neighbor is offering an alternative to Starbucks at Metropolitan and Cooper. I don't know if we need an alternative to Starbucks in Glendale, and I wonder if the community can support this place. Esparks is a small chain-- I saw one in Glendale/Ridgewood near the CB 5 offices. I really am not sure how to pronounce it. I checked it out--it has bagels, cream cheese, coffee...but if a place does not sell the daily papers, well. Both the Latticini and this place service mostly all the truckers and workers who come into the neighborhood--there's big bucks in brex and lunch. They do not make profits from those of us who live here. We are small change.

And, finally, a closing. China Buffet on Cooper--closed by the Board of Health says the yellow sign on the door. This happened once before, and they opened up a few days later. But it makes you wonder. We ate there with the family. Lots of food. You can really pile it on. Still...

Cat health (or rather, lack thereof) update

Brendan is better. He's eating on his own from the bowl more, but I'm still feeding him from my finger. He's not sneezing or wheezing. I think he's definitely past the worst, and he's being very cooperative about being separated. Of course, it's easy for him because he sees us overnight. I can't say he's been letting me sleep through the night, so it's been hard for me.

On bad news, Georgie is definitely sick. I took him to the vet last night and he understood I was not looking to hospitalize him unless it was necessary, so he gave him a bunch of shots (an antibiotic, an appetite stimulant and a vitamin shot) and I went home with a strong antibiotic (only 1/2 pill once a day) and instructions to use the same antibiotic nose drops that Brendan is getting. And we had to separate him, too, so he got the front upstairs room, which he was NOT happy about, and found fairly inventive hiding places. Unfortunately, he stopped eating and probably drinking, even though we went out and bought the sardine cat food the vets swear every cat will eat. He was still somewhat active, but I know it's really bad for cats to not eat for more than 48 hours, and I didn't want to chance it, so Kevin and I took him tonight and left him, he'll be there a few days at least. I just don't have what it takes to force feed one of my cats. Pills, ok. Food, no. Georgie especially. The first 1/2 pill I gave him, he pooped a little nugget (the other two came out at the vet's). The second time I gave him the pill and nose drops, he let out a huge wet fart (I was sure there were going to be poop bits in it, but I guess since he hadn't been eating and he had already gotten the poop nuggets out previously, there just wasn't anything) and by the end of our struggles he had a HUGE amount of dripping snot that ended up attached between his nose and the air conditioner he was hiding next to. It was a good three inches long and 1/8 inch thick. It was just a bad situation all around.

And also bad, I think the Riaowly is also sick. She's been hanging out by herself on the futon, and hasn't been eating much. But tonight she ate grilled chicken, a good amount of it, so I'm hoping she's only a little sick and part of the problem is that everything's so topsyturvy. Plus the vet said to start her on the antiobiotics that we originally had for Brendan (a much milder antibiotic) and the nose drops antibiotic. But I won't be surprised if I need to bring her to the hospital in a few days, too.

Basically, I'm feeling like my life sucks right now, and I'm really stressed and don't feel much like eating either. I'm glad that at least we are home for the rest of the year.

The Importance of Oral Care for Cats

A couple of weeks ago, Brendan started leaving some kibbles when he ate, and within a week he wasn't much interested in eating. I suspected he was having a problem with his gums...we knew he had problems with his teeth and gums from way back when we first got him. When we brought him in to be tested and neutered, they removed something like 11 teeth, and since then during vet visits they've mentioned that his gums were bad. And unfortunately, oral care for my cats has eluded me for the most part.

Anyway, we brought him in and he definitely had teeth problems, they thought they might have to do some extractions, but he'd probably be home in a day or so.

Well, it wasn't so simple. He had grown gum flaps over parts of his teeth, and so food had gotten trapped and rotted into the pulp. Plus while extracting they saw a mass they didn't like and biopsied it. Thank goddess it came back negative for cancer, but he was diagnosed with some gingivitis thing (I forget the full name) and they needed to keep him in a few days longer to make sure he was eating on his own. So we weren't happy he had to stay in, and indicated that if it was just force feeding that he needed that we'd prefer to have him home (being confident that in a day or two he would be eating on his own anyway). But by that Friday he was showing interest in eating, so the vets said it was ok to send him home. Though on Thursday we spoke to one of the vets at the hospital that we find somewhat obnoxious and not good partners in our cats' health care.

When we picked him up, the vet (one we like and trust, who apologized for the other vet's phone manner, and said he would be happy to be the main vet to speak to us) showed us some pictures that had taken while Brendan was being worked on. Pretty gruesome! He was sent home with an antibiotic and a pain pill. Well, I was able to do the liquid antibiotic, but the pain pill was too difficult for me because I was really scared of making his mouth hurt more. I should have gotten a pill gun immediately, maybe things would have been a little different, but maybe not.

Anyway, by Monday (Labor Day) he was not wanting to eat again (maybe because the pain medication had worn out and I hadn't been able to dose him properly), and he was sneezing. And hacking, which at first we thought was a hairball, but then rethought it in combination with the sneezing. So we drove out to the Valley Stream hospital office for an emergency visit (and which took us much longer than it should have because we were given bad directions and got lost...even though we had been out there several times related to P. Kitty, without being given the right exit off the Southern State, it wasn't familiar and we ended up all the way out by Hofstra University, many towns east of Valley Stream, what a nightmare trip that was!) and he was readmitted. He was there all week, on an intravenous line, and being force fed for the first few days (apparently cats must eat, unlike humans who can survive for a week on sugar water intravenously, or they develop some kind of liver problem pretty quickly, like within 48 hours).

We picked him up yesterday (Saturday) finally. The poor guy has lost some weight, and he has sores on the outer part of his mouth (I'm afraid to look inside!), and he's on a superduper antibiotic and prednisone (which will be tapered off within a month), in addition to a separate antibiotic administered through his nostrils. The antibiotic and pred are pills, and we bought a pill gun which works just fine. On the trip home he sneezed a zillion times, and we were really worried he was severely ill, but he's been better since he got home.

We have him isolated in the bedroom (because of the sneezing, which could be something contagious), which he isn't happy about but has settled into. Right now he's sleeping underneath the computer hutch. The other cats aren't happy, they know SOMETHINGS up there, and I've been spending most of my time up there this weekend. (Not what we had pictured for our anniversary weekend). Kevin's been doing his best to spend some time with them, but I'm sure it's not the same for them. They like patterns, and the regular pattern is definitely broken!

So, in answer to KAKe's question about there being episodes of Eight is Enough, I'm thinking it's not likely. We just don't have the funds to take on another cat at this point. If we end up needing to declare bankruptcy, it'll definitely be because of cat health issues! And I can't stress enough the importance of cat oral care; I'm sure that the severity of this could have been avoided if I had pushed myself to ignore their protests and gotten into even a monthly oral cleaning habit. By this, I mean that I would have been aware of Brendan's mouth condition, and likely would have brought him in before it got to that point; clearly he appeared to be happily eating while he must have been in some severe discomfort. :-(

And right now I'm worried about Georgie, who started sneezing today along with some watery eye discharge. I'm not as concerned about the eye discharge, because his normal is to have a lot of eye cheese, but in conjunction with the sneezing I'm concerned that it's whatever Brendan has. Ugh. Wish us good luck that it's just a temporary allergy or something. If he doesn't get better in a day or two, he'll be going to the money pit, too.

We still do...

Today is our 5th anniversary.

We're glad we still see some of the smiling faces in this picture. Five years changes a lot.

New friend

This is a new friend on 71st Ave. by Kim's job. He is smallish--smaller even than Pru--but we are not sure if he is a kitten or if he is just slim. Actually we are not even sure he is a he. He comes around the parking lot and she puts out food for him and for another cat, a white one with patches. We may need names for these two guys/gals.

Kimberly unexpectedly saw him once at the dead end of 71st Ave. near the Hansel & Gretel. She had been putting food out in the parking lot, but hadn't been able to park in the lot that day and so had to find a spot much further down. Going home, walking down the street to the car, almost at the car, she spotted the kitty coming from a fenced in area and she called to him, "Hi kitty, Hi kitty." He ran towards her and meowed but then stayed across the street. So she showed him that she had a bag of food, and he looked interested, but when she went across he moved further away. So she put some food down in a spot where she thought he would see. But he didn't, he moved further away, and she put more out, closer to him. Then that second cat showed up, and she was glad she had two piles.

Back to School, Back to Books

In NYC, the day after Labor Day has traditionally been the day that "'teachers report." They show up for their first day to get their classroom assignments, set up their rooms, meet with their departments, and begin their countdown of the state-mandated 180-days. It's a beautiful day, like April for Chaucer when all nature wakes up. Across all the DeGrassi and Ridgemont and Capeside and West Beverly Hill high schools, teachers today are planning their units and lessons, selecting the books they think will "work" with their classes--and one of the first criteria (forget official requirements) is that the teachers like the books they choose to teach. I won't go on and on about what goes on with teachers, students, and books except to say a few things such as that all the bestseller lists, book review sections, etc. seem to miss this key aspect of American life. They are not counting those things that really count. Do we really know what is being taught and read across America?

It is true that one of the biggest drains on the lives of young people is the forced reading of tired old texts--such as Steinbeck's THE DEAD PONY, oops THE RED PONY. A greater truth is that teachers have made a difference in the lives of kids by introducing them to books that matter and to which they may personally connect. It is teachers who above all others deserve credit for making memoirs so popular, and one day someone will write a history focusing just on the role of Maya Angelou's I KNOW WHY THE CAGED BIRD SINGS in that effort; they deserve credit for promoting a whole genre we call YA; and credit to the newer teachers for bringing to their students the works they themselves are discovering in graduate school, whether Jamaica Kincaid, or Sandra Cisneros, or Oscar Hijuelos. Credit also to teachers who take the classic works and, with student participation, read them in fresh and creative ways; and those who bring in music and film to highlight techniques, or to deepen the artistic experience in ways that books cannot. This canon-reshaping and cultural regeneration takes place in the classrooms and student minds each and every semester. Teachers are both transmitters of culture and bulwarks against culture. And so, as Mr. Raditch said in days of old, "Good Morning, Aspiring Scholars."

"Have You No Sense of Decency, Sir...?'

Kudos to Hendrik Hertzberg, whose piece on Jerome Corsi's THE OBAMA NATION leads off this week's New Yorker. Hertzberg presents a well-argued, sustained dismissal of Corsi's book, which he says, "is an example of what used to be known, in the glory days of ideologically driven totalitarianism, as the Big Lie." Hertzberg properly distributes blame among all those responsible for taking this dump and for spreading it around: editor Mary Matalin, mogul Sumner Redstone, radiocons Limbaugh, Hannity and Savage, and the author, who is "a crackpot, a boor, and a bigot." Q.E.D., I say.

Speaking of books, and on a lighter note, what I find strange is this: candidate Obama has this book AUDACITY OF HOPE, which I liked and which lays out his thinking on a range of topics, yet he never mentions it. (Am I wrong?) If I were running for office, and if I had a book, I would constantly be telling people, "Buy my book and read it.You'll learn who I am and what I am about." If reporters asked me a question I would respond, "As I write in my book..." or "See p. 58," or "That's covered on 122." If cornered, you say, "I'm gonna write about that in my next book." Someone told me that could be seen as elitist, and I guess reading books (esp. hardcovers?) and worse, writing them, is elitist. Maybe. Well anyway, that's why he's the presumptive nominee of the Democratic Party and why he's having his best week ever.

Mr. Harvey's Reminiscence

Back in Nashville at the Natl Assn of Teachers of Singing conference, things were pretty slow a lot of the time in the exhibit hall, and so I had a chance to get to know some of the people in the neighboring booths.

We were selling through Classical Vocal Reprints, and I had spoken with its owner Glendower Jones on the phone any number of times when he called in a sales order, so it was nice to meet him. He was born in the South, lived for a while in New York, and about a year ago moved himself and his family back down South, to Fayetteville, Arkansas. His family includes his wife, who was cordial enough, and a whip-smart 6-year-old daughter, adopted from China. Mary Catherine (quite a mouthful of a name for a little girl, if you ask me) learned the Miss Mary Mack clapping game and song perfectly within an hour, and was able to write all the words (so she could remember it when she got home) with only the tiniest bit of help from me. However, I think the song quickly drove her parents crazy--I don't feel too bad, though, because I think they were already a bit insane to require an energetic young thing to be indoors in an exhibit hall for hours on end. But this post isn't about them.

It's also not about Tim, the California vegan exhibiting for Plural Publishing to the left of my booth. He was great fun, and nearly choked laughing when we were talking about how a blind conference attendee was having difficulty with her guide dog, and I suggested perhaps she would have been better paired with a guide monkey. (It turned out the doggie was in training--but he was clearly not enjoying it, and therefore not taking to it very well.)

Or about the lovely woman "of a certain age" directly across from me selling vocal studio supplies. She had the most amazing mini-bouffant, carefully styled each day, and was definitely a Steel Magnolia and the kind of woman I would have wanted as my mother.

No, this post is about the quiet salt-and-pepper haired lady across and to my right, Kathy Henkel. She was there to sell her compositions, but she spent much of her time there with Mary Catherine; I think they were both happy to have company, someone to pass the time with. But I also had a chance to speak with her, and she told me about one of her compositions, Mr Harvey's Reminiscence. I found it completely charming.

When she was younger, she married an Englishman, and had the opportunity to travel there with him. Unfortunately he was not a kind man, and she eventually decided to leave him. However, she had fallen in love with England, and travelled back there several times with her sister. On one visit they were in Cornwall, in a little town near Penzance called...Mousehole!

Can you imagine it? The very name of the place (though it is pronounced MOU-zel) conjured up images of the storybook version of Victorian England for me immediately. I was completely enchanted.

Anyway, quite by chance while there she struck up the acquaintance of an old man who had lived there all his life: Mr. Harvey. He kept a lovely garden with a rose bush, and they would sit in the evenings and he would tell her about the idyllic little fishing town it was when he was young. Sometimes his daughter would angrily call him in for dinner and break the spell, but probably it would be hard to say who enjoyed those visits more, the teller or the listener. His stories inspired Kathy to write a poem, which she later set to music; one line in particular she took directly from his words: "the fish looked like silver bowls in the moonlight." Some years later she visited the area again, but found that he had passed away.

On the last exhibit day I told her I really enjoyed the story, and wanted to buy the high voice version as a memento. She was really pleased, and said to me that of all the people she had ever told the story to, I was definitely the most attentive and seemed the most genuinely interested, and she was really happy that someone else would help remember Mr. Harvey. She was going to be in Cornwall again later in the summer, and said she would try to send me a postcard from Mousehole; so I gave her my home address and a hug.

I had forgotten about it completely until we came home from Kansas City, and in the mail were two postcards: the first from St. Mawes, with a message saying she hadn't found a Mousehole postcard yet, but hoped to before she returned to Los Angeles. The second was a picture postcard of Mousehole itself, with this message: "Hi again - The weather was so bad in Touro today that my sister and I took the train to St. Ives for a day-trip -- where the weather was glorious! While there, I found this postcard of Mousehole in one of the little shops. Mr. Harvey's house is off the postcard on the left. it is on the edge of town and overlooks the sea -- actually backs up to the sea. Take care. Hope the remainder of your year will be happy and successful. Best wishes -- Kathy Henkel"

Maybe some day I'll be able to get there myself. And if so, I hope it is the same sleepy little fisherman's town that Mr. Harvey lived his life in.

I just flew in from KC and boy, are my arms tired...

No, seriously, we're both tired. T. I. R. E. D.

We had decided to fly by Midwest Airlines for two reasons: they have nice wide seats (though it looks like their new planes will not be this way, bummer for Kevin...to be honest, I feel like Alice in Wonderland in them) and they fly directly from NY to KC. Unfortunately, even though we bought our tickets about 5-6 weeks in advance, the choice of flight times (the days were fixed based on the Natl Flute Assn convention schedule) was greatly limited, and we ended up with a 7am Monday morning flight.

So miraculously I got up at 4am without being a complete bitch (I am NOT a morning person; if you have any doubts, ask Kev for a few prime stories) and we got out to the airport and except for the fact that they offer basically no food (!) at MCI airport things were going just fine. Even that was not a big deal, because another good thing about Midwest is that they offer actual meals for sale, not just crappy snack items. So we had a decent breakfast on board, and were well on our way to seeing the kitties by noon.

Well, the weather can be a real fucker-upper. About 1.5 hours into our 2.5 hour flight, the captain gets on the intercom and tells us that we're being put in a holding pattern because of some bad weather at LaGuardia, but not to worry, he took about an hours worth of extra gas and even with a delay we should get there with no problem.

30 minutes later, he has to go back on his story because apparently the freakish weather has caused serious delays, and we've got to get refueled before it's likely we can approach the NYC area. So off to Pittsburgh we go. Which is sorta funny because the only other time we've been to Pittsburgh was exactly 2 years ago with the first NFA convention I exhibited at. Anyway, we're told we'll be disembarking because the pilot is not convinced that it will be just a refueling, that though it could be just a short overly we'd be better off in the airport than stuck on the plane while we likely wait out the weather.

We were told not to wander too far, but we did manage to buy some lunch at least. And I took a moment to call KAKe to get a first hand NYC weather report--besides being completely surprised to hear from me, she told me that yeah, the weather was severe just a little while ago, but the sun has come out. "Yay," I think, "we'll be home by 3pm the latest." Why I was so optimistic, I can't say exactly, but overly optimistic I most certainly was.

Shortly after calling KAKe, they had us reboard. Yay!
Shortly after reboarding, they parked our plane off to the side of the runway. Boo!
About 20 minutes later, the captain says we're taking off. Yay!
About 20 minutes after taking off, the captain reports we're back in a holding pattern. Boo!
We look out the window and Kevin notices that our circling pattern has us going right over a pair of nuclear reactors. Eeep!
Nuclear reactors?? We're not even out of western Pennsylvania! Boo!

About 20 minutes into that circling holding pattern, I started to feel motion sickness...headache, queasiness, like that. Boo! So I did my best to get some sleep and not toss up my lunch.

The plane eventually landed at about 3:15 NY time. Just so you have a reference, it was originally scheduled to land at 10:30am NY time. And as luck would have it, the Grand Central was completely backed up, and we didn't get home until about 4:30. It took a few hours to get rid of the motion sickness completely, and even though we took a nap at around 6pm, we're both tired. Kev was asleep before I started posting this. And now to bed, too. More on KC in the next few days.

Kansas City, MO

We arrived in Kansas City late Tuesday afternoon after an uneventful flight except for one guy across the aisle who had his shoes and socks off and his leg up on his knee, showing us his ugly toes; and an annoying man who did not turn off his cellphonetexter as per orders before takeoff, and who later asked for a third cookie (they generously give two freebies) just to annoy us. File him under "schnorrer," a Yiddish term that means what it sounds like.

Our hotel is in a different part of town from where we stayed two years ago, and that really changes your orientation and perspective on things. We discovered a great new district just over the railroad tracks by Union Station. What was formerly a freight loading district now has condos, lofys, galleries, and restaurants--We ate at Lidia's, you know the famous chef....and the food was terrific. And last night we had BBQ. Also very good. But we need greens!

More to follow...I hope.

While You Were Out

Most of the time nothing happens back home when you are at work, and that is good. It's important to keep that in mind when you travel. Nothing is going on. No thing. The house is fine. Everyone is OK. But then you stay home one day and you become aware of all the hubbub outside and it kind of draws you in: a def increase in dogs and dogwalkers early in the morn, delivery trucks stopping by the convenience store on the corner, and a yellow school bus picking one up one lone kid--in late July? You see that a crew from Ridgewood Redevelopment Corp. is removing graffiti from the Amtech HQ across the street, so you go out to oversee that little job and get some pix. And then within an hour a DEP truck is at the catch basin that you called in about, with a big scoop thing dropping big loads of wet dirt and debris into the truck. You are glad you are there to help; to tell the guy that it was Con Ed who was responsible for putting that mud there in the first place. But it almost seems like he does not care. Hmph. Failure to value backstory (call that in, too). More pix. Then the lunch crowd, the guys from Communicar, mailman, and kids. Again the dogwalkers. Lot of activity, indeed, and you would be unaware of it all if you were back at your cubicle where you belong.

totallylookslike

Our blogfriend posted about a new site, and when we saw her post we thought back to our recent photos and said...wait a min, that totally looks like...

Saturday in the Park

Saturday: Up early, check garbage by curb,OK; feed the cats, check NY1 and click around the dial that isn't a dial anymore--what is this GreenPlanet: a story on a green home in Albuquerque?; check to see if the garbage was picked up; go out for coffee and Ridgewood Times, peer into catch basins, note empty Corona bottle on sidewalk, and new grafitti across the street; wonder if I have an obsessive mind; worry that I have an obsessive mind; distracted again, this time by squirrel; Brex and an early start on the Sunday papers sections that arrived, two piles: keep this, toss that; need for third pile?; check again, garbage; bring empty bottles from pantry to basement. Garbage picked up, but missed it because I was distracted by something in basement. Wait for K. to get up. Look in. Cats snuggled on bed with her.

Our plan was to get out, pick up our CSA goodies, and then go to the church to drop off for the pantry. McCarran Park was in full Saturday mode--full of hipsters, as she calls them, and their dogs, on leash and in the dog runs. Two surveyors on the corner of Driggs; the big red decorated bus that is parked in the same spot every Saturday and which reminds me of Kesey's "Further."
The distribution point was pretty busy with latecomers in the last 20 minutes. Boxes of veggies, the scale, and familiar faces with the sign-in sheets. Loading up the car with the leftovers I met and talked with two new members, a couple from Jackson Heights, Queens. That was a surprise; It has its own CSA. They seemed very interested in CSA stuff and I suggested they show up at Sunday's Core Group meeting. We'll see...
The trunk and back seat were loaded with corn, zucchini, onions, eggs, and assorted greens, which we delivered to the church. Kim had to move stuff around in the one fridge to get eggs in there and we left the other stuff on the floor in crates. The church soup kitchen is overwhelmed with too much food from us, and changes have to be made. Donnie, a kind of super I guess, told us about his troubles with the chain, the gate, the need to get a new combination lock, all relating to a story of a homeless guy who got into the church yard at night. Nice guy.

Then back to McCarran to shop at the Green Market--eggs, berries, goat cheese, carrots, and tomatoes--all locally grown and fresh, if not all strictly organic, all sold by friendly vendors who had left early in the morn from Jersey or LI farms Our friend from Garden of Eve Farm said his assistant was in Brooklyn for the first time and she was out exploring. "I told her to go down Bedford." It was fun walking from stall to stall together, making big decisions.

On the drive over, Kim told me how, earlier, she had heard Dawn read the riot act to one of the latecomers who arrived after 12--who told her that he was "having trouble getting there" each week. I would have said, "Well, You are making progress. Next week you may get here on time. And then you will get your veggies."

Anyway, this is boring but at least we are getting out, for whatever reason, on a Saturday morn, rather than hanging back, getting stuck and depressed or angry with each other. But we missed The Soup (again); it will roll around (again), and we will probably miss it again. But we got out, and we brought back some Good Eats!

TOTHism

Of course since I haven't been able to find an existing religion I can believe in fully, I had to create my own: TOTHism.

You'll notice that it's in all caps. That's because it's an acronym. It stands for:

Thinning
Of
The
Herd

Thanks to the newsmedia, I am able to practice my religion daily, sometimes several times a day. I was at the alter of TOTH just a few minutes ago while at KAKe's blog. She posted an article about a woman who died after she ate wild mushrooms from the side of the highway. KAKe said "Eeew" and "Moron."

But I say: TOTH!

My soul doth magnify the greatness of TOTH! All around us in this world are shown to us the ever-present and all-encompassing TOTH! TOTH knows no color, race, sex or creed. Hail, TOTH! Long live TOTH!

Seriously, I'm sure it's very sad for that woman's family. But I still say: TOTH!

In Newsday today it was reported that a young man in Suffolk died while driving his car at excessive speed, driving across the double yellow line, with his friend as a passenger. He wanted to study criminal justice and become a cop. His family reports that everybody liked him. Unfortunately (or perhaps fortunately for the rest of us), TOTH liked him best, and took him into its embrace. The friend was very near to TOTH himself, blessed are those who see TOTH in person and live to tell of it. Perhaps his encounter with TOTH will be a life changing experience (i.e. he won't let himself be a passenger of such a dumbass "friend" again!).

Someone hit by a train and killed while spraypainting graffiti on LIRR tracks? A fine work of TOTH!
Someone killed while car surfing? A superior work of TOTH!

And how many of them say "S/He wanted to be a lawyer." (I'd say, about 70%. The rest wanted to be cops or firemen or entrepreneurs with successful businesses.)

My beliefs may make me sound harsh. Deny TOTH if you must, but for believers and unbelievers both, TOTH's boundless work continues across all time and space.

(Can I get an "Amen?")

Good God, It's Wednesday Already!

Where DOES the time go?

I took vacation time this week, and intended to sleep late, and do gardening, and take the kitties outside, and basically just do happy, relaxed fun things. I had been feeling the need to have some down time, and so when Martin canceled his originally planned vacation for this week (it's his birthday tomorrow, and every year so far he's taken off the week of his birthday; this year it coincided with a visit from our uber-boss, Nicholas Riddle, and just to prove that he doesn't take off when Nicholas is here--whole other story there--he changed it to the last week in July) I jumped at it.

Well, so far I feel neither particularly happy nor relaxed. In fact, I guess I'm feeling a bit stressed because I haven't done any of the "fun" activities I had originally planned....Ok, I did sleep a little later than usual yesterday, but it doesn't count in my estimation because I didn't wake up feeling relaxed and happy and ready to greet the day.

For sure it doesn't help that I'm PMSing, but could the little shits in the neighborhood (*cough cough*Tommy*cough cough*), and the idjits from the bar, and the schmucks who park their trucks in front of my driveway PLEASE take this week off, too?! Please???

And could the day maybe slow down a little so it's not suddenly 3pm and all I've managed to do is eat a bagel, feed the cats their lunch, and read the paper? I don't think that's asking too much. Thanks.

Catch basins (We'll look into it)

Catch basins are my current obsession: I can hardly walk by one in this neighborhood without peering in. They are mostly all filled with debris and dirt. Rain causes some of the buildup, but it is also the result of humanoids using the catch basins for garbage. Coffee cups pile up in catch basins near delis and bodegas; and I have seen dog owners toss their goody bag in them. Think of this happening three dogwalks per day, for several different doggies/owners.

It all started two months ago when I complained at a CB5 meeting about three catch basins that were covered over when Atlas Mall repaved Cooper Ave. This was during a discussion about flood mitigation, which is a critical issue in Queens. CB5 took up the matter, contacted Hemmerdinger, and he was, supposedly, furious when he learned about the problem (perhaps we should say "shocked, shocked" as in that film). Anyway, the one in front of our house is pretty much filled with dirt; this morning around 6, I stuck a stick in there and it was impossible for water to flow through. I called 311 to report.

Remedy: Every catch basin should have an "address", a number/location identifier. We should be able to find out the number of the catch basin in front of or near our house. Then, with technology being what it is today, we should be able to go on nyc.gov and just research when our catch basin was supposedly cleaned out.

You might want to look into the catch basins in your neighborhood.

Captain Justice

Charity (and Drama) Begins in Williamsburg-Greenpoint

So today we went to a CSA core group meeting for the first time in many months. Last year we had gone to every meeting, held about monthly, until Kevin got ill, after which I continued going until December. At that point I was pretty unhappy with how things were going and decided to move back from it all. It had come as a shock to me that some of the other core group members were receiving 50% or 100% discounts (depending on position) on their vegetable shares in compensation of the work they did coordinating the various things that must be done to run the CSA (accounts, communication, distribution, etc). It made me upset because I felt like it was hidden from us. Then when it came time to "vote" (and I use that word very loosely) on who would be in the coordinator positions in 2008, I felt completely shut out because of the poorly run process.

Kevin was kinda unhappy with them from earlier in the season, though I don't recall why exactly, and so I thought we would be happy to just be "regular members" for 2008. Kevin was spooked about signing up for 2008, he thought we might be shunned as nasty people who couldn't be bothered to stay with the core group, PLUS who lived not in Greenpoint or Williamsburg but...[gasp!]...Queens! But it was no big deal.

As the new season rolled around, Kevin became interested again and decided he wanted to be involved in the core group again. He has since said to me that he stepped back to let the new group of young high-energy types go ahead and take care of things, but he felt compelled to rejoin because he thought they were "screwing things up" and he might be useful, and a voice/opinion that is needed to get things back on track. The first project was the first few distributions, which would be run only by core group members to ensure that things started smoothly. So I dropped him off at 8:30am a few Saturday mornings in June, and picked up our shares and went to the green market, and came back later to pick him up. We also ended up dropping off the leftover shares (some ALWAYS end up not getting picked up) at a local church that is running a food pantry and soup kitchen program.

I should mention that we stayed on the fringes of the group the whole time because we had continued to get all the list-serv emails and postings, and sort of knew what was going on.

The reason for the meeting we went to today--which was not a regular meeting but a "meeting about meetings"--was because at the previous core group meeting some personalities had a complete clash and one of the coordinators, who is VERY involved in the CSA as well as a number of other grassroots organizations in the W'burg area, stormed out of the meeting because she felt attacked. So it was bad situation all around, including the fact that three newbies witnessed it, and so some other regularly-attending members thought that we ought to prevent that kind of thing by splitting the meeting into two parts: the first hour for current core members only, and the second hour for new attendees. The coordinator who is always the voice of reason (I am sure it is sometimes very hard to be her, as I think people go to her with their greivances and often ends up in the role of negotiator when she just doesn't want to have to deal with other peoples drama...) suggested the core meet to discuss the issue. I am flatly against that policy, as is Kevin, and so we ended up going to the meeting. I was nervous about the situation because I thought we were going to be the minority opinion in the group. Well, as it turns out we weren't, and all the people who initially thought that they wanted the two sections had rethought their initial reactionary opinions, except for one person who wasn't able to attend this quickly-scheduled meeting.

Anyway, when we were all done speaking (we went round the table because noone really wanted to begin, lucky me I was first) I felt much better about the group as a whole. So when it was decided that since we were mostly all together that we also needed to discuss what was going on with our friends at the soup kitchen/food pantry. Some of the food was going to waste because of timing and communication: the soup kitchen is on Wednesday evening, and the food pantry is on Thursday, but the bigger of the CSA's food donations are on Saturday, and some things just won't keep, especially if they're not refrigerated. And the Wednesday night drop offs needed to be put away, too, and more importantly labeled so that during the food pantry people knew what they were getting.

After the positive, reaffirming first half of the meeting, the discussion was going downhill. The coordinator who had been kinda flowing things through to the church (she had not made the intial contact with them, but felt that if she didn't step up to that role then nothing would have happened at all with us making donations), the same one who had stormed out, was getting frustrated in explaining the situation and options and the responses to them, began raising her voice: "Well, if you want me to tell the church that we won't be giving them any more vegetables, I will. It wasn't my idea in the first place!"

I had an immediate response in my brain to that: go ahead and help make this work. So I agreed to be the coordinator for getting the food donations to the church on Wednesdays and Saturdays, in a manner in which they can use them.

As a general rule I do not love churches and religion, but this particular church gave me a good vibe when we dropped off the veggies. The pastors of the church are a lesbian couple, who just had a baby the other day. We had met Pastor Ann a few times, and she seemed genuinely open and positive and non-descriminatory. The church itself is a gorgeous old mansion on Milton Street in Greenpoint. And I really like the idea of reaching people with a food pantry and soup kitchen; I think those kinds of programs meet an immediate and present need. I have been trying to find something "important" to do with my time for a while. I had thought about volunteering for a group like Save Kitty, but that's just too heartbreaking for me. Last year we got involved in the CSA, early this year I thought I might want to become a Citizen Pruner, and most recently we've been getting more involved in local politics. This kind of just fell into my lap, and I hope it is a good fit for me. I would be pretty disappointed in myself if I'm not able to make this work without getting burned out.

The Booth

This is the reason that we went to Nashville.

Just A Good Ol' Boy

I could not let this visit end ignominiously. I needed a win-win. I needed something good to report to my love. There it was across three parking lots: Cooter's: The Dukes of Hazzard Museum. Parked out front is the old General Lee, with 01 painted on the side. Nearby, is a charming little mini-me, the 01/2.

Inside there was lots, and it was all free. The front part was merchandise, more on that in a sec. The back was "the museum." Every item ever made for sale in relation to this popular show-- beginning with lunch boxes, along with posters, fanzines, cutouts, and other promo materials--was arranged behind glass cabinets.

A TV in the corner played an episode, the usual trouble, and I realized how many guests appeared on the show, usually B actors that we recognize but can't name exactly. Also inside were cars used by the sherriff, Boss Hogg, and that old guy who was their surrogate daddy. And, of course, many pics of Daisy. (There was nothing at all relating to the movie with J. Simpson).

Back up front, t-shirts, hats, magnets, keychains, videotapes,etc. And there was a pile of books. In real life, the actor who played Cooter is Ben Jones, who is a politician and a writer of note. Jones was elected to Congress twice, and made a good showing in a race against Newt Gingrich. He has a book just out, Redneck Boy in the Promised Land: Confessions of "Crazy Cooter." It's a memoir about his highs and lows, his deep love of the Southern way of life, and the need to change ourselves and society. You heard it here first if he is selected for the V.P. position on an Obama-Jones ticket. He may be crazy, but he's not dumb.

So, my visit to Cooter's redeemed a jeapardious day, and I returned to Opryland, saying hi to the horsies as I passed by, and walked through to the convention center, where I found Kimberly in the Peters booth. I told her that not much happened, really, showed her the pix in the camera, and then...I broke down in tears and told her the truth. (Oh, maybe that didn't happen) Anyway, she laughed and laughed, and I like to hear her do that, so all was OK.

Bad Day at Shoney's

"Remember. You are in the South; and you are a Northerner." My wife warned me before I left her that day, and it makes you wonder what was in her mind. Does she think I am some kind of certified nut? (Or an uncertified one?) Sheesh.

My last day would be spent around the hotel, checking the local sights. A long walk to the end of hotel property, across a highway and then into an area with large parking lots. I went this way, then that way, looking for the right place to have lunch. The night before we had seen old people making their way towards a restaurant that, sure enough, had blowups of old people eating. They know their clientele. But it was closed, and the urge to use the facilities was getting more urgent. The Thai place we ate at the night before was a possibility--They have good, cheap lunches usually. No, we are traveling, I should try something new. The Shoney's sign beckoned. We had popped in the night before to just check it out and figured it was like a Boston Market. Wrong. I went in, saw a buffet, and smelled something. I wish now that I had left then. But I was hungry. So, first a pit stop to wash my hands.

It was one of those large wheelchair access booths that I hate. I never feel right in them. Then afterwards...the paper. Nothing to grab. It would not roll out. It was one of those super huge rolls, big as a cheesewheel. I tipped it, tapped it; pushed it. It was a goddamn new roll! And no one had gotten it started! Distress rising, I figured if I could somehow get the plastic cover off of it...and then crash, the whole thing hit the floor, a screw rolled on the floor. I stopped, waited, listened. Nothing.

I was desperate, had to get out of the bathroom, and out of that restaurant. But maybe they would not like that; if I ran. Be cool. Breathe. I picked up the whole thing, held it under my right arm, reached in with my left hand and just clawed out a chunk of paper, which served its purpose. Someone came in, I was quiet. I suited up, placed the cheesewheel quietly on the floor against the wall, and then, damn fool, reached out with my foot to drag in the big screw that was on the floor just outside the booth. It was just out of reach and I had to try again. Then I realized I was in the South, in a public bathroom, there was a guy at the sink, and I had my foot outside the booth, tapping the floor! Help! He left, I hurried out (yes, I washed my hands, even though I am not an employee!), and then nonchalantly stood by the host's station. The food was crap, but I was hungry so I probably ate too much of the crap, washing it down with a milkshake, bad choice. But I got out of there alive! Advice to all: never, ever, eat at a Shoney's. I know I never will.

Frist Things First

Wrapping up the Nashville notes, or trying to, so we can get to current drama, of which there is some...
I will be brief on the Frist Gallery of Visual Art, though my visit was not. Located in a spiffily-refurbished post office designed in art-deco style, the building is a jewel, to coin a cliche. The collection? They don't have one. It's my understanding that the Frist just exhibits and does not collect. I like that. I was delighted when the volunteer at the admissions desk, who perhaps was overly generous with information (heck, she was chatty) told me the exhibit was "Color As Field," because those artists are old favorites of mine from back in the '70s: Robert Motherwell, Helen Frankenthaler, Mark Rothko, Jules Olitski, et. al. Just a few points here: I was happy to see that Frankenthaler had a primary place in the exhibit, because back then she was sometimes just "Motherwell's wife." As for Motherwell, himself, I always associate him with black & white, because of an old museum show of that name, and here there was some real nice color. Best of all, it is not always the case in museum shows with a thesis like this one that we get to see more than one canvas of any individual painter; here you got several, and it helps. Oh, and of course, it is good to see really BIG canvases. I focused on the dates of the works and this show draws from the the '50s, '60s, and early '70s. That is a long time, and the curator's point about influence does not really hold up. Some of the later artists in the show, especially Kenneth Noland, are what I would call "geometrists," and they have a wholly different sensibility and technique from the color field painters. They use masking tape, for example.

Upstairs was an exhibit on Tiffany, and I had trouble concentrating; all I could say was "Antiques Roadshow, Antiques Roadshow." But I learned a bit, esp. about a collector of Tiffany who single-handedly made this stuff acceptable---Philip Johnson had called it "bric-a-brac." This guy collected hordes of the stuff, and when Tiffany & Co. went out of business (I did not know that), he bought up 5,000 crates of glass. One room explained the issue of replica, reproduction, and fake/counterfeit, which was a good move. One my comment card I wrote, "I believe I noticed several more fakes in this exhibit. Recommend you double-check everything."

The community gallery showed works by local, disabled artists. It made an impression. You would first think the works would be amateurish, but many/most of them had something of interest, and you got the sense both of intense focus and of playfulness. There was a moving video in which three distressed women just talk about their very difficult lives.

On the way out I asked a simple question of the volunteer which led to a lengthy discussion of many things, including cats, hers and ours. She was nice, and I have felt lately that I should try to talk to people more when we travel. But then I assume a persona, which is weird. Looking back I see I was not as brief as I had intended to be on the Frist. Perhaps I should tell you about my difficult time at Shoney's.

Music City, USA

Nashville is, after all, Music City, USA, and you may be waiting for a report on the Grand Ole Opry, or the Ryman, or sightings of Tex Ritter or Reba McIntyre. Noop. Sorry. [We found out too late that Earl Scruggs was at the Grand Ole Opry the night we arrived, and that was just down the road a piece. Too bad.] Anyway, the hotel is now the home base of legendary radio station WSM. Guests can stand in the hallway, and watch and listen to the host and engineer (and musical guests) doing their stuff. Text panels on the wall provide the long and distinguished history of the station. (Factoid: Pat Sajack worked there early in his career) I listened a few mornings as I passed by for coffee and the paper, and one morning we put it on in the room. Some of it was the typical morning radio of the Howard Stern school; but they played a Tom T. Hall song called "Another Town": "Another town another grocery store/Another town another set of swingin' doors...Another town that don't need my kind."


Going downtown was important for music education and appreciation, and that we did. Just after coming out of the Hatch Show Print shop, we walked across the street to the original Ernest Tubb Record Shop. We flipped through the selection of CDs--of Hank Williams, Patsy Cline, Tennessee Ernie Ford, Tammy Wynette, Jimmie Dale Gilmore, and others. We wanted to find just one to bring back with us to remember the trip by, and since we like old timey music, the Original Carter Family was our pick--a collection of 40 songs, including "Keep on the Sunny Side." We enjoyed the signed photos along the wall, as well as the late Pete Drake's pedal steel guitar, which was under glass. He played on a few good Dylan albums way back. At the rear of the store is a stage, where for many years they have broadcast a live music show every Saturday after midnight. (Today it is streamed online.)

Later that night we were in front of the Wild Horse Saloon waiting for the bus back to the hotel. After a while, Kimberly noticed that there was no traffic at all on the street, and there was a growing crowd of young people milling about the street and assembling in front of the Wild Horse. They were dressed in goth clothes with their faces painted white, not the fashion we expected to see here. It was just a little unsettling, there were so many of them. A mob, really, and noisy. We found out that they were lining up for a concert by a group called Dark Lotus, which is made up of former members of the Insane Clown Posse. Hee haw!


The Country Music Hall of Fame was the big destination on Sunday afternoon. The driver told us it was important to start our day there, because it was closing early in the afternoon because of the induction of new members later that day: Emmylou Harris, Tom T. Hall included. The Hall of Fame did a good job of explaining the different streams that went into country music including music from England, black music, and theater and show music. They then covered the rise of barn dances, the importance of radio in broadcasting live music events, and the rise of recording studios and the music business. There was a lot of archival material, including television tapes, as well as instruments, costumes, and promotional material--a visual delight. Country music posters and gold records filled the walls, and there were high-interest oddities like Elvis's gold piano and Webb Pierce's cadillac with guns for door handles, rifles along the sides, and bulls' horns on the fenders. There were also a lot of Nudie suits, and record studio boards. A special exhibit covered the sad life of Hank Williams as well as that of his son, Hank Williams, Jr. and various children and grandchildren. His life was a pre-TMZ mess (not to judge! He wrote great songs and made good records). They covered the bases, from Hee Haw through '60s country rock, to contemporary stars whom I have trouble listening to. The capper was a rotunda, the actual Hall of Fame, which had a plaque for each member.



Downtown Nashville is filled with saloons that are open early in the morning, where you can hear singers and groups perform live. I guess these are people trying to break into the music business or people that were broken by the music business. You wonder if they have been awake all night long. The music spills out onto the sidewalk, and most of the songs are standards, classics, oldies, old chestnuts, or whatever they call them. I heard a rousing "Six Days on the Road" and just stood outside and listened.


On the way back to the hotel, our driver kept us entertained in the usual fashion, and gave us a little Q&A to test our country music knowledge. I was glad I paid attention at the Country Music Hall of Fame when he asked who was inducted twice--once as a member of a group, and once as an individual. "The gentleman from New York," that was me, was the only one who knew the answer: Roy Rodgers. He was inducted as a member of the original Sons of the Pioneers, and as Roy Rogers.

"Happy trails to you...."