Tuesday, December 29, 2009

Strange and Wonderful

 


I was having trouble with the motorists. On my way home from South Bend, traveling down US 31 I was trying to maximize my speed, to get back as soon as possible. There was a car that just wasn't going to let me pass. Gaining on him steadily I'd take the left lane and then there we'd sit, going exactly the same speed with me just barely behind. My truck is governed so I couldn't go any faster. My only option was to move back over into the granny lane which can be tricky if other cars have moved up behind us. Pissed off at me for taking up the hammer lane they'll line up behind the car that I was trying to pass giving me nowhere to go. I'd then have to slow way down and let things clear out to my right and then get over, which isn't so bad, I'd have to slow down anyway or I'd have been way to close to that other car.

So I slowed way down, put a lot of space between me the guy I was trying to pass, then resummed cruise control at my top speed hoping that the other guy would keep his speed up. Not so; I'd gain on him steadily and then when I tried to pass he sped up again. I tried several times. Sometimes I think people do that unconsciously and when you demonstrate to them that you are going faster than they really care to go they'll let you by. Not this guy. I don't know whether he was being stupid or malicious, but he obviously wasn't going to let me by.

I could have just stayed out there in the hammer lane and perhaps he would have eventually relented, but then I would have held up traffic behind us and there's no telling if it would have even worked. Or I might have been able to keep up my speed by tailgating the jerk. Every time that I'd try to pass I'd think, “What, you want me on your ass?” But besides being rude that would be extremely dangerous; not that there aren't thousands of truck drivers out there who would be happy to take either of those options, regardless of the possible consequences. No, I eventually dropped back and reset my cruise control to a slower speed. No biggie.

Taking off from a stoplight my enemy was able to get far enough ahead of me that I wasn't going to have to worry about him for awhile and stepped up my speed again. I was empty and could take off fairly quickly, but still had to run through the gears, much slower than a car from a dead stop. I was quicker than a loaded truck, though, and passed one who had been at the light ahead of me as he struggled to gain speed. Further down the road I looked in my mirror and saw the truck gaining on me. As he pulled into the passing lane I turned off the cruise and slowed, to help him get by me. I just can't understand these guys who make a passing truck work for every inch. I, for one, don't want to drive along with another truck a few feet to my left.

I kept off of it until enough space had opened between us for a comfortable following distance and then resumed my speed. I'll be damned if the truck wasn't now going slower than I was before he'd passed me. I've seen it before, but I still find it hard to believe. You have to understand that besides the childish ego need to be first that seems to animate many drivers, of all stripes, in the trucking industry the company that I work for is known as one of the slowest on the road. Everyone else feels that they have to be in front of a company truck, no matter the cost or the circumstances; the conditioned response in what I term “Pavlov's Drivers.” One failed attempt to try to re-pass this guy was sufficient to tell me that I never would. I dropped back and “took my place” behind him. Again, no biggie, it was only a matter of minutes that I'd have saved, and one ill timed stop light could easily erase those gains anyway.

A little later down the road there seemed to be something gumming up the traffic. It could be that my new nemesis had caught up to the old, though if so why the big truck didn't use the extra speed that he did have, that I only wished that I'd had, to pull away I don't know. I don't honestly know what the problem was but traffic was being held up and I found myself in the midst of a pack of impatient cars, one of my least favorite places to be.

I was trying to maintain my space cushion and wishing that things would clear up when I noticed a bird winging its way toward the highway from off the shoulder. It was a medium sized bird, about the size of a crow, but more slender, and dark but not black. Its shape was unique, though I couldn't identify it at the oblique angle from which I was seeing it. It flew into the open space in front of me and proceeded to continue down the highway as if it were another car in line. I could see then that it was some kind of a duck. It kept flapping its wings and heading down the highway.

It was going fast, but not fast enough for traffic. I thought at first that as I drew near it would swerve away but it didn't. It just kept right on following the road in front of me and I realized that if I wasn't going to hit it I'd have to slow down. So I did and traffic passed us by leaving us alone on the highway. Still it continued down the road, constantly varying its position, sometimes high, above my line of sight, sometimes low, just above its own shadow on the pavement; sometimes over on the median or back again to the shoulder but every time that I thought I might get past it it'd veer back over in front of me again. I was amazed at how fast those little wings were carrying it. I clocked it between 50 and 55 mph.

This went on for several miles. Whenever another car would pass I'd try to see if the occupants noticed this odd creature, but I couldn't tell if any did or not. No one slowed down to look in any case. Finally, just before we got to the Eel river my pilot bird veered off to the right. I wasn't able to distinguish any unique markings from behind so I tried to get a good look at the bird as I passed. All I could quickly identify were two white stripes along the bottom of the wing though. Looking at Peterson's Field Guide that would make it a Mallard, but I'm sure it wasn't. I'd have recognized a Mallard and this bird was larger than any Mallard I've seen before. Perhaps it was a Merganser? I'll probably never know, but it was a strange and wonderful event. After my traveling companion left me I was free of traffic until I got to Kokomo, so I owe it a debt of gratitude for that too.

(It was a female Mallard, duh. Ms Jonathan Livingston Duck. The best theory to date is that she was riding the compression wave in front of my truck. 6/5/10)

 

Wednesday, December 9, 2009

The Gauntlet

 


There are 16 traffic lights in the 47 mile stretch between my home and work. I have, on more than one occasion, caught all of them green except the last one, which doesn't really count since I turn there and the turn signal is on a sensor and won't change until there is a car waiting. I have, actually, been fortunate enough to roll through it on the skirts of the car that triggered the signal, but never on a morning when I'd made all the other lights.

Of course this only happens in the morning, between three and five o'clock; possibly five thirty. They are all trip lights, you see, like that last one; only there I'm the trigger. The lights will all stay green until someone comes along to alter the equation. The trick is to watch for the “changer,” and then to know how the light behaves once it's been tripped. They turn green again pretty quick, but they'll change back red quickly too, if someone else comes along. So it's balls out, pedal to the medal the whole way, until you're actually close to the light.

The character of the traffic changes each half an hour. You see; I don't have the same schedule every day. Sometimes I have to leave the house at 2:30 or 3:00, I usually leave around 4:00, but sometimes I get a break and don't have to leave until 5:00 or 5:30 (it's not a matter of sleeping in, I just stay up later the night before). Once I didn't have to leave the house until 7:00, but that was an anomaly. As the half hours progress there is more and more traffic. We used to say that in the wee hours there were only drunks and cops on the road. Once I started driving a truck I amended that to “drunks, cops and truckers.” Now I know that isn't true either. I'm a trucker still, but I'm not driving a truck at the time, I'm just on my way to work and it could as well be screen printing that I do. There is never a time without traffic in America.

The trip lights are pretty sophisticated and behave differently at different hours of the day. For instance: the left turn signal from IN 67 onto Ameriplex Parkway will interrupt oncoming traffic to give me a green arrow while keeping the cross traffic light red, if there isn't anyone waiting there, but only before 5:00. After 5:00 it changes to a cycle that necessitates a green for the cross traffic before I'll get a green arrow, even if there isn't anyone there. Likewise the two main lights in Mooresville are trip lights until 5:00, then they turn to a standard cycle and will turn red for me even if there isn't anyone waiting at the intersection.

Sometimes the lights malfunction, or seem to. There is one light at the entrance to a business park that will sometimes be on a standard cycle even in the wee hours of the morning, and it changes quickly. Usually lights like that allow for an extended green on the heavily traveled highway side, but not this one. It changes so quickly that it's nearly impossible to time it accurately to roll through a green, and there isn't even any traffic coming out of the business park. There's another one that I truly hate. It's at the entrance to a large strip mall, Heartland Crossing. When it malfunctions it goes to rush hour mode and makes you wait minutes while it gives a long green for the cross traffic, and then an extended green turn arrow for the oncoming traffic, all while there's not another car in sight. I have seen people run this light when it behaves like that. I've certainly been tempted to, but with my luck a cop would suddenly appear just as I did.

The first “malfunctioning” stop light is the last one before Mooresville and I have sometimes wondered if they aren't trying to break up traffic through town into discrete packs. But it's still miles from town and only happens every once in awhile. As far as what could be a purpose for the Heartland Crossing malfunction the only reason I can fathom is that it's somebody's idea of a cruel joke. Especially since I later realized that the light actually cycles through quite quickly during rush hour, it never acts like that except when I'm on my way to work in the wee hours of the morning.

It's a whole different ball game in the afternoon.

*      *      *


Back when they were repaving the White River bridge outside of Martinsville, a process that reduced the bridge to one lane for over a month, I used to wish that I knew of another way over the river other than going all the way down to Spencer. It obviously wasn't too inconvenient since I never brought up Google Maps and tried to find a way. Later, when Morris was in the hospital in Spencer and I went that way to visit him, I realized that IN 67 passes through Paragon.

Traveling north on IN 37, on the other side of the river, I always hail the sign that says “Paragon, so many miles that way” because once, long, long ago, I had a job out in the country on the other side of Paragon. I was working for Parker Pools and we were installing the very first of those one piece fiberglass, in ground pools to be sold in Indiana. My cars were all (junk) on the fritz at the time and Tom Parker, my boss, would pick me and my house guest Ed Slicer up at home. Ed and I would jump in the back of Tom's pickup truck full of tools and ride with the wind our hair all the way to the job site.

I remember that as a glorious summer; happily married and living in our own home beneath the eaves of a mature hardwood forest in the hills of Southern Indiana, with a beautiful two year old daughter and another child in the oven; working out doors with my hands, more physically and mentally fit than I'd ever been in my life. Getting to ride to work in the back of a pickup truck through the magnificent countryside was just icing on the cake.

So when I passed through Paragon again I said to myself, “Hmm, file that away until I need another alternate route across the White River.”

There was an accident in Martinsville today on my way home from work. There was a cop parked in the median with his lights flashing before the turn where IN 39 crosses the bridge, and traffic was backed up past the extensive turn lane onto the highway itself. Ah, a perfect time to explore that alternate route.

I hadn't remembered it being such a small, winding road; or the wonderful old architecture along the way, passing through townships that predate the great depression; it must have been a river thing. As for the river itself I thought it interesting that on the eastern side, just before the hills start there is a gate that can be shut to close the road. I imagine that the long piece of bottom land on the western side sometimes floods. Once over the river and into the hills it was so windy, with other roads branching off at organic angles, that I eventually got lost and ended up back north, almost to Martinsville again. I certainly didn't save any time and would rather have made it home sooner, but it was a beautiful, interesting drive and I don't regret it a bit. I've since been online and traced the route so I know how to do it next time, but regardless, the entire experience just brings home to me again how lucky I am to live in such a beautiful area.

 

Tuesday, December 1, 2009

Sunset in the Woods, Wind in the Fields

 


Bare trees on the forest road. Though I was in shadow the tops of neighboring hills still glowed red with the setting sun, visible intermittently through the boles and branches. As the road curved to the West the flaming sky shone from behind the inky structure of the forest; turning East the rising full moon swung recklessly through the tree tops.

I had another interesting optical illusion supplied by parallax recently: In the flat northern part of the state, on the way to Chicago, there are wind farms. Power transmission lines run through the middle of one. The towers are huge but still dwarfed by the enormous windmills and so, due to perspective look to be further away. What a shock when those far away power towers moved quickly in front of the, seemingly, closer windmills!

I find wind farms beautiful. Some give a confused aspect as a whole so I only focus on a few windmills at a time, enjoying the correspondence and or interaction of the turning blades, but some seem coherent and attractive all together. I doubt that aesthetics ever enter into the placement of the windmills, but it should.

 

Friday, November 13, 2009

Falling Stars

I saw the most beautiful meteor fall this morning on my way to work. It's Friday the 13th, which I've always said was my lucky day, and it was pure luck that I happened to look out the driver's side window just as it was falling. It was a big one, with a long tail and it lasted a long time coming deep into the atmosphere before fizzling out; I think maybe it was quite close. Although it appeared as a white streak across the black sky the meteor itself cycled through the spectrum several times as it fell; just momentary flashes of color. It was dazzling. It made my day, which was a good thing to have happen early because I had a hard one ahead of me.

I think the coolest meteor that I ever saw was when my daughter Shoshana and I stopped to look at the stars at a small lake up in Morgan Monroe State Forest, on our way home from Indianapolis once (on the Forest Road that I take home from work), when she was about nine years old. Suddenly, centered in the sky before us like it was staged, there fell a huge, bright meteor. It then broke into three pieces plus quickly consumed fragments and continued to fall for a little before blinking out. We were both looking right at it.

I remember another time on a camping trip when Shoshana was about the same age. We were looking at the stars and she said, “Wouldn't it be cool if we were out there.” The obvious answer to that was, “We are.”

The Leonid Meteor Shower is coming up and is supposed to be a good one. I'll be out the door on my way to work during one of the peak viewing times: 4:00 AM, 11/17. It'll be the dark of the moon too. If there isn't any cloud cover then I'm there; I'll budget extra time. I always try to look up when I leave the house anyway, to see the Milky Way. On really clear nights, without a moon I can begin to see how that haze is made up of millions of individual stars, like I could when I was up in the mountains; even though the neighbor across the street has installed a new security light (which at least helps me find the steps). Sometimes I get in a hurry and forget to look up. Then I'll catch a glimpse of the sky someplace, like over the big cornfield beside the Beanblossom when I turn left onto Sample Road. I have to slow down and look, wishing that I'd taken the time before I left, when I'd have been able to enjoy it more. Such Beauty.

* * *


Things haven't let up at work at all. I pulled another 14 hour day today, with five stops! I've never had five stops before. It was the heaviest load that I've ever pulled for Electrolux too, over 20,000 lbs. and except for one stop that has a dock and a clamp truck (a specialized kind of lift truck) I had to tailgate the whole thing. Most of the places usually have helpers, but they were all shorthanded today. Ah well, Friday the 13th, more exercise for me. I'm beat though. It's amazing that I'm still up and running. I usually power drive home but I just couldn't. Everybody passed me by and I was just as happy to let them. It was still a relief to pull onto the Forest Road. There was nobody left to pass me by, just the bare trees lining the way. The woods are beautiful naked too.

 

Saturday, November 7, 2009

Moonlight Sonata

The moonlight is beautiful, tracing the branches of the late autumn woods in shadow across the leaf littered ground and revealing the road beyond my headlights like a luminous ribbon. Getting up as early as I do I enjoy the moon more than most, as her phases sink into dawn.

Yes, the trees are mostly bare now. I'd thought of writing, the leaves are thinning like a man's hair, but that was a week or more ago. There's only a few tufts left now, around the ears, as it were. Secrets hidden by the leaves are now revealed, some beautiful, some best kept under wraps. I particularly like the tapering end of Dolan Ridge, upon which I live. From the top of the ridge I can look out, for a brief spell, across the Beanblossom Valley to the hills beyond, and if I'm coming home from work and it's dark, or getting dark I can see the headlights of cars as they climb or descend the hill. That's useful information as the stop sign there at the junction sits in a tuft of grass in the middle of the road, a left over from times past, and to turn left up the hill requires caution.

The darkness accumulates. As early as I start in the morning you might think it strange that it would be dark already on my way home from work, but after a 14 hour day that's possible, and we're more than a month away from the solstice.

Christ, they're running me ragged at work! I'm not sure what the deal is. It had become quite easy, with mostly only one or two stop loads that got me back to the yard early. I wasn't making much money, but I liked it. Holly, the morning gate guard at Electrolux, said that it was the beginning of the slow season, which for appliances starts before the rest of retail. I'm wondering, though, if it doesn't have more to do with the new dispatcher I had, who was just recently fired. I didn't think that my dispatcher had much to say about the loads themselves; that he just distributed what he was given from Electrolux as he best saw fit, but now that my old dispatcher is back it's been hell. I wonder if we're playing catch up, or did I piss him off before he left and now it's payback?

I mean, every load now is three or four stops, and they're long, mile wise. I know that I'm still the low man on the totem pole, with the sleeper cab, but come on. By all rights I should have slept on the truck three times last week. Give me a break. Then, the one day that I did make it back at a reasonable hour my first delivery for the following morning was so early that I had to pick up that evening; I wouldn't be able to make it on time if I'd waited for the yard to open in the morning. But that load wasn't ready yet so I had to wait. There's nothing that I like to do more after my work is done for the day than wait around for the next day's work. There is absolutely no compensation for that time spent, it's just my contribution for the privilege of having a job, I guess.

They said that the load wouldn't be ready for an hour or two. I parked my tractor and got out my book, I'm reading Proust, then decided, what the hell, I haven't had a chance to visit Morris at all this week, and bobtailed to TLC for my car. Trucks do drive 10th street but it's awfully narrow and those miles would be unauthorized, plus, if there wasn't a lot of parking available then I'd have nowhere to tether my horse.

So I got to the hospital and signed in as usual, then made my way through the sterile hallways to the Special Care Unit, went through the doors and saw that Morris' bed was empty. No, his space was empty, there wasn't even a bed there. I heard the nurse, who was talking on the phone, say, “Just a minute,” and then she turned her full attention to me, bless her heart. Morris had been moved just the day before to a facility outside of Spencer. Going home that way might add more miles than 10th street, but it's sure as hell a prettier drive.

So he's about the same, really. I've seen improvement though, corroborated by the nurses this time rather than hope dashed by their qualifications, and the staff at Kindred Hospital in Indy sent him off with high expectations, rather than saying “There's no way to tell.” With his own room and the expectation that he is healing and can actually hear me I've begun reading the book I bought for him so long ago: Kidnapped, by Robert Louis Stevenson. What pleasure to read aloud such well crafted, old fashioned language. It gives my tongue a workout.

Returning to the day I was talking about I'd figured that by the time that I got back to the yard my load would be ready. No such luck. We truck drivers are allowed a 14 hour day, after which we must shut down, regardless of what the circumstances are. They took it to the very limit before I was out of there. I drew my lines on the graph honestly but without wriggling room. These days the log book, once called a “comic book,” is taken seriously.

By all rights I should have slept on the truck that night, although I would have had to do it there on the TLC yard, which we're not allowed to do anymore. No matter. I have a deep aversion to sleeping on the truck. Once it was my home, when I was on the road, and although a single night at my real home proved to be rejuvenating I was, perhaps, more comfortable sleeping on the truck. But that was when I had no choice, and it was a different truck, with a different mattress. Now I don't care if I get home after my bedtime, I'll not sleep on the truck again unless I absolutely have to.

 

Saturday, October 31, 2009

Too Much

I eat too much, drink too much, drive too much...TOO MUCH!

 

Thursday, October 29, 2009

Small Graces

It was so pretty this morning: at the top of the hill where I-74 plunges into the Ohio Valley to cross the Whitewater River, before that joins the Ohio, on the way to Cincinnati. The wide valley was filled with a silver mist. Above the mist was a band of pale rose fading into a sky just light enough to dim the stars, with Venus a bright jewel. It was just a moment's joy before I was lost in the haze. It was thick and I had to reign it in on the long downgrade. Later, though, on the Outer Loop North I climbed another hill into the clear air with a similar, even better view before I rolled back into the fog filled canyons of the Great Miami River. The hills were closer together there, and deep cut where unnamed tributaries converged with the Miami giving scale to the vista. And still there was the silver mist; the band of rose, stronger now with the sky above becoming aquamarine; and Venus as lovely as ever.

*      *      *


Yesterday was a bad day, for a number of reasons (including, I might add, my attitude), but it very nearly was much, much worse. I had to deliver first in Peoria, IL, which makes for a long run in itself, but then I had a second stop in Springfield, an hour and a half away with just as long a trip back. I might have welcomed such a run just a couple of weeks ago. I would have seen it as an opportunity to visit Morris in the hospital since it wouldn't make sense to drive home afterward. What? Drive home just to go to bed? But unfortunately we're not allowed to sleep on the yard anymore. I used to anyway but they've taken to closing the gates, which means that I can't pretend the next morning that I sneaked by and am just signing in on the way out. So I was stressed, I admit it. I hate truck stops, particularly with a trailer and the load for the next day pretty much required that I pick up my trailer that evening. So I was trying to make it back in time to drive home. Cosmic accounting aside it would be worth it to drive home just to sleep in my own bed.

I actually had phenomenal luck, considering that I wasn't even on the schedule at my first stop, and that there was already another truck in the door at my second. I might have appreciated that at the time but I was too wound up. I drove like a mad company man, within reason, and made the whole trip, including picking up the next day's load, in twelve hours. That was plenty of time, splendid!

I chastised myself several times as I started for home. The rush was over (though rush hour was in high gear) but I was still in rush mode; driving aggressively not in my limited, safety conscious big truck, but my capable, security inspiring car. I tried to calm down but couldn't seem to.

I began thinking about where I was going to get gas. I knew that I'd need to on the way to work that morning. I thought that I could make it to Martinsville, with cheaper prices, but wasn't sure; I might have had to stop at that Marathon station out in the middle of nowhere. I don't know by what grace I checked my back pocket to feel my wallet then, I clearly remembered picking it up off of the floor of the truck before leaving, but my pocket was empty. I started moving things around on the passenger seat, and looking between the seats and on the floor.

Shit, no wallet! Could I use cash? No, my money clip was empty and I'd even given the last of my change away to a desperate woman at the truck stop when I'd fueled that morning. I was already a third of the way home and knew I'd never make it there. The only option was to turn around and hope that I could make it back to the truck.

I didn't know exactly how close I'd come to a complete disaster until I got back. I didn't go through the guard station again, but pulled into the locked back gates, where we park our trucks, and rolled under the fence. Fortunately nobody saw me and raised the alarm. When I got into the truck sure enough there was my wallet, not on the floor where it sits when I drive (so it doesn't bore a hole in my butt) but on the utility console, next to my CELL PHONE. It was actually my phone that I'd forgotten, not my wallet. The true scope of my predicament struck me then: I'd have been out of fuel, miles from home or work, without cash, without credit, without my phone, without ANYONE'S PHONE NUMBER (even assuming I could locate a phone and panhandle enough for a long distance call), and with no time or energy left before I had to get to bed so that I could get up and do it all again.

I made it home right at my bedtime, if I was going to get eight hours of sleep. Who needs eight hours of sleep every night anyway? Thank goodness for the small graces.

 

Tuesday, October 27, 2009

Leftover Guacamole

It's was a wet summer and it's been a wet fall. I was anxious over the weather because I'd planned a bonfire party for last Saturday. The forecast called for rain through Saturday, but tapering off, then turning nice on Sunday. I still had hope. You want it to be a little chilly with a fire, and unless it was raining steadily then I was going ahead with the plans. I've had successful bonfires in the damp before.

Friday was overcast at home, but as I went south on the Western Kentucky run the clouds broke up and let the sun shine in: sun and shade, sometimes deep shade, chasing each other across a tattered sky. In the shade the fall colors were rich and mellow, in the sun they were bright and vibrant. The color had just begun that far south the last time that I'd been that way, just the week before, but they were coming on strong now.

My final delivery was in Owensboro, which meant that I'd have to get back to Plainfield overland, on small highways through the hilly terrain of Southern Indiana. The more direct route, with the better roads is up US 231, then over US 50 to IN 37. It's a frustrating route, though, passing as it does through the congested towns of Huntingburg and Jasper. Even with the city driving it's slightly faster that way, and I was anxious to get home. They'd stuck me with a second load on Thursday and I wasn't able to go home that night, having to sleep in the truck. That put me behind a little since I had housework to do before my guests arrived. But still, It was peak autumn and I've been wanting to take that drive all the way up IN 37 through the Hoosier National Forest. It wouldn't take me that much longer either, unless there were a lot of Leaf Lookers crowding the roads; my greatest fear.

I needn't have worried, the road was practically deserted. Nor do I think it took me any longer to go that way in the end. When I'd timed the drive it was at night, when it's harder to gauge the severity of the turns, plus I think I'm beginning to learn the route. And oh my God, such beauty! Words utterly fail me. I have tried elsewhere to describe how certain autumn color mixtures ignite a response in my soul; almost a pain, though a pleasant one. There are no words for that beauty, it cleaves the tongue to the roof of my mouth. I definitely chose the right route to travel. My only regret is that the tricky road too often required more of my attention that I'd like to have given.

That tattered sky of sun and shade followed me all the way up through Bloomington and beyond, even opening out somewhat into larger clear patches. I was approaching Martinsville when I got a call from a friend wondering about the party the next evening. He was looking at the sky too and thought that we were past the worst of the weather. “Hey, unless it's simply pouring I'm having a fire,” I said. “I don't care if anybody else comes, I'll be there.”

Just past Martinsville I was waiting for my turn to cross through the construction on the River Bridge when I noticed a dense mass of cloud crowding over the hills on the far side of the river, and then the sheets of rain pouring down as they progressed across the soy fields toward me. “Um, I think you spoke too soon, Miles,” I said to the empty cab, since I'd already hung up with him.

Sure enough Saturday dawned gray and rainy. I soldiered on nonetheless. As morning turned into afternoon the sky cleared and by late afternoon things had dried out pretty well. The next thing that I knew guests were showing up while I was still running around putting the final touches on things. It turned out to be a nice little party. There weren't as many people as I'd have liked, perhaps my smallest gathering ever, but with the weather and the short notice, I didn't start putting the word out until only a couple of weeks beforehand, I can't complain. I'm actually honored because people came both from Indianapolis and Raccoon Lake to visit.

It was a nice party, but the bonfire was kick ass. It was the best bonfire I think I have ever seen, let alone had myself. Perhaps not as big as some, but ineffably elegant in its shape and impressive in its radiant power. There was a slight breeze throughout the evening that blew all of the smoke in one direction, away from the party, and fanned the flames continuously. It was truly a sight to behold.

Yup, it was a mighty fine party, but I still think there were too few people. For the first time ever I had leftovers of my famous guacamole. Mmm, breakfast.

 

Friday, October 16, 2009

Twisted Metal and Body Parts

Sometimes you don't really know how much you love someone until you see them incapacitated in a hospital bed with brain trauma. Morris had a motorcycle wreck. Morris: jack of all trades, salt of the earth, brother's keeper. Morris: Vietnam veteran, former truck driver, pool shark, joker. Morris: the dutiful son taking care of his mom so she can live at home in the country.

Hey, don't go getting any notions. Morris was wearing his helmet, and his leathers; he never rode without them! The only conclusion that I can draw is that he'd be dead now if he hadn't.

According to the police report he was probably going about 40 mph when he got into some loose gravel in a construction zone on a deserted country road and lost control of the bike. There were no other vehicles involved. Fortunately a farmer was out in his fields and saw the accident happen. The farmer whipped out his cell phone and dialed 911.

He sustained a broken arm, broken shoulder and collar bone, broken ribs (but no punctured lung), multiple lacerations on his left side, and brain trauma. They drilled a hole in his head to relieve the pressure. He contracted pneumonia later. Everything's healing nicely, except Morris just isn't home, yet. I mean, he's awake, but he's not conscious. I add the “yet” in optimism, the doctor's can't say; we just have to wait and see.

It was scary going to see him that first time. I was afraid of what he would look like. I was afraid of the wrong thing. He looks great, considering. My friend Wes looked worse and all he did was slip in the shower and hit his head. But at least Wes recognized me when I visited him, and could squeeze my hand. Morris is completely unresponsive.

Oh he can move. In fact he moves a lot. He writhes in the bed, extending and contracting his limbs, except for his immobilized left arm; not as if in pain, but as if restless, wanting to get up and get going. The doctors say it's a good thing, it means that there's something going on upstairs and although it isn't much it suffices for exercise. The nurses hate it. They're constantly having to reposition him, and cover his exposed private parts. “He always was a trouble maker,” I joked. “Well he hasn't changed,” returned the nurse. To me it looks like he's fighting for recovery, or is that just wishful thinking?

He finally opened his eyes and looked at me. I could swear there was recognition there, but the nurses said, “Yes, he'll look at you, but there's no real focus and he doesn't track with his eyes.” My hopes were dashed. I remember, either from my education or subsequent reading that the human face is the first thing that infants focus on; an instinct if you will, a recognition hardwired into our being; and that faces are the most common form of visual imagining. That's why we see a man in the moon.

On my second visit I had more hope. He looked at me and continued to do so, coming back to my face again after straying. On top of that as he extended and contracted his good arm he more often than not stretched it toward me, hitting me in the face, as it were. Or was that just more wishful thinking? I'd positioned myself on that side of him because it was the direction his body was turned, after all.

I didn't have much time on my last visit. I started a new thing with his arm movements; resisting his attempts. He fights back, which is reassuring. His eyes were open when I leaned in to him and said, “I have to go now, I'll be back soon.” It seemed that he grew still, as if he felt disappointment at my departure; or was that just more wishful thinking born of my sense of guilt that I was leaving so soon?

I'll be back. I've made arrangements with the neighbors that if my car isn't in the driveway at 9:00 at night, when Lloyd takes their dog out for her last walk, then they're to feed my ex-wife's cat and fish the next morning (did I tell you that I was babysitting my ex-wife's cat, plants and fish?). I'll sleep in Indy on the truck, which adds a whole layer of subterfuge to the adventure because we're no longer allowed to sleep on the yard there. I can't do too much though, because the cat is high strung and every time that I don't come home I find puke all over the place when I finally do, poor thing.

 

Tuesday, October 13, 2009

The Best is for Free

I saw some lovely color today, on another Northern Indiana run. The conditions were ideal with a dark dramatic sky rent with vast holes through which the sun shone brightly most of the time. What they call “partly cloudy,” I guess. It's mostly flat up there but every once in awhile I'd climb a rise and the horizon would broaden revealing islands of carnival colored trees set amidst the dun-colored patchwork of mature fields awaiting harvest. That happened once while the sun shone from behind a Swiss cheese bank of clouds sending rays beaming through in all directions; so beautiful, and free for the looking.

Yes, northern Indiana is beautiful, but Southern Indiana is more beautiful still, and of all of Southern Indiana it always seems to me that my own home woods are amongst the finest. I always find sunrise and sunset the best here, and so too the color of the leaves. I guess I'm just partial.

 

Saturday, October 10, 2009

The Sun Also Rises

Ah, now we're getting some color. Autumn has seemed reluctant this year, or maybe it's just my anticipation. This will be the first Autumn that I've spent here in my own woods in a decade. The trees have faded, hinting at the colors they might turn, but stay mostly green. Some of them have turned, but to dark subdued tones, they way that they do in a dry year, or late in the season. I can't understand that, it's been a wet year; perhaps too wet?

But as I say, now some real color appears. I noticed it first up in the north of the state, by Fort Wayne, that day I blew a gasket: deep, rich, intense reds, oranges and yellows. It's still mostly only here and there, but sometimes there's a whole stand of trees in color, and if they're all different species, different hues together, they strike a chord that makes my gut sing.

Yes, it's probably just anticipation that makes me fear for fall. I just don't remember what it's like being in the same place throughout the season. I'm rubbing my hands together greedily now; the best is yet to come.

But there's a dark side. I couldn't see the Eel River, nor the Wabash on my way to South Bend yesterday morning. Dawn hadn't begun to brighten the sky yet. We're heading into the long dark. Looking at the bright side though I remember countless years when it'd be dark when I got to work, and dark when I left again, in the dead of winter. With this job, where I start out in the deep dark even during summer, with Dawn as my trusty companion, it'll still be light when I get off work, plus it'll be dark by the time I'm ready for bed. I could take the blankets down from in front of my bedroom window. It's all a tradeoff I guess; it's all good, and when I once lived where there was no winter I found that I missed it.

Dawn today was interesting. It's been wet, I mean really wet. Driving home yesterday afternoon I had the windshield wipers on high and still had to go slowly, peering hard to see where I was going. Coming through the forest on my way home I checked Sample Road, the quickest way from my house to the highway and the way that I go to work, to see if it was open again yet. They've been replacing the drainage systems at several spots along the road. It was open and I thought to myself that it's a good thing they got it finished, or it might have all been washed out and they'd have had to start over.

Considering the rain we'd had I was glad too because the next quickest way to the highway, actually the quickest way if you're going south, winds through the Beanblossom bottom lands. There's a sign there that stands year round and says, “Do not cross when flooded.” I have to wonder what that looked like this morning. There was a sign put up on the four lane divided that said HIGH WATER, and that was on the top of the hill!

Do you remember when I was talking about mist, and the way that it holds light? Well, mist is intimate. Imagine an entire atmosphere saturated with moisture. I was heading north again, to Fort Wayne this time, away from the sunrise. Yet the sky and very air before me became suffused with light, an electric blue, long before the sun itself appeared on my right hand side. It was an interesting dawn. But then they all are.

Dawn, my trusty companion.

 

Wednesday, October 7, 2009

Blown Gasket

It seemed cause and effect. I cursed at a motorist, “G-damn you!” I said with vehemence, and there was a loud pop from under the hood of my truck, after which there was a whirring noise whenever I stepped on the accelerator and the power coming from the engine was halved. “Oh shit,” I thought, “I've got to watch my temper.” I vowed never to take the Lord's name in vain again!

I was in a construction zone at the time, with nowhere to pull over. By the time there was a shoulder again I was almost to the receiver. The engine seemed to be running alright, there just wasn't any power, so I went on and made my appointment. I had a light load (another of the benefits of this dedicated gig I have with Electrolux is that none of the loads are heavy) but the truck responded like I had 46,000 lbs on.

It turned out that I'd blown a hose on the “air to air” system. I can't tell you what that means except that it's connected with the turbo charging of the engine. There was a small hole in a rubber hose connecting two openings into an elaborate configuration of hoses and tubes. I was relieved, it looked super easy to fix. It was just a hose, like a heater hose, and two band clamps easily accessible on the side of the engine by the oil fill spout.

Fleet Support contacted the local Cummings dealer in Fort Wayne and arranged to have it fixed. I was conferenced in on the call so that I could get directions. I heard the rep say that it would be awhile until they'd be able to get to me. Service shops are notorious for taking forever to even look at your truck, let alone fix it, so I was resolved to simply remove the hose myself and buy another from the parts department. I didn't have time to sit around like an over the road truck driver eager for a hotel room, I needed to get my load off and get back so that I could go home that night.

I checked in at the service desk and when he told me to drop my trailer in the back, park the tractor and wait in the “driver's lounge,” I said, “It's just a hose with a couple of band clamps. Can I just take it off myself and get another from parts?”

The guy looked at me for a second then turned to another guy sitting behind a desk. “Joe,” he said, “can you go look at what he's got?”

Joe ambled out and looked at my engine. “Unfortunately,” he said, “They don't make that hose anymore.” It was a shaped hose with an S bend. “They've gone to a kit to convert the fittings to accept a steel tube. Let's go see if we've got one.”

So we ambled back in and Joe checked with another guy at a computer station. It turned out that they had everything they needed to fix my truck except the actual steel tube. They could get one by the next day. I couldn't believe this, a simple rubber hose was going to shut me down for at least a day! I was about to just say that I'd drive it like it was back to Indy and maybe they'd be able to fix it there but Joe said, “Hang on a minute,” and disappeared out of the back of the office.

He came back a few minutes later and said, “Sorry, I thought maybe we'd have one of those tubes on a core, but we don't even have any cores right now.” I was just about ready to say that I'd be going when he said, “Let me check something.”

He went and talked to some mechanics, then went out to my truck and removed the hose, took that back to the mechanics for review, then proceeded to devote the next half an hour to very nicely jury rigging a piece of heater hose in place to give me a temporary fix; and he didn't even charge me or the company a dime!

Nice people and honest service are not lost from this world! I guess it's up to me now to remember my promise not to take the Lord's name in vain; or more accurately: to truly try to control my temper. As for the hose Joe had said that it should probably be fixed to specs pretty quick, but it didn't work out last weekend and I can't see a thing wrong with the temporary hose. I'm hoping now that it can last till the next B Service. I'm carrying everything that I need to fix it again should it fail.

 

Friday, October 2, 2009

Daily Exercise

 


My attitude toward the job of unloading the appliances off my truck sure has changed. I used to dread having to climb up in the dirty trailer and manhandle hundreds of pounds of metal, plastic and even concrete, in the case of washing machines, with only a hand truck. I'd have trouble and some scrawny kid would jump up there and make it look easy. “It's all in the technique,” they'd invariably say; nice of them. After seven months I won't say that I'm a pro, but I've survived, and learned a little along the way.

It's not that I enjoy it now. Given my druthers I could think of better things to do. But I've had two loads recently to receivers where I normally do the tailgating but they had extra workers who set right to it making me feel in the way. When it was all done I found myself disappointed. I realized that I'd been looking forward to getting some exercise and it hadn't happened.

Then, of course, there's loads like the one that I had yesterday. I'd never been to the place before so I called ahead and asked how to get my truck in there. I was given directions. “And there's room for a big truck, I'll see what I should do?” I asked. “We've had 53' trailers in here before, I assume you're as good a driver as them.” I made some self deprecating reply and thanked him.

When I pulled into the lot the next morning I couldn't see what to do. A guy came out and said, “Most people pull in the second drive so they can back up to that yellow pole over there.” I could tell it was the same guy I'd talked to over the phone. I thought, “That's why I asked you yesterday evening what to do you idiot!” but only said, “Oh, I see.” I had to leave and get turned around, which fortunately wasn't hard. It would have been a lot easier to back up to the yellow pole in the manner that was needed if the guy had moved his delivery van out of the way, but I managed it.

Anyway, those were the early indicators that this operation wasn't firing on all its cylinders. I got backed up and opened the trailer. I had three stops that day and it was loaded to the doors with refrigerators stacked prone on top of other refrigerators at the very end; a wall of freight. The guy, who turned out to be the owner said, “I won't have any help here till 9:00,” then turned and walked away. If it wasn't 9:00 yet it almost was, and there was no help in sight. I was just lucky it was a lift gate load (on a trailer equipped with a retractable extension that can be raised and lowered) or I wouldn't have had anywhere to stand to bring down the prone loaded “cooling equipment.” Most of the work that I could have used help with was done by the time the “help” arrived, though I'd mentally screamed, “HELP,” a few times by then. I got my exercise alright. I can still feel it.

Another time I got to a receiver where I normally do the work but didn't have to, and this time was much relieved. I'd had four stops that day, ranging from Evansville, IN to Owensboro, KY. Some inane mix up happened at each of the first three stops to delay me, and in one instance to cause me extra work, doing another person's job (so that I could get out of there, not because I'm nice!). On top of that I'd hurt my back in California moving my dad around. I was healing nicely but used it wrong doing that extra work and re-injured it.

I was dreading that last stop. If nothing else happened to continue the trend there was still a lot of heavy freight to be moved. As it turned out I didn't have to do anything. I didn't get back until late, on a Friday, but at least the day had ended on a positive note. I'd actually meant to make a post out of it because it was quite comical, all told, and showed in the end that Murphy's Law doesn't always apply.

 

Wednesday, September 30, 2009

Shrouded Landscape

I took another drive down Indiana 37 all the way from Indianapolis to the Ohio River, at Tell City. It was later in the morning this time so the light began to broaden around Paoli, a little over half way there, allowing me to see some of the most remote scenery on the route, in the Hoosier National Forest. Much of what I saw was shrouded in mist.

I love the mist; it has so many forms. Sometimes it is localized, gathering in hollows, or rising off of a body of water, at others it is generalized across the landscape. It can be dense and a hazard to driving, or it can be light, just blurring the edges of things, or sometimes wispy, with tendrils slowly writhing amidst a dispersed haze. Yes, it moves, sometimes seeming almost alive. I like when it stratifies too, either separating into layers within the body of the fog itself, or rising as one leaving the air clear above and below it.

This morning the mist was heavily influenced by micro climactic conditions and all of these aspects were present at one time or another. In general it filled the hollows while the the hilltops were clear. One time, on a ridge above the town of English a vista opened revealing a rolling sea of fog with forested hilltop islands, like an archipelago. But that's too simple of a story because at another time I descended a steep winding road that went beneath the mist, which was then like a roof over the valley. I think that the only aspect of mist that I didn't see today was the way that it captures light because by the time that the sun actually rose I was in the clear.

It's kind of strange actually, now that I think about it, but when I got to Tell City there was barely a hint of mist. I was worried about time again and it being later I was plagued by all manner of delays that hadn't happened that earlier time through. With the morning traffic there were slowpokes, one going 10 mph below the speed limit and seemingly unconcerned that there was a looooooong line of cars behind him, there were school buses, and even an Amish horse and buggy, not to mention the fog itself.

I still got to the receiver a half an hour early, which is a half an hour before they open so I had a little time to kill. I was at their warehouse which is off of a little alley just the other side of the levy that protects the town. I moseyed around the edges of the property, looking into the woods and the cornfields. I stayed clear of the row of houses whose back yards lined the alley on the uphill side, other than to admire their laden vegetable gardens from afar. And I climbed onto the levy to survey the limited aspect of Tell City that that vantage allowed. Then I went back to the truck to do some paperwork.

I guess it was about ten till eight, their time, and I was anticipating that someone might arrive soon. I looked up from my task and was taken aback by a wall of fog massing above the levy and slowly creeping over it. The little hollow that I was in was already filling with mist. I climbed back onto the levy and the cityscape that I'd seen before was barely discernible; the low sun a pale disk. On my way back to my rig a pickup truck roared over the levy, out of the mist, and almost took me out (I exaggerate, but it was kind of like that). The workers had arrived, it was time to get to work.

I never noticed what happened to that fog. By the time the customer's stuff was unloaded the air was clear again. Traveling west along IN 66 toward my next stop there were massive puff-balls of cloud barely clearing the trees. I imagined the amoebic haze that had swarmed the levy was now one of those.

 

Tuesday, September 29, 2009

Lotus Festivities

Music; the universal language. Another Lotus Festival has come and gone and a great time was had by all; all who came anyway. It rained Saturday night which served to eliminate the crowds that have become common that second night of the event. It was a reasonable tradeoff. But no rain could dampen for me the wonder of all of that great music from all over the world. The contrast, too, of hopping from style to style is an experience all its own. We went once from ethereal Central Asian throat singing, accompanied by a string quartet and synthesizer, to Latin punk. OK, that was a little much, we didn't even stay for one song of the punk. But going from outside under a tent listening to Hungarian Gypsy music to a church to hear an acoustic duo performing songs from the Jewish and Christian traditions, to Ugandan Afro-pop at a nightclub worked rather well. I love Lotus. My heart is full.

 

Saturday, September 26, 2009

Formation Flying

note: I recently discovered a setting on the controls here at blogger that would only allow registered users to comment on a post. I changed that setting so that anyone can now comment, so please feel free to do so. If anyone tried and was unable I apologize.

Nope, my laptop can't be fixed. They said the problem was in the motherboard. They said that they got the screen to light up once, but it was just a last gasp and now the computer itself won't even start anymore. Maybe they killed it, I don't know. They're going to put the hard disk into a cartridge so that I can get my info off of it and use it as a back up disk.

*                         *                         *

Damn, I almost ran off the road! It was in my car on the way home from work, not in my truck. Two staggered phalanxes of geese were flying low over the yellow fields of the Beanblossom Valley at a nearly parallel tangent  to the road. They were beautiful. The valley was beautiful; the still mostly green hills accented with the emerging yellows and reds of autumn. I drank the sight in. I got into trouble when, because I was traveling faster than they, I looked over my shoulder for one last glimpse. That's when I nearly ran off the road, which would have been better than veering into the oncoming traffic, at least.

Thursday, September 24, 2009

Idyl thyme

You'd think I was psychic or something. From out of the blue, for no reason at all I thought, “I'm going to need a new computer soon.” Two days later I got up in the morning, put the coffee water on and turned on my laptop; the usual routine. I went about getting ready for work and came back to the computer to hit Enter, in lieu of a password, and the screen was dark. I knew that the machine was on because I could hear it, and all the little blue lights were lit up, whatever they signify. Looking really closely you could see the vague outlines of what was supposed to be there, only it wasn't.

I tried to navigate that ghost image to restart the computer but couldn't locate the mouse cursor (who remembers the keystrokes?), so I bore down on the power button to force a shut down. After waiting long enough to ensure that the disk had stopped spinning, a precaution learned from an earlier disaster, I restarted it and continued getting ready for work. Checking back the screen was still dark.

I spent the rest of the time that I'd normally sip my coffee and do correspondence trying to get the damn thing to work, and then some, without luck. It was the same when I got home at the end of the day; dammit. I unplugged all the wires from the laptop itself and rushed into town to PC Max hoping it would be a quick fix. It's been there for three days and they still haven't figured out what's wrong with it.

They were quite optimistic at the outset, “It's probably an inverter problem, about a $150.00 fix, with everything, ready tomorrow if we have the parts.”

“Let's hope so,” I said sheepishly, “I can't live without my computer.”

“Nobody can,” was the tech's reply.

Altering your everyday routine is a good thing to do occasionally. I was amazed at the hole that the lack of a computer created. I was left listless. I could have (should have) gone into the studio and worked. The Studio: still only half set up and without momentum; just a few sketches tossed about. Instead I turned on the TV. I never watch TV. I'm not really sure why I even pay for it. But I watched...TV (I saw a commercial for a big screen hi-def with the tag line “Life well spent”).

I know that it's only been three days but I went out and bought another computer. No, not to fill that hole, dammit. It's the end of the month and the bills are due. Being on the road for ten years I have come to rely on online bill pay and doing that at the library, in public, is not option. I tried and tried to reach my daughter. She could have paid my bills for me from her computer in Chicago, but I didn't get through. I could have gone to a friend's house, but that seemed awkward socially. Besides, like that “premonition” indicated, I need a new computer. My laptop was top of the line five years ago when I bought it, and is still more than adequate for my needs, other than the fact that its graphic capabilities aren't up to date with the latest games (hell, I haven't finished playing all the vintage games). But let's face it, it's five years old, has been bounced around in the back of a truck endlessly, drug through the subways of New York City and the Chicago Elevated, and generally abused in any number of ways.

I hope that it can be fixed. Not because of what's on the hard drive, I have that backed up remotely, but because it's a great machine and I always want to have a lap top. I'm off the road now and bought a desktop. If they can't fix ole' Bessy, then I'll be getting another laptop anyway, sometime.

Saturday, September 19, 2009

Hotel California, revisited

 

I thought perhaps fall would have established its presence in the five days of my absence, but although there was a lot of yellow and brown in the patchwork of fields the forests were sill leafy and green; not that I’m complaining. I was also pleased by the fact that Indiana has more forested land than Illinois. That substantial increase started just east of the Wabash River, whose brown water wound away toward the horizon like the southwestern border of the state, though I was too far north for that to have actually been what I was seeing. Unfortunately, as we came in for our landing at Indianapolis International, I could once again clearly see the warehouse where I park my truck; where I will soon have to go back to work.

Santa Barbara, California; I can’t possibly do justice to the trip in this small space. I could give you a sense of the beauty of the place, perhaps, and outline the circumstances that took me there. I could say that I traveled with my 83 year old father, afflicted with Parkinson’s disease and mild dementia, to give some scope to the experience. Stories of caring for him might get a laugh, and some sympathy. I could say that I went to visit relatives who I haven’t seen in 25 years, some longer. But it would take a full memoir, or a novel to convey a sense of the significance it had for me.

The occasion was my second cousin, Dylan’s bar mitzvah. Lynda, my cousin, suggested that we get the older generation together, perhaps for the last time. She offered to fly my dad and I out to California and put us up in a hotel “right across the street from where the ceremony is going to be.” How could I refuse? I’d already used up all of my vacation time but was willing take a loss to see this happen; both for dad and for me. Fortunately my anniversary with the company occurred before my departure date and I was paid for my absence.

I’d mentioned to Lynda, in our messaging back and forth, that maybe I could cover the accommodations, so that they didn’t have to pay for everything. I never got a reply on that suggestion. Pulling into the circle drive in front of the hotel, amid lush tropical gardens overlooking the Pacific Ocean, I realized why. This place was obviously beyond my means. No, I should have offered to cover the air fare, not the accommodations. If there’s another, similar trip sometime in the future then that’s how it will be.



It was Lynda’s idea to bring us in early, on Thursday, while the bar mitzvah was on Saturday, so that dad could have time to relax into the situation and not be stressed. We were certainly comfortable, in our fireplace room overlooking the croquet lawn; and well cared for with someone from the hotel staff ready at our every beck and call. Walking the extensive grounds with their well maintained botanical gardens and strolling along the ocean provided entertainment for the soul. The big screen plasma TV in our room entertainment for the head, but that wasn’t used much. The food was consistently excellent; the service perhaps a little too good; they wouldn’t hear of me actually moving my own place setting over one seat by myself.

It was very relaxing, but there is a strong psychological component to Parkinson’s disease. I’ve learned never to go anywhere with my dad without the wheelchair. No matter how well he’s able to move when we start out as soon as he begins to worry that he might have an attack and freeze up, he surely will. We’d both been anxious to see the relatives. Friday night Aunt Claire got into town with her boyfriend Jack and their friend Lainey. Dad, though he’d been doing fine before dinner, was nailed with the worst attack that I’ve ever seen. He couldn’t get out of his wheelchair to sit in a regular seat, he couldn’t eat, in fact he couldn’t do anything other than mumble a reply when spoken directly to.

Fortunately that was the ice breaker and he didn’t freeze up like that again for the rest of the trip. It was also in that context that we discovered the healing power of the ocean. Sitting on the edge of the boardwalk in front of the hotel, listening to the surf, all anxiety was released into the salt air. Dad, who is a psychologist and sometimes used hypnotism on his clients, said, “I used to put people into a trance and tell them to imagine the waves coming into the shore…”



The service on Saturday was beautiful. It was held outside, at a facility connected with the hotel, overlooking the Pacific. Dylan performed spectacularly; far better than I did at my own bar mitzvah, long ago. But it was long. I was getting antsy myself, and could tell that Dad was uncomfortable. The shadow of the umbrella we’d sat beneath moved and he was left in direct sun for much of the program. Later, toward the close of the ceremony the evening fog began to roll in and it got chilly. Dad was a trooper though, and stuck it out to the end; after which the convenience of already being at the hotel was much appreciated.

After I got him cleaned up Dad wanted to lie down for awhile. He wasn’t sure that he’d be able to make it to the reception and told me to go back by myself. That wasn’t going to fly with me, not unless he could convince me that he really couldn’t do it. I used multiple arguments. “You’re right,” he’d say each time, and continue to lie there. Finally I said, “C’mon, Dad, just put in an appearance and then I’ll bring you back.”

“You’re right,” he said again and sat up. Hell, he had a great time! The party was geared toward the young people, Dylan and his friends. There wasn’t a band, just a DJ, and except for some old school soul it was mostly hip hop that was played; loudly. The cousins and I couldn’t take it and congregated outside; but not Dad, he wanted to stay right where he was. I think he was absorbing energy from the young people. He wasn’t moving, but he must have been dancing inside. We didn’t stay till the end, but we stayed pretty late, considering.

And I got acquainted with several of my cousins, and their spouses (what few pictures I have). It was too long ago, and I was too young then to say that I had ever really met them before. We met again on Sunday, at an informal brunch at Lynda’s house. I’d wanted to somehow reconnect with the family for years. The main purpose of the trip was as a gift to my dad, but it became the answer to that prayer of my own as well. Now the challenge will be to stay in touch and deepen these relationships, something I’m not very good at doing.

The trip was a success. Caring for my dad wasn’t as arduous as I’d imaged it would be, and although I was once the black sheep of the family, back when I was a mixed up kid, there were no lingering tensions along those lines. And gosh darn it I had a really good time. What I’d expected to be work, leaving me exhausted, turned out to be fulfilling and even relaxing. I can still imagine the waves coming into shore, and gain peace thereby, though the rest of it begins to fade, as if it were only a dream.



In fact it was such a success that there is another trip already planned! My Uncle Si can’t travel and couldn’t be at the bar mitzvah, and my Aunt Charlotte was absent as well. So sometime at the beginning of next year, January or February, we’re all going to Arizona, to Si and Virginia’s place. Cousin Ann has declared that she will get Charlotte there even if she has to drive her all the way from Northern California. The dead of winter will be a great time for me to get out of Indiana and I’ll get to see some of the family again. Hooray!

 

Monday, September 7, 2009

First Blush

"It sounds like it's raining," I mumbled to myself as I pulled the blanket under my chin and savored Sunday morning. The weather forecast had predicted sun, but rain somehow seemed right, even if it was Labor Day weekend. If it were raining, that is; I couldn't tell for sure from there in my room, with the window blocked out so that I can sleep while the sun shines.

It was raining, a steady downpour hissing on the leaves. I can't say exactly why it seemed right, except perhaps that it gave me a sense of being sheltered, snug in my warm dry home at the same time that it hinted of the immanent change of season.

The sun has now returned. Looking outside I see a hint of red at the tips of the dogwood leaves. Autumn has indeed begun. It'll happen quickly now. I recently had three loads that went north of Lansing, MI over the last two weeks. On the first trip there was just a touch of color; by the last there was quite a bit. Fall begins up north first and moves south while spring goes the opposite direction.

Sure enough, I wrote that over coffee yesterday morning. This morning, a paid holiday for me, looking out the same window I see the red becoming stronger, like a blush moving up the leaves from the tip, and a cluster of leaves already scarlet that were still mostly green yesterday. Everything else is still green, with just a sprinkling of yellow in the poplars and the sycamore in the front yard.

 

Friday, September 4, 2009

Lunar Cycles

The full moon rises opposite the setting sun; like clockwork. You can see the same relationship if you spin the hands of your watch; the full moon is at 6:00, the new (or nonexistent; three days in the tomb) is at noon. I've heard that the moon is slowly drawing away from the earth and that as it retreats the reciprocal gravitational loss slows the earth's rotation, ever so slightly. My question is whether or not the alteration that has taken place during the brief span of our existence here, since we've been keeping records, alters the Babylonian's calculations that first gave us our clock in any meaningful way; or if Stonehenge is less accurate now then when it was built, minus continental drift?

Extrapolating far, far forward I see fodder for disaster movies in what happens when the moon finally breaks free from Mama. Oh, but surely there won't be any people left on Earth to worry about it by then; the Sun will probably have grown to be a red giant and swallowed up both mother and daughter.

Me? I'm going to party like it's 2012.

 

Wednesday, September 2, 2009

re: bad day

I'm not sure if anybody read that last post, I know I had trouble getting through it as I just reviewed it. Hey, I liked the first paragraph; sorry 'bout the rest. Too bad, too, because I had a follow up. Instead I think I'll delete all but that intro. Bad days come with the territory.

I didn't exactly have an easy day today, but it was nice. A Southern Indiana load, all the way down SR 37 to Tell City, then over to Owensboro, KY and back up, through terrain that could be mistaken for Appalachia, and often is. I rarely disavow people of that perception.

I got going early because I'd never been that route before, and having just been late twice...has to do with the deleted item and its followup...I didn't want anything unexpected to strike me out. You can't just look at the miles and compute a travel time because it's two lane most of the way; through the "mountains."

37 seemed like it'd be a great road to drive a high performance sports car over; smooth, but windy as hell, and well banked. I enjoyed it with my tractor-trailer, actually, because for almost the entire trip there was nobody behind me wishing I didn't exist. If only I could have seen the scenery. The sun didn't begin to rise till I was almost to Interstate 64. Then beauty was revealed incrementally as the all shadow gave way to vague distances defined by mist, then given breadth, definition and color, revealing a wide landscape both wild and pastoral; picture post-card perfect.

I was glad that the light was broad by the time that I got to Tell City since I'd never been to this receiver before. I located the store and fortunately there was a place along the street to park. I was way early, almost an hour and a half, and everything was closed up. I took a walk through the interesting nineteenth century town and noticed that the clock on the courthouse was slow, and so was the digital one outside the insurance agency. When I checked back at the truck I realized that they're on central time in that region of the Ohio Valley. I was even earlier than "way early," so I grabbed my book and headed down to the "Freezer Cafe'" that I'd noticed was open. After the dinner and breakfast I'd had...oops, part of that other story...I figured a hearty meal would be about the best thing I could give myself.

There's more to tell, there's always more to tell, but I've got to get to bed. I'll suffice it to say that on the way back over US 231, then US 50, and finally back up IN 37 (etc.) it was beautiful too; a bit more industrial, what with the nuclear power plant, the city of Jasper and the gypsum mine; but "it's all good."

Sunday, August 30, 2009

a hard week

I hadn’t seen any rain for over an hour but the roads were wet on highway 67 as I left Plainfield for home, for the weekend. The sun slanted long rays from the west painting a transparent red wash over everything, suffusing the humidity and sparkling in the spray that came off of the vehicles around me. I needed my windshield wipers to deal with that, particularly when a big pickup truck or SUV would muscle by. We were all like single celled organisms rushing together down some excretory tract in response to an enema, trying to beat each other out. It was darkish in the steamy forest after I left the fast track amoebas behind. The stress came off of me then like mist off the pavement. I’d just put in a 14 hour day to cap off a particularly hellish week.

Saturday, August 22, 2009

Frustration Junction

Grrr, everything is falling apart around me! Am I lazy, that I can't seem to summon the energy to address these problems? How can I be lazy, I work my ass off 10, 12 or sometimes 14 hours a day, 5 days a week!? Perhaps this self indulgence on the weekend is RECOVERY. Ah, well, why complain? I mean, this lethargy is indulgence, after all. Ah, sweet lethargy. How interesting to watch things fall apart.

Hey, it's not like I've been sitting around watching TV or something, I've been doing stuff on the computer, trying to manage all of these online extensions of myself; another source of frustration. To those of you who have followed me over the years I apologize for moving again, but I'm just not happy with that comcast site, and moving my blog over here will free up that space to archive The Reluctant Trucker, eventually. I'd originally thought of putting that here, but it can't be integrated directly and to laboriously copy and paste would take forever.

So anyway, that's what's happening. There is another site here on Blogger that I'm administrating. A friend of mine, a post-op transsexual, who claims to be God, has started a little project she hopes will change the world for the better, or at least change the participants in the project. It can be viewed at thesearchforemily.blogspot.com. I don't understand it, but I've had fun with it. Anyone can join, just let me know.