Ahhhhh…… A visitor from the East….. The East….the landofmystery and intrigue. The land from whence inscrutable characters move about shrouded in mystery…. and conspiracies abound…. Who was this man who was about to emerge from the shadows of the desert and descend on my peaceful townhouse…..Darrah Tower….in Topeka, Kansas.

Never fear….. My visitor was Sultan. He came to spend yet another summer with me….and to bring some sunshine, happiness and excitement into my life….and also to impose his unique quality of mayhem, pandemonium and chaos on my otherwise predictable, orderly, well-oiled routine….. There is never a dull moment when Sultan is present.

It was an event that I had anticipated and planned on for almost a year…. And, I hope the same was true of him. Having Sultan here is always a good thing.

The only dark spot about this year’s visit was that he was able to stay for only six weeks. He had to return to Saudi Arabia for a summer class. But, six weeks is better than no weeks.

His visit got off to a shaky start…..

I had known for a couple weeks that he would be arriving on May 1…..that was a Wednesday…..around 7:00 in the evening. That, actually, was an ideal time. My afternoon schedule….such as it was….would not be seriously interrupted. There was still an abundance of daylight left, so that meant that I would not have to drive at night. Rush hour traffic would largely be winding down. And, even then, a vast majority of the traffic would be outbound traffic…in the other lanes, going in the opposite direction. And, Sultan could easily handle the trip back home. In fact, I didn’t even plan to stop at Subway for a sandwich, as we usually do. We would have plenty of time to go somewhere in Topeka after we got home.

All was going well. I arrived at Kansas City International Airport around 6:30….even found a parking space on the front row next to the crosswalk. I was feeling lucky. I walked across the street to the airline terminal. Yeah… His flight was on time. Things really were going well. OK…. A stop at the restroom….and then just sit down and wait for a few minutes….. Greet Sultan….. And head back to the townhouse…. Darrah Tower….as it now called. Sultan would be part of my family again….and we could take up again where we left off last year.

Well….maybe not quite. When he left last year, we were bogged down with the task of moving…..buried under an avalanche of stuff, all of which had to be transferred from the old house in Ozawkie. We were doing the job….but things were not going well. I had already spent weeks sorting out everything from kitchen pans to old, out-grown clothing, from books to tools…. I had already thrown away more unwanted stuff than most people even own. Stuff that had been collecting in the house, in the garage, in the storage shed, and the yard for almost fifty years

I had not even made a good size dent. But, we soldiered on. We got the moving process underway. We were not helped by the fact that I had (unknowingly) hired an inept, unprofessional, highly unqualified moving company to take on the task of moving the stuff to Topeka (See previous blog). Although the process was far from complete, we had largely conquered the situation before Sultan had to leave go return to Saudi Arabia…..a good month and a half before he originally planned to leave….

Nevertheless….. I was preparing to sit down for a few minutes to wait for Sultan’s flight to arrive when I got a message on my cell phone. I was expecting a cheery message something to the effect, “I am about to land…. See you in a few minutes….”

Unfortunately, the content of the text couldn’t have been more different. Believe me….. I had to sit down…. Not to wait for a few minutes…..but to wait for about Five and a Half Hours! Sultan had missed his fight in Chicago….and the next flight….the flight he would be on….would not be arriving until almost midnight!

To say that I was shocked…..to say that I was discouraged…..to say that I was feeling completely defeated…. Those probably do not even begin to describe the news…. I had brought nothing to read. All of the news stands and vendors were closed…. I did not have a charger for my cell phone….. Terminal C cleared out quickly after the 7:00 flight arrived…. The ticket windows were even closed…. All the security people seem to disappear… Terminal C was a silent, eerie, spooky place, seemingly devoid of humanity.

Let me tell you: Five and a half hours is a LONG time….and even longer if you have nothing to do….nowhere to go….nobody to talk to…..nothing to look it…..AND, it was approaching the middle of the night! And, don’t tell me that I could have slept. Have you ever been to an airport? Did you ever fall asleep easily and for a long period of time? Did you ever make the remark, “Man, these seats are so comfortable that I wish I had some at home to sleep in.” If you did…. You need to seek some sort of professional help immediately.

Needless to say, the time eventually passed. Five and a half hours seemed more like fifteen and a half hours…. I wanted to take a picture of Sultan as he came out the door into the waiting area. But, due to some misinformation by one of the glorified airline security people, I was directed to the wrong gate where I stood and waited. I began to wonder if he had also missed that flight…. After I was about to give up….Here he came, walking down the concourse, smiling, but muttering something like, “Where have you been? Why weren’t you there to meet me?”

Sultan was sleep deprived, too…..and after a more than normal harrowing drive back to the townhouse, Sultan had finally arrived to spend six weeks.

With little or no fanfare, we were off and running…..almost like he had never left. Thursday was devoted largely to taking care of little details…. Things like reactivating his bank account….like creating a Cricket account for his cell phone. (Oh, Wow! We certainly would not want to be stranded with no cell phone…would we?) Sultan is a big boy now, so I waited in the car while he took care of his business. In past years, I would have accompanied him….just to make sure that everything was progressing properly. Now, his English is fluent….and his knowledge of what he wants is developed…..so I opted to simply stay in the car and wait for him…..with the sun bearing down, and the inside of the car starting to heat up to a roasting temperature. After some abnormally prolonged waits….and after wondering if I should go rescue him….he always returned. And, he always accomplished his mission. And, I had always lost a few pounds, due to excessive sweating.

Fortunately, several entertainment options were available in the first couple weeks after Sultan’s arrival. These events helped ease us back into a familiar and comfortable routine for the remainder of his visit.

The first of these events was the First Friday Art Walk, a monthly event hosted by the art community and the merchants of North Topeka. This event had been on my list of things to do, for ….. Well, as long as it had been in existence…..the past several years. And, for those past several years, there was always some reason….and probably a good reason….why I had never attended. First and foremost, it is held on a Friday night….and I no longer drive at night. At other times, we never had the time, or we felt that we could not take the time, to attend. Sometimes…and this happened more often than I like to admit….we simply forgot about it. On the infrequent occasions when Fayez would come to visit, either he arrived too late for us to attend…..or he was not interested in the event.

Luck was with us this year. We made a special point of attending the North Topeka (NOTO) First Friday Art Walk. And…..sorry to say….. It was really nothing special. I am not sure what I was expecting after all the years of hearing it hyped on TV and in the newspaper. I am not going to discredit it in any way….. There were a lot of people there….enjoying themselves; there were several original art exhibits on display; there were local artists working on their projects and demonstrating various art techniques; there were cafes serving food……and a beer garden, which was doing a thriving business. All in all, a festive mood prevailed as the people milled up and down the two or thee blocks of the NOTO district….and the people seemed to be enjoying themselves.

I wish I could describe to you some of the notable highlights….but, unfortunately, none stand out in my memory. There seemed to be a preponderance of pottery and ceramics…..and not much emphasis on painting or abstract art. The only time we stopped to linger for any length of time was to watch a young black man spray layers of paint on what appeared to be a sheet of plywood…..and then somehow scrape off the paint to reveal some rather stunning cityscapes. But…. That was much too involved an operation for me…..and, even working outside, he wore a protective mask to keep from inhaling the paint fumes…..and presumably the paint, too.

The evening was far from wasted, however. It is encouraging to see that the city of Topeka…..at least, the art community of Topeka….is actively promoting the arts. And it is equally reassuring that the citizens of Topeka seemed to be actively and enthusiastically supporting their efforts.

Sultan and I both like good art. We enjoying looking at it, and any time we have an opportunity, this is high on our agenda. In most cases we are not disappointed. There are exceptions, of course. Our visit to the Mulvane Art Gallery on the campus of Washburn University may have been one of those unfortunate occasions. I have lived in this area for fifty years, and over the years I have dropped by the Mulvane Art Gallery to check out their exhibits. By and large, my memories are good. I have seen some really good exhibits.

It has been several years since the last time I stopped at the gallery….maybe even a couple decades. Nevertheless, I was eager to show the gallery to Sultan. I remembered the gallery as being small….no more than two rooms….but with interesting and pleasing displays of pictures….with the emphasis being on local and regional artists, which is certainly OK with me. There are some very creative and talented artists who live in Topeka and the surrounding area….and hopefully, one day I will be one of them! On the afternoon we chose to go, the “pickin’s were rather slim”, as they say. First of all…. The gallery was far from being as large as I remembered it. Of course, that is no doubt due to my advanced age (some people would say) and my rather cloudy and fading memory. The entire exhibit

consisted of some illustrations for a couple or three books….none of which I had heard of….let alone had read. There is no doubt that the illustrations were authentic….and probably held a lot more meaning to the people who may have actually read the books. The young lady who explained the exhibit to us seemed appropriately enthusiast….but somehow her enthusiasm did not rub off on us. On the bright side, however….. The Mulvane Art Gallery is free…. It didn’t cost us anything. So… in that regard, I guess we got our money’s worth.

All was not lost, though. We encountered a little more success and satisfaction at a couple summer art fairs….if only marginally. However, with a lot of time on our hands….and very little to lose….the time was more or less well spent.

Shortly after Sultan arrived… In fact, the first Sunday…. we attended “Art in the Park” in Lawrence…..but not before we ate lunch at the Aladdin Restaurant, our favorite eating place in Lawrence. Aladdin Restaurant is a Lebanese restaurant on Massachusetts Avenue, which serves an all-you-can-eat buffet style lunch on Sunday. Fayez and I first discovered this place shortly after he first arrived in 2012. Actually, we were looking for a place for Fayez to smoke hookah, so its discovery was quite accidental. Chances are we would have found it eventually as both Fayez, and later Sultan, searched for Arab restaurants in Lawrence. But, luckily, due to Fayez’s unsavory desire for hookah, we found it sooner than later. Whatever…. Aladdin has been a regular eating place since we discovered it… It is certainly worth considering, if you like tasty, exotic Middle Eastern food.

Following lunch, we walked a block to a city park where “Art in the Park” was being displayed. Since this was Lawrence….which we like to think is the center of culture in the state of Kansas….the park was packed with visitors….people milling around, looking at the displays….talking to friends (in the middle of the sidewalk, of course)…..walking their dogs….jogging (showing off, basically)…. A few people may have even bought something along the way.

The Lawrence “Art in the Park” was somewhat extensive in that it covered a large part of the park. There were rows of arts and crafts booths…..with the emphasis on the “crafts”. As you can see maybe see in the pictures, ceramics is a big deal….along with photography. Jewelry making was also well represented….along with some types of decorative wood work. I would have enjoyed the art fair much more if there had been more paintings displayed…..and specifically, some abstract art. Well…. This is the Midwest….Kansas, to be specific…..and maybe this was too much to ask. I cannot prove it….but somehow I doubt if people who vote for Trump have a lot of cultural interest in such things as abstract paintings…..even though Lawrence is probably one of the most liberal towns in the state.

The general impression that Sultan and I gained was that this was more of a social event….an entertainment pasttime…..than it was a cultural event. Somewhere to go….something to do….on a Sunday afternoon. But…. Who are we to complain! That is exactly what we were doing….although we did not have any dogs.

The Mulvane Art Fair, held on the lawn at Washburn University a couple weeks later, was somewhat smaller in scope and area….even though the intent and the content were much the same as in Lawrence. One thing stood out immediately….to me at least. People were actually looking at the displays….as opposed to strolling, visiting, dog walking and jogging. They seemed to be more active in interacting with the vendors….asking questions, making comments, paying complements…. The environment seemed more relaxed…informal….friendlier. More like a “Fair” should be.

Working in its favor, too, was a wonderful display of stained glass. I don’t know if this was merely the vendor’s hobby….or if it was a vocation. Either way, the artist excelled in the task of creating some unique, well-crafted and awesome stained glass. If this is a full time job….I hope the artist is making a fortune selling the outstanding works of art. Creating stained glass is an art form that requires great skill, creativity, imagination….and patience. Just for the fun of it…. Compare two works of stained glass….and see if you can tell you made them: Me or the stained glass artist. (Not that I am not a stained glass artist, of course.)

One more thing that the Mulvane Art Fair had going for it was live music performance. Sultan and I took time out to sit and listen to a rhythm and blues performance….or maybe it was jazz. It was one of those. The two genres sort of overlap sometimes….especially to those like Sultan and me who really didn’t care. We just wanted an opportunity to sit and rest for a few minutes.

This was the second time that Sultan and I have gone to the Mulvane Art Fair. The first time we were there, we saw Laura Kelly. I nudged Sultan and said, “She is running for governor…..and I am going to vote for her.” This year…. Guess what?” We saw her again. This time, I was happy to say, “Hey, look. There’s Laura Kelly. She’s our governor.” It is good to know that our governor supports the arts. And, it is good to know that we have a governor who actually knows there is such a thing as “Art”.

Perhaps the main thing I gained from our visits to the art exhibitions this year was the desire….actually the determination….to take a couple classes in ceramics or pottery. Who knows? Maybe I will like it. Maybe I will be good at it. Or…. Maybe I won’t like it. Maybe I will find I have no talent or aptitude for it at all. There is only one way to find out: Just do it! My last….and only….attempt at making pottery ended rather abruptly. Several years ago, I made a futile attempt to learn. About halfway through the session of struggling to make a little pot or cup or bowl…. I would have been happy if it had turned out to be either of those….my instructor said, “You a big K.U. fan, aren’t you? Why don’t you just make the letters ‘K..and U…’ and let it go at that.” That is what I did….and I am still the proud owner of a ceramic “KU” which sits in a place of honor here in my townhouse.

Please don’t think that Sultan and I spent the entire six weeks roaming around from art fair to art fair…trying to reinforce our already rather extensive store of culture. (We had two more such experiences…..but I will get to them later…..) No, we were involved in a rather varied web of activities and conspiracies.

One rainy morning we decided to take off for Kansas City….. Our general goal was to visit the Harry S. Truman Museum in Independence, Missouri. Of course, Sultan had no idea who Harry Truman was. Don’t hold that against him! After all, he is from Saudi Arabia. With all the general ignorance that prevails in the USA today, I can imagine that 90% of our citizens also have no idea who he was! Even the ones who have lived here all their lives. At least, Sultan was interested….and he was willing to learn who he was.

For those of you who fit the description above: Harry Truman was the 33^rd President of the USA. He was President Franklin D. Roosevelt’s vice president. When FDR died in April in 1945, Truman became president and served until 1953. Truman had been kept almost totally in the dark concerning most of the important details of World War II (which was being fought at the time) as well as most other important events that were taking place at the time.

Harry Truman, who was much vilified by Republicans….partly because of his Midwest origin….and partly because he was scrupulously honest and played things straight….later became to be regarded as one of the better presidents our nation has had. For example, he knew nothing about the development of the atomic bomb, which, in itself would be shocking and scandalous today. (Although today the military would probably try to keep such a secret from our president….and the vice president!) He was a remarkable student and learned quickly. He elected to drop two atomic bombs on Japan….one at Nagasaki and one at Hiroshima. Although there was a terrific loss of Japanese lives, the war soon came to an abrupt end.

Truman can also be credited with successfully rebuilding Europe and its economic system through the implementation of the Marshall Plan, which included the fantastically successful Berlin Air Lift…..not to mention the establishment of the North Atlantic Treaty Organization (NATO).

The museum has an impressive collection of artifacts and memorabilia from from his personal life, his political life and from the World War II Era….and concludes with his years in the White House….and also included displays dealing with his family life. The excursion through the museum is well planned….and moves smoothly through the various phases of Truman’s life in a logical chronological order.

For those of us who lived through the “Truman Era” and observed the constant vilification directed against him by the Republican Party, it is gratifying to know that it was his policies and his leadership that not only saved the continent of Europe and enabled them to become strong democratic nations….but that he also presided over the successful domestic transition from a war time economy to that of a healthy peace time economy.

Even though he was completely unaware of who Harry Truman was prior to this visit, Sultan left the museum impressed with not only Truman’s remarkable life and achievements…..but also with the museum and the story it tells. I am not certain, however….and I didn’t ask him…..how he felt about the fact that President Truman presided over the establishment of Israel as a permanent Jewish nation.

I think Sultan and I were the last two individuals to leave the museum that afternoon….our visit being terminated by an announcement that it was closing time.

Before we made our rather forced exit, we walked out into a large courtyard to look at the President’s grave, where he is buried along side his wife, Bess Truman. They were married in 1919, and they remained happily married until Truman died in 1972. Nearby, their daughter, Margaret Truman Daniels, is also buried.

One of the first projects we undertook after Sultan’s arrival was the construction of a large bookcase to replace two smaller, mismatched book cases. Aside from the chairs and the TV, almost everything in my house is pretty much home made….or purchased for a very few dollars at the ReStore….operated by Habitat for Humanity. The ReStore was the origin of the two mismatched book cases we wanted to replace. Not only were they mismatched….but they were different sizes….and sitting on top of each other. I had endured them for a year. After all, they were better than nothing at all.

The weekend after Sultan arrived, we wasted no getting started. Being a self-styled efficiency expert, I determined that they best way to proceed would be to have all the lumber pre-cut. Sure, it was going to cost a couple dollars more, but knowing our skill level when it came to cutting things…. Well, spending those few dollars were well worth it. So…..accordingly, I called Sutherlands on a Friday morning to order the lumber. It was not the simple task that I had envisioned. Somehow I was under the silly illusion that since this was their job….what they deal with every day, day in and day out….it would be quick, routine phone call. Wrong! I had a heck of a time ordering the lumber. Whomever I was talking to… Well, she acted like it was the first time she had ever taken an order for lumber….and maybe it was her first time. After several minutes…lots of repeating….lots of explaining….I finally thought that she and I were on the same page….and the order had been duly placed.

After we had eaten lunch with our friend, Sam, we proceeded to drive to Sutherlands to pick up the pre-cut lumber. Sam had generously offered to haul the lumber to our townhouse in the back of his pickup. Expectantly…and innocently….I approached the customer service desk and announced that I was there to pick up the lumber.

The woman acted like she had no idea what I was talking about. She picked up her telephone…..and from what I could gather, there was a sort of chain reaction…. “Do you know anything about an order for someone named Darrah?….. For the next 5 or 10 minutes, this phrase seemed to reverberate throughout the store…..much like dominoes falling in succession. In the end, it seems that nobody had cut the lumber….the blame being passed from one poor employee to the next.

“OK…. What shall I do?” I asked, already becoming discouraged and annoyed.

“Go down to the lumber department and ask for somebody to cut it,” I was advised. I am not sure why they asked ME to do it. I had already given them the order….and the order had not changed.

I approached the counter in the lumber department and asked the woman behind the counter if she could find somebody to cut the lumber I had ordered. She seemed totally disinterested and continued with whatever it was she was doing. “I don’t have time right now. Ask the girl at the checkout.”

“Whhhaaaatttt?” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. This is why they are in business. To sell lumber! I thought back to the days I worked at Dillons….or in Yellowstone….or in Big Bend…. If I had said that to a customer, I would have been fired on the spot. I would have been unceremoniously booted out the door.

So…. We asked the checker if she could help us… “I’ve never done that before….”

Sultan and I looked at each other… “Come on. Let’s go to Home Depot.”

Sutherlands is FOURTH in Topeka…. Behind Menards, Lowes and Home Depot. Maybe there is a reason for that!

So…. We headed back across town to Home Depot.

The next day, a Saturday, we began construction on the book case. I have built in excess of twenty five book cases in my life time…. No problem. I know how to build a bookcase. The problem: I am getting a little older now, and I am reluctant to be handling such things as electric saws. Plus the fact, for some reason, I am not as strong as I once was….let’s say, thirty years ago. Like I say, though: I will furnish the brains….. Sultan can furnish the brawn. It is a good combination.

The lumber was already cut to the correct size. For the most part, surprisingly, the dimensions were basically correct. Our first task was to stain each board. The task was made easy, however, because I wanted the finish to be dark walnut. So, staining was simply a matter of “painting” the stain on…..and waiting for it to dry. This task was accomplished on the picnic table in the back patio…..just as it had been at the Oawakie house. With both Sultan and I busily engaged in the staining process, we made steady progress. Steady progress….until we ran out of stain. Work came to a rather abrupt halt. That was OK…. It was getting later on in the afternoon, and we had other things to do. Sultan leaned all of the stained boards against something to dry…. The fence, the picnic table, the chairs, the little shed…. We were off to a good start. We would finish the staining the first part of the week when we were able to buy more stain….and when we had more time on the following Monday.

That was also the weekend we went to Kansas City to the Harry Truman Museum. It had poured down rain while we were in Kansas City. Fortunately, when we got back home, we found that there had been no rain in Topeka. We breathed a sigh of relief. And, fortunately, there was only a slight chance of rain that night. We discussed whether we should bring all the lumber inside and stack it on the dining room floor.

“No….,” we decided, “There is only a slight chance of rain.” Usually when a meteorologist says that, it means, “Forget about the rain. It is not going to happen.”

When we woke up on Monday morning, we found that it had indeed happened…. Not a lot of rain. Just a sprinkling. “No harm done,” we hoped….. Wishful thinking. Late in the morning, after we had awakened, drank a cup of coffee, and finally became motivated, we decided to proceed with building the bookcase. We stained the final few pieces of lumber, and began carrying those already stained inside. The best place to assemble the bookcase was on the living room floor. Since the lumber had already been stained, the chance of getting a lot of saw dust on the floor was minimal.

We were not far into the assembly phase of the project when it became apparent that we had made a rather major mistake. Indeed “just a sprinkling” of rain had made a huge difference in the lumber…. Well, maybe not a huge difference…..but enough that most of the pre-cut lumber we had stained a couple days ago had become ever so slightly warped! It was not what we were expecting. It was not something we had planned on….or for. We should have brought the lumber inside and stacked it in the dining room, like we had considered. The wood was pine….and probably the cheapest grade we could buy. Even a small amount of moisture would have caused it to warp. I should have know better. It was too late to do anything about it. I mean…. The wood was not completely bent out of shape. But, neither was it the flat.

There was not much we could do except proceed the best we could. Don’t get me wrong. The boards were not warped into the shape of a “U” or an “S”. They were definitely not straight, though….maybe off by a half inch or an inch. Instead of simply slapping them together, like I had planned, now each board had to be coaxed into fitting. This process slowed us down considerably. I am not sure it doubled the time it took to assemble the book case….but, it was not the easy job that I had envisioned….or had encountered on most of my “bookcase projects”. While I applied pressure to each pre-cut shelf to push it down and to make sure all the edges were flush, Sultan used the drill and one inch screws to fasten them securely into place. It was a more time consuming process…..but I had nobody to blame but myself. I had simply been too lazy to bring the boards inside the night before.

At last, in a moment of triumph, we finished attaching the final shelf. Not bad. It looked like a book shelf. The next job was to spray the bookcase with lacquer to give it a “finished” look….and make it easier to dust. As undesirable as it was….and knowing that we would have to live with the consequences for a few days to come….there was only one place where we could apply the lacquer: And, that was in the front room….where had assembled it. The bookcase was far too heavy to carry outside where it should have been done. So…. We opened the doors (the windows do not open)….got the large tarp from the basement….and started spraying. Yes…. It was every bit as bad as we had imagined it to be….and probably just as unhealthy. We sprayed as quickly as we could. I am not sure spraying fast helps, but we figured it certainly couldn’t do any harm.

With our lungs filled with lacquer fumes and the smell of lacquer filling every corner of the downstairs, our bookcase was finally complete. It was time to take a break….get out of the house….get some fresh air into our lungs….let the house air out for a while…and let the lacquer fumes disperse. We didn’t dare leave the front door open. Probably nothing at all would have happened. But, that was out of the question, considering the reputation of our neighborhood. (And, nothing bad has EVER happened around here since I have lived here.) However, we did leave the door leading to the back patio open while we vacated the townhouse for a while.

When we returned, the odor of the lacquer fumes were still there…and would be for a week or ten days to come…. But, so was the beautiful bookcase….lying here in all its beauty….just waiting to be placed in its place of honor….and filled with collected books and other treasures.

Sultan and I speculated on how much we would have to pay for a comparable bookcase, if we had bought it in a furniture store or an office supply store…. We were not sure. But…. We were sure of one thing: Ours was worth more than anything we could have bought…..because we made it….with our own four hands! (Everything has a price! Make an offer….and we will see what we can negotiate. Just don’t tell Sultan…)

If there was a contest to find the least mechanical person in the world…..If I didn’t win First Prize, there is no doubt I would place somewhere near the top. My lack of mechanical expertise does not mean that I do not like to look at cars….especially “vintage” cars. Those cars from a bygone era…cars from my youth…. Cars built back when every car had either six cylinders or eight cylinders….

These were from back when almost every car could be a “hot” car….with a little bit of tinkering and maybe a few modifications. Personally, I never owned one of these so-called hot cars…or muscle cars, as we call them today. My main cars growing up high school and in college were a 1947 Chevy and a 1951 Ford. Or I drove my brother’s car, when he was so inclined to let me.

My first car was a 1947 Chevrolet. Yes….. That’s it. A Chevy. Not a Sonic…or a Malibu….or a Camero….or an Impala…. And, later, I owned a Ford. Not a Fiesta…or a Focus….or a Galaxy…..or a Fairlane…. It was a Ford!

Back in my youth….maybe up until the time I graduated from college, there was only one model (at least that I was aware of)…. A Ford…or a Buick….or a Plymouth….or a Dodge….or a Chevy…..or a Lincoln…. And, I knew every car by sight. I certainly did not own them…..but I instantly recognized them. Dinah Shore sang, “See the USA… in your Chevrolet….” NOT, “See the USA in your Impala….or your Malibu….”

And, I am proud to say: I knew every car that existed. Not only their name, but also the year. Remember… There was only one name….one year. I was sad to see various cars disappear in the rear view mirror….and drop out of sight. The Hudson…the Nash….the Packard….the Oldsmobile…..the Mercury….the Pontiac….the Plymouth…. I am pretty sure that Sultan is too young to recall such cars….or to mourn their loss. A vintage car to him is probably one manufactured sometime around 2010!

One Saturday afternoon there was a vintage automobile show in downtown Topeka on Kansas Avenue. Four or five blocks were cordoned off to make room for the cars. I like to look at old cars….and I thought perhaps Sultan would enjoy them, too. I was hoping that we would see examples of the old cars that I used to drive…..both my own cars…and also my brother’s cars. A little bit of nostalgia….and a little bit of history.

We leisurely walked up and down Kansas Avenue looking at each car along the way. Most of the “vintage” cars were actually from the 1960’s and 1970’s. And, as one would expect, I suppose….they were mostly “muscle” cars. Even though we did not see any of the cars that I drove as a teenager, we did see a lot of old cars. Sultan was impressed to see how “simple” the cars were. And they were simple. Actually, I think most of them were made intentionally simple so the average “shade tree mechanic” could repair his own automobile. (Well, that and the fact they did not possess present day technology.) And…. Many, many of them did. These cars were constructed back in the days before a computer replaced the wrench as the primary mechanic’s tool.

It was a couple hours well spent, I suppose. Like I said…. A little bit of nostalgia for me. A little bit of history for Sultan.

There is one thing that is going to happen when Sultan comes to spend some time. And, it is something that I do not have to plan. Actually, it is somewhat beyond my control. And, maybe it is a good thing it is not within my control, or it could possibly never happen. I am not saying it would not happen…. But, I am saying that there is a better than fifty/fifty chance it would not happen. So, this is something that I will readily give the credit to Sultan…. And say that is Sultan’s “thing”.

And, that “thing” is working out. No matter how long Sultan stays…..one day or three months….he goes running. That is great. He normally and regularly runs somewhere between three and five miles each time. I have no problem with it whatsoever. In fact, I rather enjoy taking him. And, I enjoy taking pictures of him while he is running….as much as he like to have his picture taken. So, it all works out well.

In the past, when we lived in the Ozawkie house, the first place where Sultan started running was on the Ferguson Road. The Ferguson Road was convenient. That was the big advantage. It was easy to get to….and close. The Ferguson Road has an abundance of places where I can pull in, stop, take pictures….and be close at hand, just in case anything might happen. Nothing ever did. But, it is always good to be prepared.

We decided to change gears. From the first time Sultan ran at Paradise Point, the abandoned state park south or our house, he was hooked. There was no turning back….. Sultan said basically the same thing that Brigham Young said: “This is the place!” And, so it was.

Sultan immediately recognized the Paradise Point as a runner’s paradise. This became his preferred running site. Just like I had done back when I was coaching cross country, we marked off a course for him to follow…..designating each mile, drawing arrows to direct his route….although I was always in front of him with the car. We marked off a six mile course. The six miles was merely a contingency plan….one of those “just in case” things. Normally, Sultan ran four miles….more than sufficient for his purposes. Depending on the temperature, some days he might run slightly less than four miles….but not often. And, some days when it was cool and the humidity was low he would run even more. Sultan came to love Paradise Point…. Not only its challenge, but also it beauty and peacefulness and serenity.

But…. As they say, “Alas!” Those days are over. The Ozawkie house is history….and Topeka and Darrah Tower are the present….and the future.

Here in Topeka, the only suitable place we know to run…and be safe while running….is Lake Shawnee. Lake Shawnee has been one of my regular destinations for several years. Years before I moved to Topeka, I would regularly drive down to Topeka just so I could go walking there. Lake Shawnee is not a shabby place! In fact, it is a rather beautiful setting…..the lake, tall trees, plenty of grass, playgrounds for children, abundant picnic areas….usually too close to the sidewalk, though….

My time for walking was in the afternoon….a time when most people were obviously at work. But, there are always people there: people walking, people jogging, people riding their bicycles, people on skateboards (young people, mostly….), people walking their dog(s), people pushing baby strollers…. The sidewalk as busy….everybody sharing it; everybody doing his own thing…. And, let us not forget the picnickers, the people fishing or the people sitting in their cars reading….or spying or stalking. Who knows what they were doing…. Not to mention the golf course, the baseball diamonds, the campground…..

Lake Shawnee seemed to offer something for everybody in its expansive green spaces bordering the blue lake covering several hundred acres of the 1100 acre park. The main attraction for me, of course, was…and is….the paved trail that completely circles the lake. The trail winds 7.33 miles around the lake. Back in the “old days”, I would walk 2 or 3 miles along the lake…..starting at the marina.

The only fault I could find with walking at Lake Shawnee was the ducks and geese. There were hundreds of them….all answering the call of the low-life idiots who parked their cars along the lake and coaxed the birds with bread and other various foods. I suppose to ignorant people who have nothing better to do, this probably seemed like a fun thing to do….maybe even a type of “welfare” for the ducks and geese. Actually, their unthinking actions made the birds dependent on handouts….and not on their own instinct to locate their own source of food, of which there are many. There is nothing like the site of a bunch of idle hicks getting their kicks by tempting a flock of birds by throwing them bread….. It is sort of like throwing candy to poor urchins.

Well….. The problem, as maybe you can imagine, was not only that geese are stubborn creatures, and they are not about to move aside for a mere human being when there is the possibility of a free handout (Sort of like some humans…don’t you think?). In fact, when provoked, geese can become somewhat aggressive…..and hundreds of geese can prove to be a rather intimidating barrier to the casual human walker. And…. Just as important: Stop and think. Geese have very bad bathroom habits!! They are not very discerning where they “Go”. It can become a very messy and treacherous situation….if you catch what I am driving at. (The Topeka city council has recently made feeding the geese and ducks illegal, and now levies a large fine on those doing it. The situation has greatly improved!)

All that aside, Lake Shawnee seemed like the most natural place for Sultan to run after I moved to Topeka. Actually, I don’t think I had ever been to Lake Shawnee after maybe 3:00 in the afternoon….and it was fairly peaceful, except for the geese and the geese-feeders… Even on the weekend, I got down there early….went walking, did my shopping….and went back home.

Sultan did his running in the evening….always after 7:00…and usually later. He was in the midst of Ramadan and therefore, could not eat between the hours of sunrise and sunset. So…. He would prepare our evening meal….put in on the stove….on LOW, of course, And then we would take off for Lake Shawnee. Just like me, he would start at the marina….run two miles to the south….and then back to the marina. I would follow along, pulling into parking spaces along the way….to take pictures, and also be there if he happened to need me. (He didn’t.)

Man…. If I ever thought that the traffic on the Ferguson Road was bad…. Wow… It was nothing compared to the traffic and the congestion at Lake Shawnee. When the sun starts to set….people obviously start coming out of nowhere and head to the lake. Little League baseball games….people having picnics….hoards of people walking, biking, jogging….just messing around in general. Everybody was driving somewhere….and driving slowly…. Sultan had the easy job: Running. I had the hard job: Trying to accidentally avoid killing or injuring somebody with my car…..or intentionally, because they were constantly interrupting my camera shots.

The moral of the story: Lake Shawnee is a great place to run…..but a terrible place to take pictures of somebody running (at least, in the evening…..) All my problems aside…. Lake Shawnee was a good dependable place for Sultan to run….and safe, too. In a normal week, he would run maybe three times a week…..and then we would go to the fitness center maybe three times a week.

Shortly after Sultan arrived, he wanted to join a fitness center for the summer. The guy to whom I talked at Great Life Fitness Center told me that Sultan could get a basic membership for the summer. But when we went to sign him up and pay the fee. Guess what? The guy had given us erroneous information. It was NOT possible. I didn’t quite understand why….and neither did Sultan. But, it was a battle we were not going to win. So we left.

For several months…actually since I first moved to Topeka….I had considered joining a fitness center at 29^th and Croco Road…..about 3 miles from my house. I had sort of ruled it out, though, because I already had a membership to Great Life, and the two fitness centers were about the same distance from my townhouse. However, the run-around I got when trying to enroll Sultan at Great Life…..the obvious untruth that they told, or at best, the lack of coordination and honesty they displayed….sort sealed the fate, insofar as I was concerned.

We drove over to Anytime Fitness Center….the facility at 29^th and Croco….and talked to the young manager (or maybe he is the owner….). He said that if I enrolled in a fitness contract, Sultan could come there and work out for free for the remainder of the five weeks he would be staying at my house. That was good enough for me. I became a member of Anytime Fitness.

The Anytime Fitness Center at 29^th and Croco is a smaller facility….maybe a little bigger than the fitness center we had gone to in Meriden. One advantage it had….actually two advantages…. First, the machines in Meriden were packed very closely together….like sardines in a can. It was difficult to maneuver through them….and awkward and uncomfortable when there were strangers there working out. Anytime Fitness is much more spacious. The other advantage is that Anytime Fitness has a larger variety of machines. Since Sultan strives to strengthen almost muscle in his body, he appreciated the machines which targeted all the various muscle groups: legs, arms, back, thigh, upper body….all that kind of stuff. There are also individual weights. For me: I no longer have any interest in developing into body builder or a muscle man. (Yeah…. Right!) I am content with their aerobic equipment… the treadmills, the stationary bicycles…stuff like that. I also spend some time on arm and shoulder machines…..and the single machine that tends to stretch my lower back muscle. Like I told Sultan: If the fitness center has a weak point, it is the fact that there is a lack of machines to strengthen back muscles. Over all, though, there is an adequate number of opportunities to strengthen almost every part of the body. This didn’t make so much difference to me. But, for Sultan, it was a definite selling point.

Prior to joining, I was a little concerned about safety…..most especially at night. It is located in a small shopping center, rather isolated from both 29^th Street and Croco Road. Except for a couple exceptions, all the businesses closed early. A Mexican restaurant remained open until 9:30 P.M., and a liquor store was open until 11:00 P. M. And that was it…..

Sultan and I normally did not go to the fitness center until around 10:30 at night. We were surprised to find that there were actually other people who worked out that late at night, too. Not many….. But, almost always there was another person or two there. Sometimes even a female. We soon became comfortable working out that late at night. In fact, we usually were happy if the other people left….and we had the fitness center to ourselves. Strangely enough, we often had the feeling that other people actually sat in their car waiting for US to leave! ….apparently so they could also work out alone. It was also comforting to know that the fitness center provided little alarms that we could carry with us. If we felt we needed help….or that we were in any sort of danger….all we had to do was press a button and the police would be summoned. (Probably a couple hours later…. But, it was a nice gesture!)

Just as he did when we used to go to Great Life Fitness Center in Meriden, Sultan always had a plan for his workout…. And, he stuck to his plan. I encouraged him to limit has plan to about one hour. I mean…. The workout was for physical fitness….not to become a body builder! And, Sultan simply does not have the physique to become a body builder!

As Sultan methodically went about fulfilling his plan for the night, I also went about concentrating on accomplishing my goals. My goals were usually to get out of there as quickly as possible. It will not come as a surprise that I usually….no, always….finished before he did…..and sat and waited until he finished. I would give him encouraging glances… Well, more like impatient stares….to help him stay on schedule.

The past couple years that Sultan spent the summers at my house were….well, at best, shall we say “busy”. As previously chronicled, the first summer I was constantly assaulted by a series of unfortunate physical problems….uncontrolled nose bleeds, dizziness and fainting….three trips to the emergency room. Lots of fun! The second summer we spent three weeks traveling…..and the remainder of the summer immersed in the torturous process of moving from Ozawkie to Topeka. It was a summer that we both would probably like to simply forget. In fact…. We would like to forget about both summers. Needless to say, there was very little time for anything else either of those summers.

This past summer…..the summer of 2019….was somewhat more leisurely and carefree. We had long ago decided that this summer Sultan would participate in a road race. We had discussed it in the previous years, but, like I said, there were too many other thing going on, and it simply was not possible. So…. This is the year! (I don’t know if Brigham Young said that…or not.) Knowing that he was going to run in a race somewhere provided some additional motivation for Sultan as he went on his nightly runs. It was the goal he was working toward…. A point of focus for him. He faithfully kept track of his distances….and his times….for each run. And, I kept faithfully snapping pictures of him!

Really, there was only one problem. As I may have mentioned earlier, Sultan was in the midst of observing Ramadan….which meant that he could not eat between the hours of sunrise and sunset. Not only could he not eat… He could not drink, either. In the summer months, especially, this could present some serious problems of possible dehydration….maybe even of heat exhaustion or other heat related incidents. This is basically why Sultan did all of his running in the evening. He could run when the temperature was not so hot…..and as soon as he got back home, he could take a shower. And…. After we got back home, it was only a matter of minutes before he could both eat and drink. Running in the evening was more of an inconvenience than it was a problem. Since he started running so late in the day, his runs were limited to around 4 miles….a safe and manageable distance. This was not really a “problem”. It did make a big difference in what kind of race he would be able to run, however. He would be limited to running in a shorter race….and in the case of the standard race, this meant he would have to run in a 5K (kilometer) race….about 3.1 miles.

Another detail we had to consider was that whatever race he chose would have to be after Ramadan was over. Races are almost always held early in the morning to avoid the midday heat. The time limitation narrowed our time frame down to two weekends! Not a very wide selection of weekends…..or races.

We checked all the races available on the two possible weekends….his last two weekends at my house. There were several races available in the area….most of them in the Kansas City area. Races in Kansas City for some reason seem to be more complicated….not to mention more crowded. A race in Tongonoxie stood out. Tongonoxie is a small town….with somewhat over 5000 residents. Not a village, at least by Kansas standards…and certainly not a city. The race is an annual event held to raise money for their public library….a worthy cause. After some consideration, this is race we chose. Well….I chose it. Sultan really didn’t care which race he ran in. Another reason I thought would be the best race was the fact that Sultan probably had far better odds of winning….or at least placing….than he did in a race in Kansas City, just because of the probable number of runners in each race.

For a week we debated the merits of staying in Tongonoxie the Friday night before the race…..or staying at home and getting up early and driving to Tongonoxie early the morning of the race. Finally we made our decision. We would find a hotel in Tongonoxie and stay there on Friday night. We would not have to wake up quite as early in the morning, and hopefully, Sultan would be wide awake and ready to run a good race. On Wednesday evening I logged on to the computer to find a motel and make a reservation. Well…. You guessed it! (or maybe you didn’t….. I certainly didn’t!), Tongonoxie does not have a motel….. Not even one! So much for staying in Tongonoxie. The decision was made for us: We would stay at home…get up early…and drive to the race.

We were eager little beavers. We were the first people there early that Saturday morning, June 8, 2019. They were just starting to set things up. The fire department was erecting the start and finish line….a large air-inflated canopy. The registration people were setting up their tables. The sound people were checking the volume. It was a little lonely….at first. “Oh, wow,” I was thinking, “I hope somebody else shows up!” Well…. On the bright side, if nobody else showed up, Sultan would be sure to win first place! As race time….7:30 A.M….got nearer, more and more people began to show up. No…. Sultan would not be running by himself. By the time the race time approached, there were at least a hundred people….probably more….waiting at the starting line.

There were actually two races….a 5K (3.1 miles) and a 10K (6.2 miles) race. Sultan was participating in the 5K race. After the race started and the runners were on their way, there was little for me to do….except wait. I wandered up to their main street. What luck! There were friendly benches placed at intervals along the sidewalk. Sultan would not come back into sight for at least 18 or 19 minutes, I figured. So….I sat down and waited. Actually, there wasn’t much to do except sit. I could have gone and sat in the car, I suppose, but it was a nice, clear, quiet morning…..and I had never had the opportunity to sit on a bench in downtown Tongonoxie. So… I jumped at the chance.

Just to be safe, I headed back to the finish line after about fifteen minutes. I wanted to be sure I was there when the first person crossed the finish line. And, I was hoping it would be Sultan. But….sadly, it was not. A local guy finished far ahead of all the other runners. I don’t remember his time, although I think it was somewhere in the 18 minute range…. The guy was a crowd favorite…and had apparently won the race for the past two or three years. He was greeted with major enthusiasm by his friends and the spectators.

The second place runner also came sailing in perhaps a minute later….also pretty much uncontested. The the third place finisher….the first place woman…..

Now…. The minute I had been waiting for. Down the street came Sultan…wearing his signature ugly green camouflage shirt. Yeah…. It is an ugly shirt (in my opinion)….but I like it….a lot. When he wears it, it is easy for me to pick him out of a crowd. Absolutely nobody else has a shirt like it. It is one of a kind. When I see that shirt, I know it has to be Sultan. In fact, when it finally wears out…..I am going to buy him another shirt just like it.

Yes…. Here came Sultan. In 4^th place…. He was also a crowd favorite. As he came running toward the finish line, he had his trademark smile on his face. He was waving to the crowd. The announcer loved it. The crowd loved it…. I loved it! Sultan loved it.

We learned a couple things from the race, too. First and foremost…. Next year we have to find a better place for him to train. Even with all its beauty…its trees…the water….the serene setting…. Lake Shawnee is not a good place to train for a race. It is a great place to go for recreational running….to stay in shape….for relax and have fun. But…as a training setting? No. Sultan found that he needs a more challenging place to train. A place with more hills, something more rugged, a course that is more difficult and more taxing.

The race course in Tongonoxie had difficult and challenging hills. This year, he simply was not ready for that kind of course. Last year when he ran at Paradise Point, he would have been in better shape and more fully prepared. That is the kind of course that Paradise Point offered….the steep hills, long hills, straightaways, curves….all the features that make a good training course….and will prepare a runner for almost any kind of race he encounters.

But…. Like I said, Sultan was happy. He had fun. He made some friends (whom he will never see again…). He got some recognition. He completed his first race (in the USA, at least) and he got a first place medal. He couldn’t do much better than that.

Meanwhile….. Back at Darrah Tower….. One of my plans to make the townhouse “mine”….to give it a distinctive, cared-for appearance. To…well….beautify it….was to construct a little garden in front of the house. Several of the other townhouses have very nice looking gardens….flower gardens. They are very instrumental in enhancing their appearance. After getting quick and enthusiastic approval from the office, I began to visualize what kind of garden I would….and could….build.

Sultan and I took some measurements….and then went looking for the appropriate stones to construct the border. We found some that met our approval…some red paving stones. This was before my decision not to patronize Home Depot any longer….and waited until we could get our friend, Sam, to pick them up for us and take them to the townhouse after lunch on Friday. We more or less just “unloaded” them that first day. On Saturday, we arranged them into what I thought was a rather artistic design….and I still do. One of the maintenance men saw what we had done, and, of course, suggested a “better way”…. HIS way. I certainly want to keep the maintenance personnel happy! They are very helpful…and useful…people to have on your side….as your friends. So… Yeah…. We changed the design. I mean, it was no big deal. I have probably already forgotten what was original design was anyway. And, there is a maintenance guy who thinks he gave us some wonderful and constructive advice.

The next step was to decide what to plant. For several months, my plan was to plant a variety of flowers…perennials, flowers that continue bloom every year… I was going to plant some flowers that bloom in the spring; some flowers that bloom in the summer; and some flowers that bloom in the fall. However, one day, I suddenly had the bright idea….like a message from On High…. Plant some shrubs. They will certainly grow each year; they require must less attention; they are always there…even if they are not always blooming….they are probably much more hardy than flowers….

Of course, I have never done anything like this in my life…. Never. Mother always wanted to plant flowers at the Ozawkie house….the Darrah Ranch. I always resisted….mostly because I did not want to have to take care of them….and also because when I mowed the grass….an acre and a fourth in that case….I did not want to have to slow down or stop for flowers. I simply wanted to mow….to get it done.

On Sunday afternoon, Sultan and I drove to Skinner’s Nursery on the northwest edge of Topeka to buy some shrubs….some bushes…. One thing I can say for sure: We went there with absolutely no expectations….no preconceived ideas….open to anything. We found a helpful employee who volunteered to help us make some sort of decision.

OK… We knew they will be exposed to the sun all day long, since they are on the south side of the townhouse. We had no idea about the soil. We assumed it was good because of the flowers and plants that our neighbors had planted seemed to be prospering. We need bushes that would not grow more than, let’s say, four feet tall, so they would not cover the windows. We wanted bushes that would have flowers on them at least part of the time. “Show us what you have.”

Like I said, Sultan and I had no preconceived notions…. Sultan, even less than I. I am not sure they even have flower bushes in Saudi Arabia! Maybe cactus. I think some of them may have flowers… don’t they? I think his main desire was to simply choose something….and get out of there. The lady led us off to the section where they kept the bushes….the flower bushes, presumably. Since neither of us had anything in mind, I think we were an easy sell.

She showed us some rose bushes….OK.. Rose are nice. They are pretty. They tend to have flowers for most of the summer. She showed us some spirea bushes. I remembered them from my childhood. Mother had lots of spirea bushes around the yard. They had pretty white flowers. They tended to spread….or at least, I think they did. Something that multiplies seemed good. That must mean they are a tough, hardy bush. Right? Well…. We will see. We bought two rose bushes and two spirea bushes. Mission accomplished.

We drove back to Skinner’s Nursery the following day with the pickup….a Monday, I think….picked them up. We took them home to plant them. There was, however, a problem. We had nothing with which to dig a hole. Kelly, the manager of the townhouse complex, loaned me some sort of shovel. When I first glanced at it, I knew it would be useless. And… It was. We could probably have used it to scoop wheat or something….but not to dig a hole. We ended up going to Walmart and buying a spade….or at least, it was a digging shovel. (This is another example of having to re-buy something that I left at the Ozawkie house because I thought I would never need it again….) Sultan dug the holes, planted the little bushes. About thirty minutes later…. Surprise! We had a flower garden….or at least some bushes in front of the townhouse. Mission accomplished. Another goal achieved. Check back in a blog from next summer and follow the drama. Did we buy the right bushes? Did the bushes live? Are the bushes growing? Or was all that work in vain? Stay tuned…..

In anticipation of Sultan’s visit, I planned an extensive trip through the Northeastern States. Actually, it was an awesome adventure through some of the most historic places in the USA, not to mention a lot of the top tourist destinations. The trip would have taken just one day shy of three weeks….a long trip, but with enough down time to keep it interesting and (semi) relaxed…..I hoped. One of my main goals in designing the trip….and one might say an ulterior motive….was to plan the route so we could stop and take pictures of me standing beside the state signs that we….Fayez and I missed….just drove right past them…. in a similar previous trip. This time Sultan and I would stop and take the pictures. And….Sultan would want them as much as I would.

This trip would be the first trip that would completely forsake campgrounds…..and we would spend every night in a motel or hotel. That would be a radical departure from our usual style of traveling. But…. It would be Oh, so much more pleasant and hassle free.

But….The trip did not happen. Sultan seemed reluctant. With only six weeks to spend at my home, he did not want to sacrifice three weeks on the road traveling. If I would have insisted….and he left it more or less up to me to make the final decision….he would have agreed, and we would have make the trip. But….He had a point. We would spend half our precious time on the road…spend a great deal of money….give up three weeks of leisurely time together here at Darrah Tower….and probably not get any of the projects completed.

We were busy enough. And, we didn’t spend the entire six weeks at home. I already talked about our trip Independence and to the Truman Museum. On Memorial Day we drove down to Hutchinson for the weekend. The main purpose was to place some flowers on the graves of family members. There was serious flooding all over the state of Kansas….and Central Kansas was not exempted. My niece, Wanita Johnson, had told me in a telephone conversation that most of the roads between Hutchinson and Lyons were closed….covered with flood water. However, one road was still accessible…and that is the route we used.

We picked up Wanita on Saturday and drove the one remaining road to Lyons. Our first stop was at the Lyons cemetery. We were able to locate all of the important grave sites….my brother, Arnold, Wanita’s dad. My mother and dad…. Wantia’s mother… We attempted to locate the graves of some other relatives, but Wanita had already told one of our cousins that we would stop by their house at a certain time….and that time was rapidly approaching.

If Sultan and I had been by ourselves, we would have spent more time searching for the graves….and we would have no doubt found them. But, it was OK. We accomplished the most important task. Next year we will search more thoroughly.

After visiting with one of our cousins, we took Wanita back to her home in Hutchinson. We had a nice visit. After Sultan and I ate supper at a Chinese buffet, we sat in a bar for a while and then went back to our motel.

Sunday…. Well, Sunday in Hutchinson is not very exciting, to say the least…..especially when we had already seen all of Hutchinson’s tourist attractions. There are exactly two of them: the museum at the salt mine and the Cosmosphere, the space museum. When you have seen them….you have seen it all. OK… There a couple minor attractions: The Reno County Historical Museum, for one. It was closed, of course. Who would want to go to a museum of their day off? The other possibility….and the better of the two choices….was the Hutchinson Art Guild. The exhibits change regularly. And, no more often that I go there, I was pretty sure there would be a new exhibition. It is open on Sunday afternoon, so that is where we headed. We were the only people there. But, maybe that would be the case no matter which day we went. Something tells me that Hutchinson is not one of the major art centers of the USA. The exhibits at the Hutch Art Guild are always interesting and worthwhile to visit. We walked leisurely through the space….actually stopping to look at the pictures. It was a worthwhile hour…. Well, it probably didn’t take us an hour.

We had told Fayez that we would go to Wichita to see him. So, later that same Sunday afternoon, we headed to Wichita. Aside from getting to see Fayez’s apartment…. He had moved since the last time I was there…. The only other things of substance we did were eat supper….go to the river front park….and go back to Hutchinson.

Quite frankly, I have no recollection of where we ate supper. It must have been a remarkable place. I do recall that we drove to a couple places….both of which were hosting private parties, to which we were not invited. Somehow I suspect we could have just gone on in….blended with the other guests…..and everything would have been fine. Of course, we had no idea about the purpose of either of the parties, so there could have been some awkward moments, depending on the nature of the party. So…. We looked for another place to eat. We must have found a place. I am sure we ate supper. I just have no idea where it was!

After supper, we went to a park along side the Arkansas River. Maybe it is called Riverside Park. It probably wasn’t….but it would be an appropriate name, nevertheless. The Arkansas River was a raging river….almost bank full from all the summer rain….the current would have swept anything in its way down river in an instant. Wild, out of control rivers are a little bit scary….especially to somebody like me who does not know how to swim.

The place where we went had an Indian….Native American….theme. I think it was called Keeper of the Plains….but I am not sure. There were a few monuments….a few displays….and some other miscellaneous information. There were dozens of people just milling around…doing nothing in particular. Maybe that was because there was really nothing in particular to do.

The route of a road race threaded its way through the park and along the river. There appeared to be hundreds of people in the race….judging by the time it took the runners to completely pass by. If Sultan and I had known in advance, maybe he could have also been in the race. But… We didn’t know. A missed opportunity.

We sat on a bench near the edge of the park for a while…. Fayez and Sultan looked at their cell phones. I simply sat and watched the runners as they passed. At this point in the race…It was approaching the end, I think….most of them were walking. Darkness was already beginning to descend over the park. It was apparent that Fayez was getting restless and was itching to get back to his apartment…..and to whatever was waiting for him there. Sultan and I needed to start back to Hutchinson. Fayez drove us back to his apartment where our car was parked…..and we went back to Hutchinson and the motel.

Our major trip of the summer lasted four days…. Doesn’t sound very major, does it? It is surprising how much a person can pack into four days….and we packed a lot. We really had no concrete objectives in mind, except to visit my cousin Dorothy Tener in Farmington, Arkansas. We told her she could expect us around 10:00 A.M. on Wednesday, June 5. The rest of the trip was more or less improvised. As improvised as I ever get, at least. For some reason, sentimental, I suppose, we decided to spend the first night in Oklahoma City. Oklahoma City is where Sultan spent a year studying English back in the very beginning. Other than the time he spends with me every summer, this was the only other place in the USA where he lived.

It was probably 2:00….or after….when we finally got everything into the car and drove away from the townhouse. We had to stop to fill up with gasoline and maybe even at Dollar General or Walmart…. By the time we were actually on the Kansas Turnpike heading south town Oklahoma City, it was at least 2:30….if not a little later. Yeah…. It was a sentimental trip. We had made this trip before, back in “the old days” when I made two or three trips down to either pick up Sultan and bring him to my house….or the time I drove to Oklahoma City to spend a few days visiting him.

By the time we arrived at our hotel, it was starting to get late…. Maybe 6:00 or after. The hotel we stay in looked ultra modern from the outside. Unfortunately it did not live up to our….more specifically, my….expectations once we got to our room. We were both tired. Instead of spending our time sightseeing, we opted for something more practical and immediate: We took a nap. We ate supper in an Indian restaurant….somewhere. It was an authentic Indian restaurant. It was not an all-you-can eat buffet. And… Sultan and I were certainly the only-non-Indian people in the restaurant that night. We ordered something….and it turned out to be good….actually something that we had already eaten before at the Indian buffet here in Topeka. That….believe it or not….was the highlight of our night in Oklahoma City.

The next morning we headed to Arkansas. What’s going on down there in Oklahoma? It seemed that every fifty miles, we had to stop and pay some sort of toll….and pay it in cash. We never did figure out the system. Here in Kansas, toll booths are located in two places: At the end of the turnpike….and at exits. And, the number of exits are very limited. Otherwise, we just keep driving. In Oklahoma, we never did figure out their system….or the inexplicable places the toll collection points were placed. And, we never did figure out why they caused thousands of drivers the inconvenience of having to pay in cash. We were about to run out of actual “money”….and we wondered what would happen if these collection booths continued….and we had no money to pay. Fortunately, between Sultan and me, we made it across Oklahoma….barely. What about those poor, unsuspecting people who were trapped with no money at all?

Our destination for the day was Fayeteville where we would spend the night at the Baymont Inn. We arrived in Bentonville….a few miles north of Fayeteville….in the early afternoon….still plenty of time before we needed to drive on down to the motel. Our plan was to visit the Crystal Bridges Museum of American Art….founded by the Walton family. The museum, which is heavily promoted on radio and TV in Kansas….has an awesome permanent collection of American art spanning the history of art in the USA….from the colonial period to modern day, contemporary art.

As our luck would have it, the museum was closed to the public the very afternoon that we arrived. Walmart was in the midst of its annual shareholders’ meeting. The art museum was open only to them on that day. Not to be deterred, we went to the second place on our list of tourist attractions….a place called Amazeum. This, we assumed after reading a little about it, was primarily a “discovery”, hands-on science museum for school-age kids. It didn’t make a lot of difference. It was also closed. This venue was also founded in part of the Walton family….and the organization.

We didn’t see much point of pursuing another other museums in the town, especially with the expectation of meeting the same final result.

However, for some reason we decided to drive back downtown where we had seen several buses parked on a blocked-off street. We didn’t know what to expect….although I was pretty sure the buses were parked in front of the original Walton store. And…. I was right. The original Walton store is the home of The Walton Museum. The sidewalk and the street were crowded with people….presumably Walmart shareholders. We were not at all sure if we would be able to see anything….but, why not hang around and at least take some pictures?

We walked along the sidewalk for a few yards and came across a store front window with some contemporary art displayed. Assuming it was part of the Walton organization….and close to the public that afternoon….I asked if were were allowed to enter. “Sure…. Come on in.” So we did.

The gallery contained a remarkable collection of contemporary and abstract art. It was one of the best galleries I had been in for a while. Sultan and I assumed that it was part of the Walton museum complex….and these were paintings they had acquired. If so….They had better taste than I suspected them having. We finally figured out….and I am not sure how we did it….that this was a private gallery. The works of art were the product of the guy who told us to “Come on in.”….and was talking to and answering questions from other people who were also there to look. The pictures could have had prices on them, too. If so, that is usually a good sign that it is a commercial gallery. It didn’t make us any difference. We enjoyed walking through the rather large gallery and looking at the fantastic works of art the guy had created.

Located next door to the gallery….and this is what fooled us in the first place….was the Walton Museum. They were happy for us to go in and look around. And, apparently they were also happy for dozens of Japanese….shareholders, I suppose….to look around, also. The Japanese are ubiquitous….. They are everywhere….by the dozens…literally. When we go to Yellowstone. There they are….like little bugs swarming around….always walking in front of the camera when we are trying to take a picture….always trying to shoo you away when they are taking pictures…. Rude little people. They were at the Grand Canyon…. They were in Salt Lake City… They were in Rocky Mountain National Park…. They were at Mt. Rushmore….. And now, here they were at the Walton Museum in Bentonville, Arkansas. Those little people really get around. And… They are always in groups…. They are always oblivious to anything, except what they are doing.

Fortunately, at the Walton Museum, they seemed to have little interest in the museum itself. They were far more interested in buying “souvenirs” from the gift shop. That seem to be what they came for. Luckily, we were not at all interested in buying Walmart trinkets….so we left the place to them, until we went back out on the sidewalk and had to push our way through them again.

As for the Walton Museum: Well, it is accurately named. That was what it was….a huge advertisement for Walmart. Except, instead of being on TV….there is was right there before us. There were lots of signs….timelines….pictures….and old advertisements. To be fair, the office of Sam Walton had been preserved and was on display to be observed, behind glass, of course. One of the guides immediately rushed up to Sultan and me and volunteered to take our picture standing in front of the office. Of course, we accepted his offer.

Sam’s old pickup….the one he used for his “humble, common man” image was on display. I am sure he kept his expensive latest model pickup at home in his garage. The barber chair he supposedly always sat in when he got his hair cut was there. At least, those artifacts were on display….maybe a couple more. But, mostly it was printed or reproduced material tracing the history and development of the Walmart company on its rise to being the largest retail organization in the world.

We spent a few minutes in a chocolate factory/retail store, too. It would have been nothing special, except that one of the female clerks had spent some time living and working in Jordan….a place where Sultan visits often. Sultan spent some time talking to her about her experiences there….also trying to find out exactly where she had worked. Before we left the store, I had bought five or six chocolate bars. The bars that I bought were not typical candy bars. They were 70% – 80% pure chocolate from exotic places…mostly African countries. It took over a month for me to eat them. Every time I ate one, I felt mildly nauseated… They may have had exciting, mysterious names, but I can assure you…..If you want to buy “pure dark chocolate”, just to to the grocery store…Walmart, for example… and buy a name brand. You are going to like it much better.

We spent the night in a Baymont Inn in Fayeteville. Nice looking on the outside….less than adequate on the inside. The story of the three motels we stayed in during the trip.

The most important event on our agenda for Wednesday…in fact, for the entire trip…. was our visit to my cousin, Dorothy Tener. Dorothy married my cousin Raymond….Oh, so many years ago. She was 16 when they were married. Sadly, Raymond died a few years ago. Dorothy is 94 years old this year (2019)…. And, take my word for it…. She still has the energy and outlook of a woman thirty or forty years younger. Her memory is phenomenal. It puts mine to shame. She has lived life to the fullest…..and has stories and anecdotes to illustrate.

We arrived at her house around 10:00 A.M., just as we had planned. This was the third time that Sultan had been there….and he always looks forward to seeing her again. We sat in her comfortable apartment and visited for maybe a couple hours. She was regaling Sultan with stories of her life….the places where they had lived and the things they had done. Sultan is always a willing listener….even though he had heard some of the stories on a previous visit. On this particular morning, she told some stories that even I had not heard before. It was a pleasant interlude, and the time passed by quickly, as it always does.

Around noon, she asked Sultan if he would help her get lunch on the table. Of course, Sultan was happy to help. As he helped her prepare the food for the table….Everything was cooked and ready to go…. I was relegated to the menial task of setting the table. I really do not remember what we ate for lunch that day. It was good. That I am sure of. Throughout lunch, Dorothy kept the conversation alive….asking Sultan about his life, his school…. Talking about family….asking about family…. Time seems to go by fast when we are at Dorothy’s house.

About midway through lunch, her daughter, Cheryl, who is my second cousin, came in with her husband. They have been married less than a year. She talked about him last year, but neither Sultan nor I had met him. Meeting him was an added treat for both of us. After some more conversation, we knew that the time was getting late….and it was time for us to leave. Leaving Dorothy’s house is always difficult. We would have liked to linger on…. Sultan and I always thoroughly enjoy our visits to see Dorothy…and Cheryl. Needless to say, it is always a highlight of our summer.

We drove immediately to Bentonville in anticipation of visiting Crystal Bridges Museum of American Art…..which was closed yesterday because, I suppose, of the shareholders’ meeting. Or. … Maybe that day was set aside for the Japanese, so they could scurry around and take pictures….and get it out of their system. Today, fortunately, it was open. The parking lot was almost full. This place was obviously a bigger deal that I had suspected. We did find a parking space, though, and proceeded to the impressive structure that housed the museum. To reach the actual museum, we took an elevator up one floor to what appeared to be the main level.

Crystal Bridges is a free museum….except for some special exhibits, which we did not see. We did have to get a ticket….and a little lapel pin, to show that we were only allowed in the “free” section, I suppose. Don’t let me mislead you. The free section contains an extensive, world class selection of American art. Among the artists represented in the museum are Normal Rockwell, Thomas Moran, John Singer Sargeant, Jamie Wyeth, Gilbert Stuart, Andy Warhol, Georgia O”Keeffe…… Hey! This not kindergarten art. These are some of the most famous artists in the world. Their art sells for literally millions of dollars.

Most of the artwork is traditional….paintings, portraits, landscapes….the usual subject matter. There is, however, a section devoted to abstract and contemporary art. Don’t miss it. It is also awesome….something a person would expect to see in New York City or Paris.

Sultan and I spent probably a couple hours in the museum. Time was a factor, and we had to keep moving. I think it fair to say (sadly) that we merely gave the museum a “once over”….slightly more than a cursory inspection. We plan to return. And, now that we know that this is truly a world class institution, we will be prepared to spend considerable more time. For a person with only an amateur interest in art, this is a place that should be high on your agenda. Who would expect? A truly first class art museum in the state of Arkansas? And…. Who would expect that Walmart….well, the Walton family….would be the ones responsible for bringing it into reality.

We saw only the “public” or free part of the museum. For an extra fee, there was even more. We were satisfied with what we saw….more than satisfied. Maybe surprised? Astonished? Thrilled? Elated? A little dazed? Quite frankly, in my opinion, it far surpasses anything Kansas City or St. Louis….or Lawrence, for that matter….has to offer.

There was an entire world of sculpture gardens outside that we did not have time to visit. But…. There will be another time….another opportunity. If you are traveling through Arkansas, it will be well worth your time to stop and see this amazing museum. It will be well worth your time to even make this your destination.

There was one other place that Sultan and I visited. Maybe it was not quite as important as some of the other venues….but it was certainly enjoyable….and delicious. Many years ago, one of my cousins told me about a place in Wamego called Friendship House. She insisted that it was a place where I must go. It is a well….a restaurant….and a bakery. It is located in a residential section of Wamego….in an ordinary, common house….a former residence.

A few years ago, Fayez and I drove over to Wamego and ate lunch at Friendship House. It every bit as good as my cousin had said it would be. The setting is quaint….I mean, an old remodeled house? And, the food was first class….affordable and plentiful. The day Fayez and I went there, we sat outside at a table under a shade tree. The day Sultan and I drove there to eat, it was too hot to sit outside. I told the guy who owns the place that we had sat outside the last time. “Go ahead,” he said, “if you want to get a sun burn.” He was right. The sun was beating down relentlessly. Even the shade tree would not offer much protection. We elected to sit inside with the rest of the sane people. The room where we sat was obviously the former living room. We could just as well have sat in the dining room….or one of the bedrooms, either downstairs or upstairs. About the only rooms we were unable to eat were the old kitchen…which had been converted into ….well, the kitchen….and into the reception, sales area….and, obviously, the restrooms.

It was approaching 2:00 P.M. when we arrived. Since it was well after the normal lunch hour, we expected to perhaps be dining alone. We would not have been overly shocked if we had arrived too late….and the place would be closed. We were wrong on both assumptions. The restaurant was open….and there were other people there dining. And, more people….mainly families….came in while we were there. By hearing little bit and pieces of their conversations, we concluded that most of them were from out of town….either people who were passing through or people who had driven from other towns just so they could eat at Friendship House.

As we were leaving and were paying our bill, the owner threw in a couple cookies….complements of the restaurant. This, I suppose, was our dessert. Any time you are thinking of an unusual, fun, and good place to eat lunch….and you have a little time….the trip to Wamego and Friendship House is well worth the drive.

Before Sultan had to leave and go back home to Saudi Arabia, one of the things that I wanted him to try….and he was eager to do it….was experiment with painting. We set aside an evening for that purpose. I was a little apprehensive. Sultan had never painted a picture. In fact, I don’t think he had ever done anything very “artistic”. Would he like painting? Would he get bored before he even gave it a chance? Would he become frustrated and give up?

I convinced him that abstract art is …. Well, abstract. Just start painting. It is very difficult to make a mistake. Who will ever know? Just say, “That is the way I wanted it.”…and nobody would ever know. I need not have worried. Sultan was an enthusiastic “artist” from the very beginning. His first paintings were on art paper. It is cheaper, for one thing. If he felt that he did not like painting and wanted to stop, all that had been wasted was a piece of paper (and a little bit of paint).

I should have already known that Sultan would like to paint, being the creative person that he is. Of course, his first question was, “How do I start?” That was my first question, too….except I had nobody to ask. “Just start,” I told him. “Just start painting. If you don’t like it, you can always paint over it.” With that bit of advice from a total amateur, Sultan began painting his first picture.

As for me, when I start a painting, I have a general idea of what I want to paint. The painting never….and I mean never….turns out anything remotely like my idea. But, that is OK…. Just as long as it “turns out”. Sultan, on the other hand, had a name for his paintings before he started. Names like “The Function of the Liver”, or “The Malfunctioning of the Pancreas”, or “The Death of Cells in the Large Intestine”…. You get the idea. Something related to the body or something he had studied in medical school. They didn’t mean much to me…..but, at long as they meant something to him…. He took those painting home with him….Thank Heavens! For me, I asked him to paint on canvas….so I could hang it on the wall in my living room. He painstakingly painted a picture….something to do with bile, I think….explaining every color as he painted. It was mostly green….with some yellow and light green mixed in…maybe some white…. Anyway, when he finished, he was proud of his painting as he signed it and presented it to me. It is hanging in a place of honor on my living wall…directly in front me me. Every time I look up…. There is Sultan’s painting….something green, with a little bit of yellow. Bile, I suppose. But, there it is….my favorite painting….whatever it it.

We celebrated an important milestone in Sultan’s life….. Normally, I do not like to celebrate birthdays either in advance….or in retrospect. A birthday is a birthday. If you were born on June 18…..then we celebrate your birthday on June 18, the day you were born. Otherwise…. Let’s go ahead and celebrate my birthday on April 10^th. It is not my birthday…. So, why would we do that? It does not mean anything. It is simply a fake celebration. That is the way I look at it…. If you don’t…. That is great. You can do whatever turns you on. In any event, I relented…. Sultan’s birthday is June 18. He would be back home by then…..due to no fault of his own, I suppose. I could not let his birthday pass by….even it would not occur until four days later….without some sort of recognition….and celebration. He would be 22 years old…. Over the hump, so to speak. A bona fide adult in the USA. I bought a cake….and a couple gifts….and we had a short….but raucous and happy….celebration.

While we were celebrating, Sultan got into the mood and also gave me a gift. A birthday gift? Or just a gift? It doesn’t make any difference. Any gift from Sultan is a treasure. The gift was a t-shirt. It was the wrong size. But… That is not important. It is the thought that counts!

The six weeks was over in what seemed to be less than a week! Dust in the wind! I had anticipated the trip for months…..and all of a sudden, almost like a mirage, it was over…at least for another year….when the Visitor from the East will return again.

 

 

 

2018…..twenty-eighteen….two thousand eighteen…..

In the words of the popular old Frank Sinatra song, “It was a very good year.” Well… I am not prepared to accept that description without a lot of qualifications. 2018…. It was a very unique year? A very different year? It was a year of upheaval. It was a year of important landmarks. No matter how I describe it: You can be sure of one thing, at least. It was a year that brought about some changes in my life that were momentous and irreversible. Some of them will have an effect on my life…..Well, forever.

Every year brings new and different things: New challenges, new problems, new rewards, new surprises, new adventures, new sources of happiness… And, no doubt, every years brings its share of loss and sadness.

Back in 2017, I remarked that it was probably the worst year of my life…..mostly because of a series of physical and health problems that seemed to be attacking me relentlessly. Yes, that was indeed a very bad year. But, in part, they were mitigated by the fact that Sultan spent the summer at my house. He was not only a huge help….but he was also the   source of comfort and strength. With his help, during the summer, I was able to manage the problems. And with the guidance and expertise of the doctors in the Cotton-O’Neil Medical Group, I was eventually overcome the problems and went on to enjoy a degree of good health for the remainder of the year.

Last year, 2018, however, was different. Three major events took place that cannot be reversed. Sultan can do nothing about them. My doctors have no power to change them. They happened…..and they will continue to influence my life into the unforeseen future.

But…. Do not be discouraged, I am going to try to balance these far-reaching, pivotal events with an even greater number of happier more positive things that took place. Even though they probably do not balance…or cancel….the more consequential events, they do demonstrate that life goes on. That life is sort of like a balance scale. If we let life take its course, the two sides will work to equalize themselves….maybe not quite….but close enough. And, from the good things, we derive enough strength and positive drive to move on down the road of life.

The saddest event occurred in the early morning hours of September 24. The telephone rang early…..around 7:00. At my house, when the telephone rings that early, it can mean only one thing: We can be sure that is not good news. I didn’t make to the telephone in time to answer it. The call came on my cell phone, and not my land line, one of which is beside my bed. By the time I had gotten out of bed and into my office to the cell phone, it had stopped ringing. I took a look at the Caller ID. The call was from my niece. She had also called previously, but apparently I was asleep and did not hear the phone ringing. I knew then what she was going to tell me.

I called her. And, she tearfully told me what her dad had died in the night. Her dad, of course, was my brother. My younger brother, Arnold, had died around 1:00 that morning of congestive heart failure.

Arnold was the youngest of us three brothers. Marvin is the oldest. He is 87 years old. I am the middle bother. I turned 80 in July. Arnold, the youngest of us three, celebrated his 78^th birthday on September 4. For a long period of time, I firmly believed that he would most certainly outlast us all. He had been active….always doing something, helping somebody, working on some project. Then about three or four years ago, he started being besieged with physical problems…..ending up in the hospital two or three times. But, each time, he would bounce back. He would soon be back to normal….tending his garden, cutting wood, helping out friends who needed help….

The final incident was brought about by a fall…. He was getting into his pickup when he slipped and fell. It wasn’t, it seems, just a routine fall. Although he managed to pick himself up, it turned out that he had injured his leg….and his arm….and his side.

He was admitted to the hospital….and eventually transferred to a convalescent home in Sterling, The Sterling Presbyterian Manor. This, I think was the final mistake. I drove out to see him three or four time during is stay there. “Are they getting you up to walk?” I would ask every time. The answer was usually “No”.

Of course, I only spent a day or two while I was there, but even from those brief periods of observation, it was apparent that he was not receiving the medical care and medical attention that he needed. In fact, it appeared that he was receiving very little medical care at all. His daughter talked to the staff. His son made a trip from Chicago to see him. Even when he talked to the staff, the answers were vague and noncommittal. I had even suggested that maybe we should seek legal advice in regards to the level and quality of treatment that he was receiving.

At some point we discovered that he was not there to receive medical treatment….but as a hospice patient. This fact was concealed….or at least, never revealed….until it was probably too late for any constructive steps to be taken. What we should have been told upfront and immediately was concealed. No wonder nobody paid much attention to him. To the staff of the Sterling Presbyterian Manor, he was not there to be “healed”; he was there simply to die.

Even today, I don’t think any of us are sure how this happened….or who signed the papers….who authorized it….. But, for sure, the transparency and forthrightness and cooperation from the Sterling Presbyterian Manor was sadly absent.

We still had great hopes of is recovery. We were on the verge of buying him a suitable walker…..of obtaining a portable oxygen extractor….. Of insisting that they begin a program of physical therapy…. I honestly thought he would go back home….and that he would be around for the next twenty years.

Something went terribly wrong in the meantime, however. He died of congestive heart failure in the early morning hours of Monday, September 24.

There are happier days to remember. Arnold was my Number One playmate all during our childhood years. We spent countless hours roaming the fields, and woods and streams near our house. We were together climbing trees, climbing on the rooftops of the many out buildings on our property. We never knew what “hot” or “cold” was. No matter what the weather, chances are we could be found outside….doing something….engaged in some sort of “adventure”.

One time we had the grand idea of starting a “zoo”. We spent days hunting down and capturing….or attempting to capture….all sorts of creatures. Frogs, butterflies, fireflies, worms, crickets, grasshoppers, birds (although we never actually caught one), beetles, and as assortment of bees! Needless to say, the bees were not happy with our intentions…..not the wasps, or the hornets or the honeybees or the bumblebees. Real or imagined, we came to believe that ALL the bees knew us….and we were their enemy. Just walking outside the door would bring on an attack. Yeah…. They all knew us; they did not like us; and they were out to get us. Looking back, this probably was not the case at all. But, in the minds of two young boys, it seemed very real….and very terrifying.

Equally as terrifying…and very real….were the geese we owned. They were mean! And, they did not like us! Whenever they saw us….either of us….they would immediately go into attack mode. They would chase us all over the farmyard. Often Mother would see them and come to our rescue. She would pick up a stick or a board and chase them off. But, we were too small….too intimidated….and terrified.

One of our favorite activities, especially in the summer months was playing with the neighbor kids. At various times, we had two families of neighbors who lived across the road with kids about the same age as Arnold and I. Across a field, again there were a couple families that occupied a small house. Down the road maybe a quarter mile….It seemed like at least a mile back then….was a family that was fairly stable. They lived there for most of the time, as I remember.

In the very early days…..probably when I was about 6 or 7 years old, and Arnold was only 4 or 5 years old…..and maybe a little longer than that….one of our favorite past times was to play various “war games”. We older kids were always the “good guys”…the Allies. The younger kids were the “enemy”…..the Krauts (Germans) and the Japs (Japanese). We had very little understanding of what we were doing. No…. Let me amend that. We had absolutely NO idea what we were doing. We only knew who the “good guys” were….and who the “bad guys” were. And, of course, we older kids took the roles of the “good guys”.

Those games slowly faded into the background, to be replaced by more enduring games. The “good guys” – “bad guys” sort of morphed from war games into variations of popular western….cowboy….games. Depending on the day and our mood, some days we “good guys” were Roy Rogers and Dale Evans…..or Gene Autry and some unidentified beautiful female side kick. The younger kids….who were all boys, I might add….happily assumed the role of the “outlaws”. Of course, just as in the movies and on radio, the “good guys” always won.

I don’t think Arnold and the other “bad guys” minded in the least. We really had no idea what we were doing. We were just playing….having fun.

On other days….summer and winter…..we would take off for a woods probably a half mile from our house. It could have been further….and it could have been closer. We had no idea or sense of distance back in those days. On our way, we passed through the city dump. Actually, we made it a point to pass through the city dump! After exploring the mounds of trash and refuse…..and back in those days, there was no such thing as landfills. They hadn’t even been thought of yet….we would continue on to our private woods for an afternoon or a morning of adventure. A small stream ran through the woods. To us, it looked like a river. But, in reality, I can imagine that an average size adult could cross it with a simple jump. Arnold and I discovered a large tree that grew on the very edge of the stream. A large branch hung down almost to the ground. We soon determined that we could take a firm grip on the branch and swing to the other side of the stream. Wow…. This was exciting! We quickly gave the tree a name. It became our “Tarzan Tree”. Our own secret “Tarzan Tree”. I don’t recall ever telling anybody about it. It was our own little secret….our own private secret. (I am not sure how we got back to the other side of the stream. Probably the branch was low enough that we could reach it from the other side of the stream, too.) We made frequent trips to the woods to play with our “Tarzan Tree”.

Times were different back them. There were no security concerns….nobody was afraid of being kidnapped or harmed. Whatever fear we had was generated by our own rather active imagination.

When we were not out about exploring, most of our time was spent playing variations of football or baseball in an empty lot just south of our house….or out in the road in front of our house. I say “variations” because, let’s face it…. When there are only five or six people, you are going to have to be inventive. So, we never let the numbers bother us. We simply made up rules to fit the current situation. When the weather was warm enough, we would play until it was almost too dark to see the ball. Then we would adjourn inside to listen to the radio….or, most likely, go to bed.

Mother subscribed to two magazines for us. The name of my magazine was called “Playmates”. I can’t think of the name of Arnold’s magazine…..although I think is was probably “Jack and Jill”. We eagerly looked forward to receiving them each month. We eagerly devoured each of the magazines, reading every word, looking at every picture, playing every puzzle….over and over again.

From my earliest memory until I graduated from high school, Arnold and I shared a room. By the time we reached this age, our interests were starting to diverge a little bit. He, naturally, made his own friends…..just like I made friends of my own. But, we continued to be close.

We even owned a car together. My first car was a 1947 Chevy. It was a good car….and I do not recall what happened to it. I am not sure Arnold had owned his own car yet. Anyway, we came to an agreement that we would buy a car together….a 1951 Ford. I am not sure why we decided to do this. Looking back, I am sure it was probably an ill-fated business venture from the very beginning. At the time, it must have sounded like a pretty good deal, though. We negotiated an equitable time table….and everything was set.

By this time I am sure that Arnold had a part time job somewhere…..maybe working for Smith Dairy in Sterling. Smith Dairy was located on the southwest outskirts of town….probably not a comfortable walking distance from our house. The car undoubtedly was a big deal for him. It meant the difference between riding is bicycle….or even walking….. a mile or so….or driving. I was working at Dillons every day after school, so I really didn’t need the car much during the week. If I had the car on weekends….and maybe Friday night….that was sufficient for me.

The real problems came with our personal habits, though. Arnold’s friends were not my friends…..and more important….Some of Arnold’s friends had acquired some bad habits…such as drinking. One night….and I really do not know or cannot recall the details….Arnold and some of his friends were involved in an accident….while he was driving “our” vehicle. The accident did not involve another vehicle. Maybe they….he….had ran into a road barrier or something similar. Anyway, the car was totaled…. Arnold was arrested…. I was without a car…. Fortunately, the judge gave Arnold the option of being charged with a variety of not so attractive crimes, which could have resulted in some serious consequences…..OR, with joining the Army. Fortunately, he chose to join the Army…..probably one of the better decisions he ever made.

Dating back from this time….and this was in the mid and late 1950’s….we were more or less separated. He spent a couple years in Germany. By the time he had come back home, I had joined the Army…..after which I spent three additional years in South Vietnam. He got married….settled down….had kids….

But, throughout the intervening years, even though we were no longer living in close proximity,  we had always stayed in touch. After he settled down in Lyons, I tried to drive out and see him once every six weeks or so. He made semi-frequent trips to see me. Whenever I was in Lyons, one of our favorite past times was to drive around….looking at all the places that were important to us as we were growing up….reliving the past…..reminiscing about things we had done and people we had known

As close as were during our growing up years, and as much time as we spent together, I cannot remember a single fight that we had. Oh, I am sure there were childhood disagreements. There had to be. But, these were quickly resolved. But….as for a real “fight”…. No, I can’t remember any. Serious “disagreements”? I don’t think so. And, this is the way it remained up until the last day.

Even now, almost four months after he died, I am still tempted to pick up the phone and call him….just to see how he is doing and what is going on. But…. Sadly, I can’t do this. But, I can look back fondly on all the good memories that we built together.

Ahhh…. Now for the second of he “Big Three” events that took place in 2018. Maybe you are going to have a difficult time wondering why I have included it…. And, I will probably have a hard time explaining it. But, on 6:30 P.M. on July 28, I officially became 80 years old. Yeah…. I know, lot’s of people are 80 years old….and even older….are still roaming around on the face of this earth. But, somehow, turning 80 years old just seems pretty cool. I have lived in parts of 9 different decades…..and while I haven’t “seen it all”…. Believe me….I have seen a LOT of it. I can now talk about stuff that is legitimately in history books. The end of World War II, the Korean War, the Vietnam War, the dropping of the first atomic bombs, the explosion of the first nuclear bomb. I lived through the “Cold War”….and I saw communism collapse. I watched the Watergate Scandal unfold on TV, and subsequently watched the one and only U.S.A. President resign in disgrace.

I grew up before running water, before electricity….and certainly before television, the telephone and computers. I was able to simply walk up to the ticket office at Allen Field house and buy tickets for K. U. games….and also the Final Four in Houston. And, that was back when basketball players wore “short shorts”….before the days of the baggy shorts they wear today. And, guess what? I wore them, too. I grew up when if you got in trouble at school, you got into even bigger trouble at home. I paid $1200 for my first new Volkswagen….and thought it was a fortune. We could ride our bicycles to the nearest service stations, put a nickle in the Coke machine and get a Coke….in a real glass bottle….and then take the bottle back and get a refund.

I grew up when we actually elected patriotic men as President of the United States…..men like Roosevelt, Truman, Eisenhower, Kennedy, Johnson…. We elected men who were qualified for the office…. NOT Reality stars who are not emotionally immature, but were lying, dishonest, sexual predator self-serving (maybe) billionaires who got their start from multi-million dollar gifts from their father….and then mismanaged their businesses to a point where they went bankrupt five or more times.

I grew up when our society was basically agricultural….when producing our own food was common….large gardens, homemade bread and butter and cheese and ice cream.

You get it? A lot has changed since I made my first appearance on this fragile earth…and most of it has not been for the better.

When I was young, 65 years was old….ancient. As I look back to my grade school days in Lyons, I can remember thinking how “old” all my teachers were. They all seemed like they were all old enough be grandparents…..or great-grandparents. And, I can also remember seeing funeral notices in the newspaper 30 or maybe even 40 years later….some after I was living in Ozawkie. Needless to say, I was startled…. I looked to see how old they were when they died. Surely, they must be 100 or 110 years old! But, No…. They were generally in their 70’s or 80’s. That meant they must have been relatively young when they were my teachers…. Some of them must have been younger than my mother. I guess it is all a matter of perspective. Age perspective to a child is sort of like distance perspective or size perspective, I guess. Remember… I told you that what seemed like a mile or two when I was a kid was, in reality, only a block two.

Age….. MY age…..had long been a topic of interest when I was still a classroom teacher. My students constantly asked how old I was. And, just as constantly, I told them not to worry about it. I am not sure why it was such a hot topic. Did they ask other teachers how old they were? They might have…. I probably should have just told them… But, I didn’t. And, of course, it became an even bigger mystery. Some of them asked out secretary. She told them to get lost. A couple of them….runners of mine, in fact….even went to the extraordinary length of finding my mother’s telephone number and asking her. They concocted some sort of story about wanting to give me a party or some such bull. Mother told them to ask me! Of course, my mother told me this story…..not my students.

Even the parents were not so innocent when it came to guessing my age. For many years, I was in charge of the Saturday morning intramural basketball program. One Saturday morning I was sitting on the stage watching the kids play. From time to time, parents would come in and watch their kids play….and (or) catch up on the latest gossip. As I sat there watching the two games…..we played a split court….I glanced at a couple mothers who were sitting on the bleachers. It was very apparent they were talking about me. They kept glancing my way in such a way that there was no doubt that I was the topic of their conversation.

I decided that I would walk down to the far end of the gym to check with the coaches. I intentionally strolled past the two women. Just as I was about to pass them, one of them said, “Mr. Darrah…. We have been trying to figure out how old you are.”

Oh….. So that was what they were talking about. “A little over 21….and a little under 65,” I told them….smiling, of course. And, I walked on. As I would find out later, I was almost the same age as they were…..only I probably looked younger! A person’s age seems to fascinate some people. At least, it give them something to think about….which might not happen otherwise.

Somewhere around the time I retired, I had a change of heart about telling people my age. I was eager to retire. In fact, I could barely wait until my last day of work. Wow…. I was turning 65 years old….and I deserve to retire. I had been in working in the field of education for 40 years, and it was starting to feel like it. And, I was starting to feel like it, too!

So….. Yes. My eightieth birthday was a big deal. It was a big deal in a way…..but it went practically unnoticed. Fayez came up for my birthday. Probably not so much to celebrate my birthday….. He forgot my gift, and I finally received it at Christmas time….but, rather to help me finish up the process of moving from my house in Ozawkie to my present home in Topeka.

We arrived at the old house around 9:00 in the morning….and worked until sometime in the mid-afternoon….not at celebrating my birthday, but at loading the last of the junk to take to my new home. There was little time to even think about birthdays…. This was the last weekend Fayez could help me before he left to go to Saudi Arabia to visit his family. Whatever we didn’t get moved on that Saturday…. Well, either I would have to move it myself….or it simply would not get moved. So…. I suppose this most valuable birthday gift was simply that we were fortunate in getting most of the remaining stuff loaded into my pickup. The Ericksons also contributed to my “birthday gift” by bringing a big trailer over and hauling a huge load of “trash” to their landfill. And, believe me….. That was infinitely better than a box of chocolates!

It wasn’t until we got back to the townhouse….unloaded the stuff from the back of the pickup…..and had taken a shower, that we even thought about my old age! Even though Fayez forgot to bring my gift….if indeed he even had one…..he did not forget to bring a birthday cake. (Like I said…. He finally gave me my birthday gift at Christmas.) I cut the cake while Fayez took some pictures…..then we went to Golden Corral and ate. It had been a long, work intensive day, so we simply went back to the townhouse….and went to bed.

So…. The day just sort of came….and it went. But, the is OK. I am still 80 years old….whether I spent it celebrating in a bar….or at a big party….or moving stuff from my old house to my home.

That brings me to the third important event of 2018. I moved.

That probably does not seem like a momentous event to many people. The USA has a mobile society. During a person’s adult life, reliable studies show that the average American family moves every five years. The equals about sixteen times during the average lifetime.

As for me…. Well, I don’t think I am normal when it comes tothis statistic. I have had three permanent homes throughout my lifetime. During what I call my childhood years, we lived in Lyons for about 13 years. During my high school and college years…and in fact, during my early teaching years…..we lived in Sterling. And for more than 44 years, I lived in what I fondly called the Darrah Ranch, Ozawkie Township. Yes…. Those were my only permanent homes. Yeah…. There are gaps to be filled in. But, the other places were transitory homes….. The Army, a brief stent of teaching in Kansas City, the International Voluntary

Services.

Yes…. The Darrah Ranch was home for more than 44 years, well over half my life. You can read one of the previous blogs to find out about that phase of my life, if you are interested.

But, at the urging of…..well, almost everybody I would listen to, I made the difficult decision to move to Topeka. There were considerations such as, but I suppose not limited to….cutting down on the number of miles I drove each week; closer proximity to my doctors and my hospital; closer proximity to family…..

Anyway, I reluctantly made the decision to move…..after living at the Darrah Ranch for more than 44 years. This, obviously, was a major decision. It meant uprooting myself from the house and property that I had worked hard to make my own. Just ask anybody who had visited me. It was definitely MY house; one of a kind. Once you visited, you probably were not going to forget it. Some people liked it; some people loved it….and some people did not! Oh well… That was their problem. And, they could always leave by the same door they came in.

That was the house….the only house….where I had many adult memories: my “souvenirs”, my books, my stained glass, my home made furniture. It was the house where I lived with my three beloved dogs; it was the house where I hosted ten foreign exchange students; it was the house where a wood stove was my primary source of heat for about forty years; it was the house that I literally transformed from a horse pasture.

What was it like to move? In just a few words: miserable…frustrating…time consuming (sorry, that is two words), tiring….

If you are one of those people who move every five years….. I give you my sympathy. Good Luck! I do not envy you. Anyway, you are probably young….and you obviously have not accumulated a lot of stuff.

If you are one of those more “permanent” residents who have been rooted in one place for a long time….. My advice to you: If you really do not have to move…. Then Don’t! If it is an absolute necessity, I hope you find out early so you can start to plan.

Start early on your packing….. I mean months early, if possible. Go through everything! Every room, every shelf, every drawer, every closet, every possible place where you may have stashed anything. If you don’t need it…. If you have not used it for more than 6 months or a year…. If you have forgotten that you even had it….. If you can’t wear it….. If it has an inch of dust on it….. Throw it away…. Or donate it to some charitable organization. If you have not used it in a year…. Chances are, you are never going to use it.

Decide what you are really sentimental about. If you can’t remember who gave something to you….. Why keep it? If you can’t remember when or where you bought something….. Then why do you even care about it?

This is what I did….. And, it is something that was difficult when I first started sorting stuff. “Oh, wow…. Should I really throw this away?” But, as the work continued, it became much easier. My students have given me gifts over the years that I taught in the classroom. Who gave it to me? When? Was it for Christmas? If I couldn’t answer those questions….. Out it went.

And…. All those clothes I saved. “Someday I will lose a lot of weight, and I will be able to wear them again.” Yeah…. Right. That was certainly a fantasy. Get rid of them. All that junk in the kitchen. Most of it was dirty and would require a thorough, vigorous scrubbing before it could ever been used again….if ever. Throw it away. And, all those books! As I looked through then….blowing a healthy layer of dust off them, I found myself asking: What was this book about? Wow…. This book doesn’t contain anything that I can’t find more up-to-date information on the Internet…. There is still a bookmark in this book. I didn’t even like it well enough to finish it….. What is this? I don’t even remember what it was about! So….. I donated them to the local library.

Even after donating upwards to 20 trash bags of old clothing, more than 15 boxes of books, and throwing away countless trash bags of “junk”, the amount of stuff still left was appalling. It didn’t even appear to make a dent.

As I said earlier, the decision to move was difficult. Somehow I never seemed to seriously consider it until perhaps six months or a year before I actually setting the decision in stone, so to speak. I probably should have realized that this decision would be inevitable as time passed by…..and I became older. If I would have known….probably I would have not have accumulated so much stuff. Who knows? Maybe so….maybe not. Even before I started looking for another place to live, I knew that I was not going to seriously “downsize”. I intended to take all my possessions with me…..one way or another. Of course, all the “outside” stuff was going to stay. I would have no need for it….and I was certainly sentimental about it. I also knew early in the process that I would never own property again…..no matter where I was living. People always talk about the benefits and advantages of owning property. Not me! Been there….and done that. I was weary taking care of property…constantly facing the problems of upkeep, maintenance and repair. Give me an apartment….or a town house….any old day. But…. It must be large enough to accommodate my possessions.

After scouring the “Apartment for Rent” ads for a few months, I continued to see the advertisement for the “Colonial Town House” complex. The “rent” seemed reasonable. I drove down to Topeka on several occasions to check it out…..taking people with me most of the time. It appeared to be clean, attractive, peaceful and orderly. I began to check the online crime map….over a period of several months. Crime was almost non-existent.

I finally made the decision. I drove down to the townhouse office….and asked for an application. I was taken by surprise when I learned that the townhouses are not rental property. A person has to buy his share in the townhouse association….depending on the size of the townhouse. What I had thought of as rent is actually a homeowners fee…also depending on the size of the townhouse. At first, I was somewhat annoyed. Deceptive advertising. But, as I considered the situation, I am actually pleased in this arrangement. Only people who are serious about living here….and only people with enough money to buy into the townhouse association….live here. This not a place where people move in, pay their rent for one month and then skip out…. Unless they want to lose their considerable investment in their townhouse. The result seems to be: The townhouse compound is populated with mostly middle class families….people who have a steady….and probably permanent….job. They do to work every day….their kids go to school every day….. They come home, eat supper, go to bed…..and get up and do it all over the next day.

Sultan arrived the last part of May to spend the summer. That is when the “packing” began in earnest. I mean packing the stuff that would really be moved. There were boxes stacked everywhere…..in the garage, in the kitchen, in the front room… There were well over 50 boxes…..probably closer to 100 boxes of stuff. Actually, we thought we had done a pretty good job….

We had a trip planned. We did packing up until the Thursday before we left. Friday was devoted to packing for our trip….picking up the rental car….. But, we felt that we were in good shape. The manager of the townhouse complex had given the OK to move in as soon as we got back. As I mentioned in the previous blog, I spent a lot of time while we were traveling on my cell phone taking care of the details of moving: hiring a moving van, arranging for electricity to be activated, getting cable, telephone installed…..

Moving day….Monday, July 2….rolled around. Sultan and I felt that we were ready. About 8:00 in the morning the movers arrived. They simply walked in….unannounced. When we say them, I looked at Sultan. Sultan looked at me. The question in each of our expressions was, “These are our movers?!”  I was expecting three men dressed in some sort of uniforms….maybe with the name of the moving company written on their shirts.  But…..  Here, standing before us, were two black guys and a Mexican guy. That, in itself, was OK. No problem…. Except that one of the black guys was wearing his jeans down around his knees….and he already had his cell phone glued between his shoulder and his ear. And, it stayed that was for the remainder of the day. I don’t know….. Like I said….. Somehow I had expected to see three guys show up, wearing some sort of uniform….or at least an identifying logo on their shirts…. Oh well….. The other black guy and the Mexican guy were good workers.

The real problem was moving all the shelving units. All of them were built in the room where they were located. Most of them would not fit through the doorway. They had to be cut down …… or they had to be left behind. Sultan and I worked as furiously as we could to cut the shelves down while the movers were loading the boxes into the van. It was an uphill battle…. And, in the end, I think that we lost the battle.

There was constant conflict between the three movers…. Well, mostly between the two black guys. One of them was the boss…. He was in charge. He did the stacking in the back of the van. The other two workers were….well, the workers. Like I said, the Mexican guy worked conscientiously all day. The tall black guy? Well…. He was worthless. The boss guy was constantly shouting at him, “Put away that @$%?& cell phone and get to work.”

Sultan and I stood by helplessly….doing whatever we could to be of assistance….which was not much. It was really a sight to behold. The supervisor in the back of the van, shouting at the black guy with the cell phone and his jeans about to fall off….the Mexican guy doing his best to get the stuff out of the house….the tall black guy shuffling back and forth maybe carrying a book or a pan or a pillow….or standing in the shade of a tree….all the while talking on his cell phone. Mostly, I was eagerly waiting for the tall black guy’s jeans to fall completely down to his ankles…..which he was in the midst of carrying some heavy furniture. That would have made an interesting photo. And, it would have been even more entertaining to see what he would have done…..to see which was more important: his cell phone which was still cradled between his face and his shoulder….the furniture he was carrying…..or his jeans.

Finally, around 3:00 in the afternoon, the van was full…..and we took off for Topeka. The disaster continued. They were tired by this time….. Mostly, tired of us! Their attitude became mostly just, “Let’s get it done….and let’s get out of here.” It may be a slight (and only slight) exaggeration to say that their attitude became surly…. Whatever. But as they carried furniture into the house, they banged stuff against walls. Scraped paint off walls….and unless, we watched carefully, simply plopped furniture and boxes wherever they wanted.

In the coming days, when it was all over and the dust had settled, we found that they had broken the washing machine, gotten grease spots on the carpet (Who knows where they came from.), and put furniture in the wrong room. We also discovered that a shotgun that I had for more than thirty years was missing….along with too many other things to even mention. I had considered filing some sort of charges against them….or at the very least, contacting the Better Business Bureau or the Attorney General’s office. But, as Sultan said, jokingly, I think…. “Remember. They know where you live!”

But…. Here is my advice. No…. Here is my Warning: Never, under any circumstances, hire the Dawson Moving Company.

So….. Here I am. Am I going to like it here? Who knows? Only time will tell. Right now I like to call it my “comfortable prison”. The change from owning an acre and a half of land out in the country where my nearest neighbors are at least 100 yards on each side of me….where I had a covered patio with a swing…..a deck running the full length of the house…..enough trees that provided privacy….where I could turn my CD player as loud as I wanted…. A change to living in a confined space with only a tiny patio in back of the townhouse….no front yard….neighbors attached to both sides….one assigned parking space….. Where I have to keep the drapes pulled and the doors locked….. Where I do not know any of my neighbors…. OK…. You get it. It is a huge change in my life and in my life style….from being a country boy to trying to be a city boy…. From knowing almost everybody to knowing nobody…..

Yes…..Only time will give the answer. Check back in a few years….and maybe I will actually be writing exciting things about my life….maybe I will love the place….. I hope so.

There were other things that made 2018 special. This was the year that I fulfilled another of my long-help goals. I completed visiting all 50 of the states in the USA. Long ago, I had driven through all of the Western States…..most of them multiple times. And, I had the pictures to verify it to people who perhaps thought I was stretching the truth. When I say “Western” states, I mean all the states west of the Mississippi River. For many years….until Berlin came along….this was always the direction I headed for a summer vacation. Yes….for some years, trips to Berlin sort of replaced the trips to the Oregon Coast. If I could go to Berlin….I didn’t worry about going anywhere else.

During the period when I was coaching AAU Junior Olympics in the summer, some of the athletes were fortunate enough to qualify to participate in the National Finals. I am not sure how….but they did. The national finals were held in Clearwater, Florida. It was a long ways to drive….but could we really pass up an opportunity to say we had been to the Nationals? And, to be honest, I don’t remember all of the kids who qualified. I remember two or three of them…..enough to bring back bad memories. Anyway, we drove down to Florida….participated….did horribly….and come back home…… As quickly as possible. Taking pictures was one of the last things on my mind! So…. Yes, I knew I had been there, but I had no way of visually demonstrating it.

On at least two occasions, Fayez and I had planned to take trips down through the Southern States….and on two occasions, I planned an efficient trip…..and on two occasions, Fayez backed out at the last minute.

But, when Sultan came to spend the summer, we actually made the trip. (And you can read all about it in a previous blog.) The main highlight for me….in fact, probably the only highlight…..was the fact that when we crossed the border from South Carolina into Georgia…..I had been in all 50 states….and had pictures to prove it! One of my goals had been reached….Goal?…. Bragging point? Not much difference, I suppose. I am glad it is over….and I am glad I was with Sultan….. and I am sure there is no reason for me to ever to there again. Been there…. Done that. Cross another thing off the bucket list.

 

 

 

 

Another event took place that was very satisfying and special to me. Fayez received his Bachelor’s Degree in bio-medical engineering from Wichita State University at the end of the academic year.

Fayez found my name listed on an international hospitality site in 2012. I got a message asking if he could come and stay at my house….the house in Ozawkie…. During the long winter semester break. I accepted his request….fortunately. For a couple months we kept in touch via Skype. It was slow going, so say the least. He came to the USA….namely Wichita State University…..knowing almost no English. Or let’s be even more realistic: He did not know any English.

To begin with out conversations were very basic. A lot of smiling at each other back in those days. There was not a lot of actual talking in those first meetings. Mostly he looked up words that I used…..and looked up words to write back. But… We did communicate. I scoured my brain for something “interesting” to talk about. A typical
Skype session might go something like this. “Do you like soccer?”…… Sit and wait for a few minutes while he translated. “Yes, I do,” he might reply. “What did you do today?”….. “I studied English.” ….. “What did you study?”….. “I studied nouns.”…..

It was during one of these faithful Skype conversations that learned that he played handball. “Oh, Wow!” I thought. “I used to play handball almost every day of the week.” Sadly, the kind of handball he played….and the kind of handball I played were two vastly different games. But, on the good side: It gave us something to talk about. Something for him to base conversations on.

To get on with the story….. He same to my house one cold day in December in 2012. I also had another guest staying with me at that time…..a Chinese kid, whom I have completely lost track of. The Chinese kid…also a student wanting a place to stay during the long 5 o5 6 week semester break….arrived one day earlier, and consequently got the spare room. Fayez was relegated to the top bunk in my room.

Fayez was supposed to arrive at my house in the mid-afternoon….around 3:00. Three o’clock came and went; then 4:00…..then 5:00. I was starting to become concerned. Finally, he called. He was lost. He had written the wrong street number into his GPS. I tried to explain to him how to get to my house…..but he had ended up in Valley Falls at the service station. Fortunately, they knew me.

“I will drive down to the corner and wait for you,” I told him. I proceeded to put on some winter clothing and get the car warmed up…. Then I took off for the corner of 130^th Street and Ferguson Road. About halfway down the road, a black car went zooming past me. “Oh, wow….. That has to be him.” He didn’t even slow down. And, I knew that (at that time) my house was positioned wrong on the GPS. I slammed on the brakes on and took off in hot pursuit after him. Sure enough, he realized his mistake about a half mile on beyond my house, and was heading back toward me.

I stopped my car, flashed the lights….. He slammed on his brakes….. Got out of the car with a big smile on his face…. That was my formal introduction to Fayez. He followed me back to my house….as a guest. And….He never left. He stayed on as a member of my family.

During the intervening years….and it seems like I have known Fayez all my life….. my home has been his home. He spends holidays at my….our…house. We have taken several major trips together. I have read and corrected…or suggested corrections….for enough of his college work to form a small book. I have watched him develop into a fluent speaker. (And sometimes, I think I prefer this teen age kid who knew almost no English!). I have watched him become confident and successful.

So…. It is not surprising that his college graduation was an important event in my life….one of those highlights that does not come around very often. So…. On the morning of Saturday, May 19, I drove to Wichita to attend his graduation ceremony.

Probably if it had been anybody else, I would not have endured the torturous event. It would definitely not be my first choice for a weekend activity…..or any other time, for that matter.

First was the drive to Wichita…..and having to drive within the city of Wichita. Long ago, I thought nothing of this. Driving in Wichita was almost as common as driving in Topeka. But, that was another day and time. Today I am very hesitant and reluctant to drive in cities that I am not familiar with. Well…I made it there….and found the motel where I would be staying. It was an attractive motel with apparently lots of activities and diversions for its customers. But…. Even though the motel was attractive and had an ultra-modern appearance, it could well have been the most uncomfortable place I have ever stayed. There was not a comfortable chair in the entire room. The room was as dark as a dungeon. The choice of TV channels was as limited as swimming pools in the Sahara Desert! All of those activities and diversions? You’ve to be joking. Believe me…. They were not free. If a person thought he was going to be treated to a relaxing and fun time….. There was a rude shock. All of it….every single activity….had a monetary charge…. Sort of a deception!

Fayez picked me up perhaps two and a half hours before the ceremony was scheduled to start. He had to be there early, he said. I have graduated from college three times….and I must say Wichita State University must be an extra cautious or nervous university. Normally, an hour or even thirty minutes is deemed sufficient time to get lined up for the ceremony. Fayez led his day and me to a ring-side seat in Koch Arena. And, believe me…..we had no problem find a good seat. Nobody else was there! Koch Area seats 10,500 people…..and we had first choice!

Chances are I slept most of the time while I was waiting for the graduation proceedings to start. Finally, the moment arrived….the graduates began to stream into the area…. Streaming….and streaming…..and streaming….. Normally….and I am speaking of the University of Kansas and also of Washburn University….. (and also at the one commencement ceremony I attended at Kansas State University)…..each school…and often each division has there own short ceremony. From start to finish, they are over and done with in 45 minutes or so…. Not Wichita State University! Wichita State for some reasons lumped ALL of the engineering schools and ALL of the business schools together for this commencement ceremony.

It seemed like the proceedings went on for an eternity…..speech after speech….introduction after introduction…..recognition after recognition…. And…. They hadn’t even begun to pass out the diplomas. So…. I did what any normal person would do: I feel asleep again! Yes…. I woke up in time to see Fayez receive his diploma. (I had had a refreshing nap by then!). I got to see Fayez graduate….two and a half hours later.

But… It wasn’t over. Then there was all the “congratulations” outside the area. I am sure that every Arab in Wichita was there that day. And, it was like they had never seen each other before…. Introductions here….introduction there… Pictures here….pictures there…. Kissing here….kissing there…. And, Yes, of course, these were all males. Not a female to be seen…..

At night, we all went out to eat….at an Arab restaurant, of course. As naive as I am….I thought it would be only Fayez, his dad, and me…. But….as innocent (or ignorant) as I am, this was hardly the way it turned out. Yes, Fayez was there….his dad was there….and I was there. But so were a hundred others….all speaking Arabic…. My Arabic has never been very good.

Fortunately, there were two other students there who did not speak Arabic. They moved down the table and took seats near me…. We sat and help our own quiet conversation in the midst of the general loud boisterous pandemonium that surrounded us.

Don’t get the wrong idea…. This all probably sounds rather sarcastic….maybe even a little hostile! But, it isn’t. In general, this is an accurate account of what took place. You know…. Don’t kill the messenger…..

Needless to say, I am proud of Fayez and his accomplishments. Seeing him receive his diploma for his bachelor’s degree was a happy moment indeed. Fayez has indeed been an important part of my life. He is an intelligent, ambitious young man who has a vision of his future….and he is working diligently and faithfully to bring his vision into reality. Someday he will be making important contributions to the field of medicine and to the field of bio-medical engineering.

What other important things took place during 2018? Of course, there lots of things….but which of them were important enough to be permanent or life changing? One thing that may or may not fit into that category sort of goes along with moving from Ozawkie to Topeka. For the past almost 50 years, I have voted in my precinct of Ozawkie Township. I have voted in every election since I turned 21 (This was back in the “old days”.)…..and except for a few fleeting years, the only local candidates I knew were the elected officials of Jefferson County. Although I never voted for any of them, I knew the Republican candidates as well as I knew the Democratic Party candidates whom I voted for. Of the Republicans always won….so I suppose it was easy to be familiar with them. On the country level, I have to admit….. There probably is not a lot of difference. I even ran for….and was elected to….a public office in Jefferson County. It was a non-partisan position, but nevertheless, I felt qualified enough…and confident enough….to actually run….and win.

Moving to Topeka and Shawnee County opened up an entirely different field of elected officials. Although I had seen and heard them on TV since I moved here, it never occurred tome that I would be voting for them some day. Even after seeing all the names of city councilmen, county commissioners, school board members, state legislators, etc. in the newspaper, on the Internet and on TV, I really still have no idea which ones live in my district and are representing me. From now on, I will watch more carefully and be more aware when I see and hear these faces. It is the least I can do, considering that I have no plans to ever move again. Of course, it would be easier to simply drive back up to Ozawkie and vote there…considering I still own property there. But, I really have no desire to spend my remaining years locked away in a prison….and being a Democrat….that would surely be my fate in this Republican dominated state.

There may be other events that I could list here…. I bought a new car. Well, not a “new” new car…. But new to me. It is a two-door, and someday soon, I hope it is history. What was I thinking? I think the confusion of the summer must have impaired by brain, or at least, my judgment….of I would have most assuredly have bought a four-door. But…. This is a correctable mistake…and it will only affect my life for a short period of time, hopefully.

I have already alluded to the trip and Sultan and I took through the southeastern states. Fayez and I spent some days in Colorado earlier in the year. These trips were not life-changing…..but they were fun….and I will remember them for the rest of my life.

Maybe just one more thing: I wore a “Life Alert” bracelet for much of the year until I moved. This simple little, uncomfortable device could have potentially been life-changing. Considering all the times I felt like taking it off and putting it on a shelf, I think I must have valued it….and acknowledged its importance. In fact, I really do recognize how important it was…..and I fully intend to get a new one….even more comprehensive and high-tech. I am convinced it is a worthwhile expense….and a potentially life saving little gadget. And, I have to thank Jan McKnight for pushing me to finally get it.

OK…. I think that is about it…. As I said in the beginning these are some of the events that were important landmarks. They brought about some changes in my life that were momentous and irreversible. Some of them will have an effect on my life…..Well, forever.

I think Sultan and I took a trip this past summer….. Yes, I am almost sure we did. At least, I have a bunch of pictures in a folder labeled “Southeast States, Summer 2018”. If it were not for these pictures…. You would not be reading this blog.

If you read the blog of last summer, you might remember that I said it was the worst summer of my entire life…..because of all the physical problems I endured.

I could say the same about this past summer, too. But for vastly different reasons.

For the past several years…… enough years that most people had begun sort of chuckle tolerantly when I would bring it up….. I have been talking about moving from my house in Ozawkie Township to Topeka. And, despite what a lot of people had come to think, it was not merely idle chatter. Moving from a rural area thirty miles from the nearest hospital….and my doctors….and family members….and my church……and shopping…..and recreation….. to Topeka, where all of these are located, made good sense. It was a logical decision….a well-considered course of action. It just took a while for me to make that final decision….to take action…..to make it possible. You can read all about it in the previous blog.

Sultan, my faithful summer companion….and my future cardiologist….arrived the last part of May. He thought he was coming to spend several carefree weeks relaxing and resting in the peaceful environs of the Darrah Ranch……and not to spend his total vacation fully immersed in a quagmire of moving to Topeka. Well….No…. To be truthful, he did know that I was moving; and he did come willingly….and even enthusiastically….to help me move. And, why not? He was one of the major forces behind my final decision to move.

 

 

 

 

By the time he arrived, I was already deep into the process of packing my belongings; Maybe not so much packing as sorting stuff out…throwing stuff away…setting aside stuff to be donated to various organizations. It is hard, intensive work….but we thought we had it under control. After all…. I was going to hire a moving company to do the bulk of the moving….

What could go wrong? We pack the stuff…. The moving company would move it….And we would unpack it…..   What could go wrong?  Well….. Nothing.   Or EVERYTHING  if, like I did, hire an incompetent, bungling, unprofessional moving company.  But….. Maybe more about that in another blog.

 

 

 

 

 

 

We…or more accurately, I…had planned a 15 day trip through the Southeastern States. The trip would take us through 17 states. This trip would mean that I would have been in all 50 states….completing a long-held ambition of mine. And, Sultan would be adding 17 more states to the rapidly growing roster of states that he has visited. I had long since drawn up an itinerary that we would follow; I had already reserved the campgrounds and motels; and a rental car was already waiting for us. Literally, everything was taken care of…like it usually is when I plan a trip. All we had to do was pack our stuff….get into the car….and be on our way.

All this went smoothly. For me, this is no problem. I like to plan. I am good at it. So, bright and early on the morning of Sunday, June 10, we locked the house, got into the car….and took off on our adventure.

There were a couple details that had not been resolved yet…details involved with the new house. But, no big deal, I thought. I will take care of them along the way. Reserving a moving van; purchasing and arranging the installation of two stair lifts; arranging to have electricity, water, cable, telephone, etc….hooked up. Sometimes things that appear to be easy….routine…end up being complicated and time consuming. This was definitely the case. I spent far too much time on my cell phone dealing with “complicated” issues….issues which should have taken 5-minute, routine transactions.

Another issue that definitely caught us by surprise….and it should not have….was the amount of money require to do…. Well, just about anything in the South. Even New York City is a poor-man’s bargain in comparison to what it costs to visit tourist attractions in the South….Opry Land, Kennedy Space Center, Vanderbilt Mansion, Ft. Sumpter, etc…. With some research…and some sacrifice…we were able to salvage our trip and substitute less expensive, but probably equally as good, attractions.

But… By far the most important factor contributing to my “amnesia” of the trip is just sheer time. The trip took place in June. Now it is the middle of December…Christmas is just around the corner. A lot of water has flowed under the bridge…specifically a difficult, time-consuming and physically and mentally demanding move; what were once vivid memories are now fleeting recollections lost in the fog of time. That is why this blog is going to be different from the previous blogs. Here is am going to rely on pictures to reconstruct and recapture the events and experiences of our trip.

So…. Come along. We are heading down to the Southeastern States….to Dixie Land…. “…where old times there are not forgotten….”

DEPARTURE

On Saturday, the frantic moving preparations sort of came to a screeching halt. We turned our attention to the trip. The rest of the packing could…would…wait until we returned. This was the first time Sultan had seen what goes into packing. And, it is not something to be taken lightly. We had more or less divided up our nights between staying in motels and camping. If we had stayed in hotels the entire trip, packing would have been minimal. Just throw enough clothing into a suitcase….and head out.

Camping….even camping for one or two nights…changes the entire picture. From simple to complicated. I have developed an accurate…and exhaustive…list of essential equipment that we must take with us, if we plan to camp. And, the choice is pretty simple: If we don’t take it, and we need it…. We have to buy it along the way. Since we have limited funds in the first place: We pack it. Not only our clothing….but blankets, sheets, pillows, cooking utensils, food, paper plates, lawn chairs, barbecue equipment….not to mention laptops, maps, first aid equipment, medicine (for me), breathing machine (also for me), cameras….etc., etc…..

If you haven’t done this before… and if you think it something you do in 5 minutes…try it sometime. And, if you finish all this in less than two or three hours….then I would be willing to bet that you were forced to stop and buy some of it along the way. Or you were miserable for most of your trip.

So… I got the list, and we started down it…checking each item off as we got it. Everything was placed in the front room…somewhere…until literally everything was crossed off the list. Then…and only then…did we start putting the stuff into the car. We have done it enough times that we pretty well know where each item will fit most conveniently.

Of course, we had to pick up the rental car at the appointed time. That, of course, meant a trip to Topeka. I suppose we could have gotten it on Friday…but we would also have to pay an extra day in rental fees. If you are rich…or if you have extra money…that is no doubt a good thing to do. Unfortunately… We are not rich. Since I am a member of the Avis rewards club, I am able to reserve a car online…and simply show my driver’s license and ID…get the key and drive off. It is free….and it saves a great deal of time, too. The people at the Avis rental agency can readily see that I have previously rented cars from them several times…and picking up the car is relatively hassle-free.

Unfortunately, driving the car home….and driving it back to the rental agency… are the only times I got an opportunity to drive the car. Sultan became the more or less self-appointed driver for the remainder of the trip….albeit illegally!

With a minimum of wasted time, we drove back home to proceed with the aforementioned packing process.

 

 

 

 

Sultan went running… We ate a healthy, if not delicious, supper at Subway in Meriden….went to bed…..and dreamed of the trip upon which we were about to embark.

At 7:10 Sunday morning…only 10 minutes late…a miracle by our standards…we were in the rental car heading for Nashville.

NASHVILLE

We were eager travelers, as always…spending our time talking, laughing…answering questions from one of our many “books of questions”. Our first camping stop was in Benton, Illinois…409 miles from The Ranch. Nothing memorable to say about that. When we camp, we camp exclusively as KOA Kampgrounds. They are clean, well-organized, safe…. And, probably most important of all: I belong to the KOA savers club, and I get a 10% discount on each campground and points that accumulate toward a free night.

The next night…Monday night…we camped in Bowling Green, Kentucky. That is only a 320 mile trip…and only 67 miles from Nashville. Every time I look at that, I am puzzled. Why didn’t we simply drive on into Nashville. It is only 67 miles away. I am still questioning my judgment on that decision.

 

 

 

 

The trip to Nashville took a little more than an hour. The original plan was for us to see my great-nephew and spend some time with him. As our luck would have it…and I should not be surprised…he was at the airport at the exact hour we arrived, heading toward Hong Kong to attend some sort of conference. Oh well… On to Plan B. Except there really wasn’t a Plan B. Luckily…obsessively, maybe…I had already looked on the Internet and had found some possible places we could visit…with or without my great-nephew.

 

 

 

 

 

It was much too early to check into our motel room, so we had no other choice except to do something….anything… Of course, the first thing we did was check on Opry Land. Is there some other reason a person would drive all the way to Nashville? I like country music, especially old country music, and an hour or so in the Opry Land Museum would have been an interesting and exciting experience. For me, at least. Maybe not for Sultan! Country music means nothing to him… Maybe Desert Music, but not Country Music. But, Sultan is polite, and he would have definitely pretended to enjoy it! Of course, he knows Willie Nelson, and John Denver, and Dolly Parton… How can he be around me and not know them? When we checked to see how much it would cost for admission, our eyes got wide; our breathing got short; and oxygen supply dropped to about zero. It cost $50.00! I immediately felt my love for country music fading into the distance. OK…Strike that off the list.

Both of us like to visit art museums and galleries. Fortunately, Nashville has ONE…The Frist Museum. I don’t remember how much it cost to get in the place…but it was definitely less than $50.00. We were probably lucky to find an art museum in Nashville. When you think of Nashville, I doubt if “Art Galleries” is the first thing that pops into your consciousness. People don’t travel all the way to Music City to look at art….unless pictures of country music stars can be classified as art.

 

 

 

 

At any rate, the Frist Art Museum seems to be the most prominent art venue in Nashville, if not the only one. It is definitely not on the same level as the Museum of Modern Art….or even the Kemper Art Museum in good old Kansas City. It does, however have a respectable display…and whatever we paid, it was no doubt worth the price. Its art tends to emphasize 3-D objects. At least, those were the most prominent on the day Sultan and I were there. Although, we enjoyed the art that was displayed….and we found it to be rather interesting…I would not be stating the truth if I said it was one of the best art museums or galleries I have visited. 3-D art is not my favorite kind of art….and a lot of it seems to be “forced” or self-conscious. But, we spent a pleasant hour or so wandering around, taking it all in….and it was time well spent, we both agreed.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Parthenon, our second stop of the day, is probably more well-known in Nashville….and certainly more popular and much better attended. I have a feeling that most of the people whom we saw there on that day probably had no idea what the Parthenon was….or is. It is very heavily promoted in guidebooks, not to mention billboards….so obviously it was one of “the places” to take a look at after you have spent the $50.00 at Opry Land and still have a half day to fill.

The Parthenon is a full-scale replica of the original Parthenon in Athens…. That is in Greece, in case you are wondering… It was constructed in the 1897 as part of the Tennessee Centennial Exposition…in a large public park just west of downtown Nashville. There is no doubt that it is an impressive structure. Today its main function is as an art museum….and its art collection…which is constantly rotating…is much more impressive that the art found in the Frist Museum…in my opinion….and also Sultan’s opinion. (And what can be more definitive that that?) It is worth the admission price….$6.50 for Sultan and $4.50 for me. The main attraction inside the Parthenon building is the 42 feet tall statue of Athena..a Greek goddess…who is dead now, I think! There were dozens of tourists standing around, milling around….looking at the statue, taking pictures. Somehow I doubt if more than two or three of them had any clue who she was. But, that is what vacations are for. And, Nashville is a lot closer than Athens!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The final tourist venue of the day was “The Hermitage”….Andrew Jackson’s family home…at least, after he had left the Presidency. It is located a few miles outside of downtown Nashville. Along with his home, there is a large museum, plus a few slave houses and a smokehouse that are available to tourists look at.

Supposedly, The Hermitage is the best preserved and most historically accurate of Presidential homes. The home is impressive. We stood in line…in the hot sun…for probably 30 or 45 minutes before our group was ushered into the house. In the meantime, everybody was standing, oblivious….looking at their cell phones. We were not allowed to take pictures inside the house, but I can verify that it is of suitable quality for an ex-President and a wealthy plantation owner….although I really doubt if Andrew Jackson would have been at all interested in visiting the Parthenon…or in the statue of Athena.

 

 

 

 

The house has two stories….and no elevator. I was only able to see the first floor. I wandered around outside while Sultan took a look at the second floor. Outside…on the back of the house….is a wide veranda. I can visualize old Andrew sitting there, a drink in his hand, spinning tall tales with his guests….while keeping an eye on his slaves. At the peak, Jackson owned 137 slaves. For all his democratic leanings and philosophy, the implication of owning slaves must not have occurred to him as being a bit ironic. But, according to reports, he was a “benevolent” slave owner, if that makes any difference. Jackson owned in excess of 1000 acres….a cotton plantation…and I can imagine that he thought more in terms of economic necessity than democratic ideals.

 

 

 

 

One novel feature…which I suppose was not so novel during the time Jackson lived there….was the kitchen that was completely separated from the rest of the house. I can imagine his household slaves used wood or coal fire to prepare the food….especially if the microwave oven was out of order.

 

 

 

 

The museum, which we visited first, was more or less interesting and contained a fairly complete documentation of his life and Presidency.

 

 

 

 

As evening rapidly approached, we began to search for our motel. The name of the motel was Fiddler’s Inn. It is located in a desirable setting….just down the street from Opry Land, less than a block from the “museums” of several country stars, including Willie Nelson. The pictures online looked promising….and the price was reasonable. The price should have been my first clue! Because Nothing is reasonable in Nashville. This is a place for which red-neck middle class America saves money for years…..just to come and blow it all in a couple days. Prices…. They mean nothing. This is living a dream. Who cares how much it costs? They can go back home and say they have been to the Grand Ole Opry…. To Opry Land…. To the Ryman Auditorium…. Priceless!! Enough stories to tell for years and years to come. Was it worth $1000…. $2000… $3000? Probably…. To them.

Anyway…. When we drove up to our motel…. The Fiddler Motel… Right down the street from Opry Land…. Our first impression was: This place is a dump! We were even more convinced when we saw our “spacious” room. Thank Heavens, it was only for one night. At first glance, the entire motel seemed to be inhabited with questionable characters, hanging around outside the motel, drinking beer and perfectly portraying the role of a true redneck. Oh wait…. They were rednecks. We were also a little apprehensive because all of the rooms opened directly to the outside….the mark of an old motel.

I am convinced that the pictures for the motels….all motels…are taken the first day the motel opens….back in their glory days….and usually have no correlation to what they actually look like today. We made it through the night….but were eager to move on to bigger and better things. Even though the Willie Nelson Museum was located in the same block as the motel, we passed it up…. It probably cost $50.00…and we were not in the mood to stick around find out. I am pretty sure we saw “the big three” attractions in Nashville….if you take away all of the country music hype. We were ready to see what else Dixie had to offer. So, it was “On the road again….”

ASHEVILLE

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

We are moving on toward Asheville, South Carolina. What is there to see? Yes… You are right: Nothing. We passed through the states of Kentucky, West Virginia, Virginia and North Carolina. Surely there is something to write about…. After looking at the pictures we took, it looks like the most exciting thing that happened was our opportunities to camp in the KOA Kampgrounds. Eating the food that Sultan prepared is always exciting….and delicious. Along the way, we also added to the number of states that Sultan has traveled to. And, that is pretty exciting, too. One of our goals is to cover as many different states as possible. In a couple more years, Sultan will have traveled in all of the Lower 48 States…. That is pretty impressive for somebody who has been in the USA…and only sporadically lately…for three years. I know people who have probably never been outside the state of Kansas….and they have lived here all their lives. So, even though there were really not very many opportunities…or reasons….to stop for a couple days, we were still having fun, laughing, talking…”seeing things that we may never see again”….or more specifically, that we will ever want to see again.

 

 

 

 

 

We had rather great expectations for Asheville. Number One on our list of places to visit was the Biltmore Mansion, the home of the railroad and steamboat mogul, George Vanderbilt. The mansion is the largest private residence in the U.S.A…..consisting of 250 rooms…plus expansive gardens and lawns.

It was an error on my part…sloppy planning….wishful thinking. For some reason, I had expected the entrance fee to be somewhere around $10.00….or, if we were lucky, even Free. Wow! Was I ever wrong! Sultan and I were shocked when we looked at the entry fee: $75.00! Come on! Seriously….Do people really pay $75.00 to walk through somebody’s house? Even if it does have 250 rooms? Well…. I guess so. But, not us.

Unfortunately, that left a huge gap in our schedule. And, as we were to discover, there is not an over abundance of interesting things to do in Asheville. Good fortune was with us, however. As in Nashville, there seemed to be one art gallery in the city….The Momentum Gallery. We found it downtown, in a rather nondescript store front building. There are supposedly two galleries, according to their website…although we only visited one of them. I am not sure if we even looked for the second site. I also do not remember how much is cost to enter the gallery. I am sure it was not a lot….and maybe it was even free. That is how vividly it stands out in my memory.

Don’t get me wrong. I am pretty sure the gallery was well worth visiting, even though it was a small gallery….and did not require a lot of our time. The Momentum Gallery specializes in modern art, painted by modern day artists….living artists. I can imagine that the paintings…at least some of them….were probably for sale. Photography was not allowed, mostly because it was contemporary art and the art was for sale, I suppose. But, here again, I am not going to swear under oath that this was the case.

 

 

 

 

 

We contentedly spent an hour or so walking through the four or five rooms, looking at the artwork…..and feeling happy and a little lucky that we found a suitable and enjoyable…and much less expensive…substitute activity to spend the morning.

When we left the gallery, it was approaching lunch time, so our thoughts naturally turned to food. After checking the Internet, we came across an Indian buffet which was indeed located within walking distance of the gallery. Lucky, indeed. That meant we did not have to move the car and look for another parking spot. Asheville is busy college town, and like most college towns, parking is not easy to come by.

Asheville is a pleasant town with tree-lined streets, and its downtown area is somewhat reminiscent of downtown Lawrence…friendly for walking and window shopping and simply enjoying the ambiance. It was almost noon, however, and most people were more interested in finding a place to eat than they were in idle, leisure time strolling…..just as we were.

A short walk brought us to the Indian buffet….already crowded with the noontime crowd. Turnover was quick, and we were soon seated in a tight corner of the restaurant…but within easy reach of the buffet line. And, that was the entire purpose of being there, I suppose. As it often is, when we go to a buffet to eat, although it is crowded when we enter…we usually hang around long enough that most of the people have left by the time we finish. And, of course, we were not in a hurry….with no real plan for the afternoon.

The afternoon, however, took an unexpected turn. I was still being bothered by some sort of respiratory problem. Maybe it was a residual hangover from my problems in Colorado, earlier in the year. (No… Not THAT kind of hangover.) Whatever it was, I decided to find a walk-in clinic and get some medical advice. That was easy enough….except it appeared that a dozen or so other people had already decided to seek medical attention. When I entered the clinic, I found that there were several other people waiting….with ailments either real or imagined. It was a long wait. At one point, I even returned to the car to assure Sultan that I was still alive and well….to just to make sure that he did not get tired waiting and drive off without me! But, he was happily…at least, contentedly…watching You Tube videos…and did not seem concerned about the long wait.

Thus…. Before we knew what had happened, the afternoon was over…and we headed back to the campground where Sultan prepared another delicious meal. We started the day with no Plan B….and suddenly, it was over. Who says we can’t improvise?

THE BEACH

On Saturday, June 16, we spent the day driving to Pawley Island, South Carolina. More driving….more talking…more Book of Questions…another state to add to the list.

We checked into our KOA Kampground….and looked forward to spending some time on the beach. Let me tell you now: There is no “beach” to spend time on. I already had premonition about this. On a trip to Florida many years ago, we drove for miles along “the beach”….except, there was no beach. There was no PUBLIC beach is a more accurate statement. Of course, there are hundreds of miles of beach….but the vast majority of it is privately owned….and is not open to the public. It is owned by commercial hotels, condominiums, resorts…whatever….and it available only to paying customers….not the general public. For the most part, if you are not staying at one of the aforementioned commercial establishments, you are out of luck. Fayez and I encountered the same problem on our trip to the East Coast a couple years ago, too. Public beaches are hard to find. There are some available…but you have to know where to find them.

In contrast, during the many trips I have taken to the West Coast over the years, there are hundreds of miles of publicly owned beaches. There are literally hundreds of places to pull over, park, and walk to the beach….and walk along the beach. The East Coast is an entirely different world. Commercialism has taken over. What should rightfully belong to all the people has become the private domain of capitalistic interests.

On Sunday morning, however, we finally asked the clerk in our motel if it was possible to find a public beach. “Yes,” he said, “There is a public beach, but it is not well marked.” He gave us directions…and after searching for about 30 minutes…of retracing our route and trying again…of observing where other people were going….we finally did find our beach. And, the clerk was right: There was no obvious sign point the way. There was only a small pathway leading from a tiny parking lot… The beach was there, obviously, but it was lined for miles with hotels, condos, private rental homes and commercial businesses. The beaches were populated by tourists who had paid the price to stay in one of the commercial enterprises.

This beach was definitely not an isolated, pristine beach: the kind we had become so accustomed to on the West Coast. On the West Coast, we can pretty much choose our beach, pull the car into a pull-over or a parking lot….and walk for miles on sometimes isolated, often breath-taking, spectacular beaches. On the East Coast we had to inquire on a location….and then it took a frustratingly long time to find it….only to find that it had been urbanized, commercialized and pirated by private interests.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

We spent less than 30 minutes on the beach. There was nothing to do; nowhere to walk, really nothing to see. But…I have to admit: We made a trip to the beach.

CHARLESTON, SOUTH CAROLINA

After the thrilling visit to the beach, we set off for Charleston in hope of finding a more economically favorable climate. Charleston is one of the most historic town in the South…if not the U.S.A. It was here…at Ft. Sumpter, just off the coast, that the first shots of the Civil War were fired.

We need not have been surprised that the situation was no different. The entrance fee to Ft. Sumpter was around $25.00 per person…but that did not include the fee for the boat which would take us there…and the boat that would bring us back to the mainland. The total would have come to about $50.00. By this time, we had more or less given up on seeing the famous tourist sites. We were not at all surprised by the high prices, and resigned ourselves to finding alternative ways to pass the time.

 

 

 

 

As I said, Charleston is a city steeped in history….especially Southern history. It was Sunday, and most of the public buildings were closed, but we enjoyed a stroll though the downtown area where old important landmarks still stand. Notable among them is the old Episcopalian Church where two of the men who signed our Constitution are buried: Charles Pinckney and John Rutledge.

Charles Pinckney also served as the ambassador from the U.S.A. to France in the early days of our country. John Rutledge was the governor of South Carolina. A church service was in progress when we arrived, so unfortunately we were not able to go inside. Just down the street is the old City Hall. It was originally constructed as a bank building and was destroyed by fire. After being reconstructed, it has served as Charleston City Hall. Because it was Sunday, the building was closed, also.

 

 

 

 

Luckily, an art gallery is located downtown on the main street. We arrived a little early….as did others, but that gave us an opportunity to sit in their expensive cafe and sample their coffee and pastries before looking though the exhibits.

For a city the size of Charleston….around 135,000 people….and given the fact that art does not seem to be a dominate priority of southern cities, the gallery was actually a fairly interesting place. The Gibbes Gallery displays mostly contemporary art….although not particularly modern or abstract art, although there was some. It features recent or contemporary regional artists who have painted scenes depicting life in the South. Actually, there was a pleasant blend of the two forms of art. Also on display were interesting 3-D art and a few sculptures.

The Gibbes Museum of Art was a pleasant diversion on a Sunday afternoon when almost everything else was closed. When we left, we actually felt like we had visited a real art museum. Like the art museums and galleries we toured in Nashville and Asheville, this art museum was also sparsely attended….although this can probably be attributed to the fact that we were there on a lazy Sunday afternoon.

 

 

 

 

Downtown Asheville is historic… It seems that almost every building has some sort of plaque on it tracing its history back to Colonial or Civil War eras. Somehow I can imagine that most of the buildings have been rebuilt…or extensively refurbished, though. Nevertheless, there is an undeniable charm that surrounds the downtown area and gives it an aura of the “old South”. Time, however, was becoming a factor, so we returned to our car, bid adeau to Charleston and headed for our equally charming KOA Kampground.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

SULTAN’S BIRTHDAY, GEORGIA, FLORIDA AND NASA SPACE CENTER

Monday, June 18, was probably the most important….and most memorable…day of the trip. As we crossed the border from South Carolina into Georgia, I reached one of my lifetime goals: I have been in every state in the U.S.A. Sultan and I were extra careful to watch for the state sign. And, you can be sure that we stopped and took a picture….several pictures, in fact. By happy chance, there was an ample pull over space for parking the car, and we took full advantage of the moment. No doubt we would have stopped to take pictures even if the sign had been located on an 8-lane highway on a bridge…in rush hour traffic.

 

 

 

 

There is nothing historic or important about the occasion…except to me. Two or three years ago, Fayez and I covered all of the Northeast States. Several years ago…back when I was coaching cross-country and track…I took some kids to Florida to a national AAU track meet. In those two trips we drove through all the southern states except for North Carolina, South Carolina and Georgia… So close! Fayez and I had discussed making the trip couple times. I had even planned a trip, complete with motel locations and driving routes. But, each time, Fayez thought that is was more important for him to work in his “lab” than it was to travel during his vacation time. So… Nothing came of the planned trips….and those three states remained out there….just beyond my grasp. It was a happy and exciting day…for me…when we stopped at the Georgia border and took the last pictures of my quest to visit all 50 states.

The other momentous event took place in our motel room in Savannah, Georgia, that evening. Sultan turned 21 years old…and we celebrated this auspicious event with our own mini private party. It wasn’t much…but enough to mark this important event in the life of all American youth. It is not necessary for me to remind American readers of this milestone…. When it is considered, the big “reason” for the importance of this day is: Now the person can legally buy and consume alcoholic beverages! I am not sure why that is so important… But, it is! Citizens of the U.S.A. can vote when they are 18 years old. They can legally make their own decisions when they are 18 years old. They can buy cigarettes when they are 18 years old. They can make their own decision to get married when they are 18 years old. They can own property when they are 18 years old. Maybe it really is that last elusive right….the right to purchase and drink alcohol…that makes this birthday so very memorable and important.

At any rate… Sultan is a Muslim. He does not drink alcohol…and we didn’t that night, either. But…. He was in the U.S.A…and we had to consider all the “What if’s”… So we had our “wild” party in our motel room….a party that featured an ice-cream birthday cake from Dairy Queen…and the gifts which I had brought along to give him. We didn’t even have any party hats or streamers… They were all back in our house…waiting to be moved. The party was over in about fifteen minutes….and we turned our attention back to the trip.

 

 

 

 

Tuesday morning we continued on toward the south….and Florida. That first day I am not sure we had any specific goal in mind, except to reach our campground in Mims, Florida. We had certainly given up any illusion of driving along a beautiful, unspoiled beach…stopping our car on occasion to get out and walk on the beach. As we drove along, looking out at the unremarkable landscape, pondering the fact that Florida is indeed the flattest state in the U.S.A, much to the chagrin of all those people who would like to ascribe that honor to Kansas…or Nebraska….we approached the city of St. Augustine.

 

 

 

 

A light suddenly turned on in my brain. Yeah, that light is getting old and dim…but it still lights up ever now and then. St. Augustine is the oldest city in the country, founded by some Spanish explorers…Ponce de Leon….in 1565. It is the location of the fabled Fountain of Youth…. $30.00 for each of us. We passed it up… I really do not think it actually works. I mean… Look at all the ancient people who live in Florida. And, I am cynical enough to think that any water that comes from the so-called Fountain of Youth is merely city water that comes out of some specially constructed tourist device.

We did, however, stop of the Castillo de San Marcos. This is the oldest masonry fort in the continental United States. Construction began in 1672 while Florida was still part of the Spanish Empire. It served as a major fortification in their control of the continent during the period when Spain controlled most of Central and South America, not to mention the southern part of the USA. The fort changed hands several times throughout its history…being controlled for various periods of time by Spain, England and the USA…before finally becoming a permanent part of our nation.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Its massive walls and fortifications are largely still intact. On the lower level, many of the rooms around the perimeter of the fort have been symbolically restored in an attempt to recreate the conditions and its purpose while in the hands of the Spanish….bunk rooms, kitchen, dining room, etc….even a small prison. The massive upper level still contains remnants of the military function of the fort…with its lookout towers and gun turrets facing out toward the ocean, and many old cannons and even cannon balls sitting about.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

There seemed to be programs that explained the history and operation of this former fort, but Sultan and I chose to simply wander about on our own, looking into one room after the next, looking at the exhibitions and displays. The hot sun was bearing down upon us, and we frequently sought out these cool rooms for moments of rest. It was an interesting historical site….one which we stumbled upon quite by accident.

During a short drive through the town….trying to find our way back to the highway, actually, we drove past what is reported to be the oldest house in the USA. Another interesting observation as we made our way out of town….and on to our KOA.

The following day… that would have been Wednesday….we set out with high hopes…and the Kennedy Space Center….before heading our car back west toward Kansas. You know… In some ways, I am very naive. I have basically traveled around the world….probably 30 different countries. I had just finished my quest to visit all 50 states…. But, some things still take me by surprise.

I figured that we would have to pay a fee to visit the Kennedy Space Center. A nominal fee…maybe $10 or $15. After all, it is a heavily tax supported government…public….enterprise. We have paid literally billions of dollars to support both its successes and its wasteful excesses. Even now, the space program has more or less been suspended due to its extreme cost….and the lack of public support.

At any rate, we pulled into the parking lot of the Kennedy Space Center with great expectations. It was just after 9:00 in the morning, and the parking lot was already starting to fill up. It seems that no matter where one parks, the walk to the Space Center is long enough to qualify for a day’s exercise.

A quick glance at the admission prices made us stop in our tracks, turn around and head back to the car. The cheapest tour…the basic price…and it didn’t seem to include anything except the right to step inside the door….was $50.00. Actually, that price was cheap in comparison to some of the other tour packages. But, as with many of the other tourist sites in the South, it was simply too expensive for our budget. And, as I alluded to above, I was disappointed that the prices were so expensive….especially considering that it is 100% supported by tax money…. MY money. Oh well… We have both seen the Cosmosphere in Hutchinson…and that is probably a better deal for the money, anyway. We did take a few very generic pictures…and I am surprised that somebody didn’t approach us and demand money for that, too.

HEADING HOME

After the disappointment at Cape Kennedy, we started heading west…inland, toward home…and the daunting, uncertain hassles of moving. Driving through northern Florida is not much more interesting or captivating than driving through western Kansas. Of course, it is a lot greener, but it is still just miles of rather poor farmland and junky little towns….and about every second mile there is some sort of weird church which was formed by some disgruntled members who did not get their way in controlling another church. Or who probably had a disagreement about the meaning of a particular verse in the Bible. All of them end in the name of a mainstream church…Methodist, Baptist, Lutheran…. Somehow, I can picture a non-educated guy calling himself a “pastor” standing in front of a meager group of people on a Sunday morning, shouting and ranting his self-formed…misinformed…”gospel”. And, probably at some point in time, somebody will disagree with him….and go off and form their own “church”…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

In any event, my memory starts to go dim and recollections start to fade…. And, even more convincing: There are no pictures. Just the pictures of the state signs: Alabama, Mississippi, Louisiana, Arkansas…. And, that is not a good sign coming from a person like me. A person who takes a picture of literally everything!

The single thing that my mind flashes back to is the rain. And, how it did rain! Especially in Louisiana and southeast Arkansas. Torrential amounts of water fell. At times, visibility was reduced to almost zero. Sultan reduced the speed of the car to the point were we were almost crawling along the highway….and we could only hope that the other cars were doing the same thing.

At one point, in northeast east Louisiana, as we were following the Mississippi River northward toward Arkansas, we turned on the radio and listened to weather reports. Reports of flooding were rampant. Visibility was nonexistent. We drove slowly on. There was no happy conversation in the car…no laughing….no joking. Our concentration was on what lay ahead in the unknown fog of the rain.

 

 

 

 

 

Sometimes the rain would simply stop….suddenly and without warning. “Oh, Wow,” we thought with relief. “The rain has finally stopped.” During these breaks in the downpour, we would stop, get out to walk around…and to take pictures of the mighty Mississippi. In one little village, a man who was standing in the doorway of a local motel saw us taking pictures, and same jogging across the highway toward us. “This can’t be good,” I thought. Is he going to tell us we can’t park here? Or tell us that the road is flooded out on up the highway? Or ask us if we are Yankees…and tell us to be out of the state by sundown? But…true to the axiom about Southern hospitality, he simply wanted to say Hello….and asked if we wanted him to take some pictures of us standing together. We did! He also mentioned that he owned the motel….and we were welcome to come stay there any time we were passing through. Not for free, of course…. We would have to pay. He wasn’t that nice!

 

 

 

 

The rain-free interlude did not last. As we followed the Mississippi further to the north, the rain began to fall again….even heavier, if that was possible. At some point, we had the realization that we were no longer going in the right direction. We had missed a turn…no doubt we had missed seeing a sign because of the rain. We carefully turned the car around and began to retrace our route. Sure enough, we had missed a sign. We turned West…the right direction…and continued our journey. We drove perhaps two or three miles, but the rain was beating down upon us…we could see only a few feet in front… we had no idea what lay ahead. As I mentioned earlier, although most people don’t know it… Florida is the flattest state in the U.S.A…..and it is only a few feet above sea level… When the man-made ditches along the highways are full, there is no place for the water to go….except over the highway. And, with the seriously impaired visibility, flooded highways can appear suddenly…out of nowhere.

We made a quick decision. Turn around and drive back to the nearest little town…and wait out the storm. Again we turned the car around…hoping that we would not be hit broadside as we did…and drove four or five miles back to a little town. Fortunately, there was a cafe. What better…and more appropriate time….to eat lunch?

We were not at all surprised to find that there were several other “diners” there, also…waiting for the rain to subside. I can imagine that owners of small cafes like this must be thankful for torrential rain storms like this. It may be the only time their cafe is full of people.

 

 

 

 

We ordered lunch. As we sat, waiting for our food to arrive, a couple ambulances, a fire truck and several state policemen went speeding by, sirens wailing, lights flashing. It was not a good omen. Apparently there had been an accident somewhere up the highway. And it was little wonder, given the fact that nobody should have been out driving in these dangerous conditions. We were fortunate that we had made the decision to turn around…and wait for the rain to stop. It could have been us they were rushing to help.

By the time our food had arrived at our table…and by the time we finished…the rainfall has lessened considerably. When we went outside to get into our car, it was no surprise that the parking lot was partially filled with water. Driving conditions were good enough, however, that we took off again, retracing our route toward Arkansas. A few miles up the highway, just before the junction we had previously driven past in the rain, we came upon the emergency vehicles that had passed the cafe only a short time before, we came upon the emergency vehicles. They were literally fishing a car out of the Mississippi River… A tow truck pulling the car up onto the bank. Yes… We were glad we did not attempt to drive any further in the rain. It could have been Sultan and I that they were dragging out of the Mississippi.

The rain had stopped….or had greatly reduced in its intensity….we made the correct turn onto our highway….and we were headed toward the last stop of our trip. For miles…and even more miles…as we drove along, the fields were covered with water…crops almost submerged. Ditches and culvert were running over. For the next hour or so, the only landscape was water… The rain had done its job…and if its job was flooding the area, it had done its job well. The owner of the cafe said that the area was in need of rain… But, when does some rain become too much rain? I think we found the answer on that Saturday afternoon.

We stopped in Fayeteville, Arkansas, for the night. I had again chosen a Red Roof Inn. We found over the course of our trip that I had selected…quite by random accident…at least three Red Roof Inns. After our second stay in one of these motels, we knew that we had stumbled upon a good choice. I am not sure if I had ever stayed in a Red Roof Inn on previous trips. But, I am certain that this will be my motel of choice in the future. Both Sultan and I found them to be comfortable, well-lighted, convenient and affordable. That is a combination that we were not accustomed to encountering. On our next trip, don’t be surprised if you see a lot of Red Roof Inns. In fact, we will plan our trip around them, if possible.

We have both decided that our days of “camping” have probably come to an end. You know… KOA Kabins beat sleeping in the back of my pickup. Sleeping in the back of my pickup beat sleeping in a sleeping bag in a tent. Sleeping in a tent beat simply rolling out a sleeping bag on the ground….. However, the hassle of packing all the stuff we need for a two or three week trip is simply not worth the effort. We pack the stuff into the our rental car…unload it in the evening at the campground; load it all back up the next morning; unload it the next night….etc…etc… Some campgrounds are excellent. Good lights inside the cabin; good comfortable beds; good Internet connection; good showers. But… Some are not! And, unfortunately it is the NOT’S that influenced our decision to simply stay in an affordable motel. And…I must say… staying in the Red Rood Inns helped influence the final decision.

Our final stop….and one of the most enjoyable stops…was at my cousin’s house in Farmington, Arkansas. Dorothy is 93 years old…and looks and acts like a woman half her age. Over the years, I have taken many of my former foreign exchanges to meet her (and Raymond, her husband, my cousin, who died some years ago). Every one of the people I take to meet her leaves her house impressed and in awe.

She can…and does…tell fascinating, detailed stories that took place in her childhood…and that was a long time ago. She has lived a full life…raised three children…traveled extensively…held a variety of jobs… She has been there and done that. And, she can relive it in vivid detail. The stories and experiences of her past can keep a person captivated for hours. And…she leaves nothing out. She still drives her car…maybe not as far and as often…but she still drives; she gets around. I can recall driving with her when she was in her 80’s….when I was down there with Sebastian, I think. Wow… She could wheel that car in and out of traffic with the best of them.

For twenty years now, we have tried tried to trick her into letting us take her out for lunch. We figured it was only fair. We don’t want her to feel she has to spend time preparing for us…getting meals…and all that stuff. But, she won’t even listen to us. One time…back when I first started having the cardio-vascular problems, I thought I had the perfect excuse…a perfect trap. I told her…very honestly…that I was forced to follow a strict diet, and it would probably work out best if we would simply take her to a buffet…let’s say, the Golden Corral…for lunch. That way I could see the food…and could pick and choose what I thought would be the most healthy and best for my heart. Ah, ha! Perfect excuse. Right? Not quite. When she replied to my letter, she sent four sample menus that she had made…all low salt, low fat, low sugar… She had worked as a nurse…and she knew all about this kind of stuff. So…. Guess what? She prepared us a delicious meal….and we ate in her dining room.

Dorothy is the only person in the entire world to whom I sit down and actually write a letter…NOT an email message. Yes, I write a letter, address an envelope, put a stamp on it, and take it to the post office and mail it. She does not have…and she does not want…a computer. I have offered to give her one of my old computers. Her daughters have made similar offers. But, she doesn’t want one. She does things “the old fashioned way”, I guess.

Anyway, she really likes Sultan. He has been there before. Often I secretly chuckle that maybe I am invisible when we go there together. But, once you have met Sultan… Well, I guess you will understand. Sultan is simply a delightful, bright, sunny, intelligent person…and he seems to cast brightness over a room. No wonder everybody likes him…..

After three or four hours, we knew that we had to get on our way back to the Ranch. And, it would be the final trip that I would make “back to the Ranch” from a trip that I would take.

Yes… It was back home…and back to the joys (in this case…the ordeals) of moving. The trip served as a brief, relaxing interlude of calm before the stress…the headaches….the obstacles…of moving. Back to cleaning up details that I had started via cell phone conversations along the way.

The time Sultan and I spent together was delightful and memorable…as it always is…and we always look forward to “the next time”. But, you have heard the words from the song, “I wish I was in the land of cotton….”? Well… Our new words are, “I’m glad that I not in the land of cotton….”       Again… Been There…Done That….

An era is about to come to an end. The flag is coming down. The lights are being turned off. The door is being locked. In a few more weeks, the Darrah Ranch will close down and cease to be in business any longer. After 44 years….going on 45 years…..of continuous operation, the Darrah Ranch is calling is quits.

I have lived here for well over half my life. It doesn’t seem like it, but it is true. I  turned 80 years old this July. It is rather difficult for me to fathom….but that is what my birth certificate says. If I did not have a birth certificate….and somebody would ask me how old I am….I would probably say, “Oh…. Probably 45 or 50…… But, I feel like I am about 30 or 35.” Honestly, I can say that the 30 or 35 is true….although the evidences and the reminders of growing older are starting to show up.

 

 

 

 

The decision to move away from the wild uncharted territory of Jefferson County into a more civilized environment was a gradual one. It was made a few years ago….maybe 5 or 10 years ago. It was the timing that was uncertain….the time and date that was strung out into a gradual process. People…..friends, relatives, complete strangers…..have been urging me to move for the past 40 years! “Why do you even want to live out there? Or, “Why did you choose to live there in the first place?” Or, “Get out of there while you are still able!”

Most, if not all, of these people implied that I was somehow mentally deficient for ever moving here in the first place…..and even more convinced when I persisted in living here! They always say that crazy people are the last to know they are actually crazy. Who knows? If that is true…..then I must really be nuts!

The fact that I live here at all is purely accidental…. The fact that I even live in this place was a quirk of fate. It was nothing that I had planned or had even thought of. It was one of those consequences of making snap decisions….decisions that were not adequately or carefully considered. And, in the final analysis, one of those decisions that I have had to live with …..for better or worse.

When I returned from spending 4 years in South Vietnam, my first mission was to find a job…..somewhere, anywhere….. I applied first of all in the Chicago public schools. They hire teachers almost year round because of the high rate of attrition…at least at that time.  I mean…. A teacher would have to be rather desperate for a job…..or continually high on some sort of mind numbing drug….to accept a job in Chicago…. Unless the teacher could be lucky enough to land a job in one of the suburban schools…..or have some sort of evidence to blackmail one of the principals or the personnel director.

Me? Well, I was reaching the point of desperation….but not quite to the point of drug addiction.  Chicago, at least, was a starting point. Look…. I did have a short history of good luck! I ended up on South Vietnam in the US Army….lucked out getting assigned as secretary to the adjutant general of the US Army in Vietnam….. I joined the International Voluntary Services….and for some reason was selected to be the Associate Chief of Party for Education…. I didn’t ask for….and I did not expect….either of these jobs. I am not so sure what part luck played in either of those jobs.  Maybe in somebody’s opinion, I was actually qualified for each of these jobs.   But….  I think I was lucky.

I duly completed the application form furnished by the Chicago public schools….and as expected, I was invited to Chicago for an interview. Yeah…. I was optimistic….sort of.   I have absolutely no recollection of the meeting or of the interview, except it was the very first time I had seen a female doctor, which was interesting in and of itself! It was the first time I had had such an intimate examination by a woman doctor! And, I was offered a job…..in an inner city, predominately black, school. I knew instantaneously what my decision was…..but I smiled, thanked them properly and told them I would let them know soon about my decision……and almost ran back to the train station to get the heck out of there.

Back home in Sterling, I consulted the Sterling College teacher placement list again to see what other jobs in my field were available. My fields, by the way, were secondary history and government…..and anything in an elementary school. You might also keep in mind that social studies teachers, even back then, were a dime a dozen. Anybody who wanted to be any sort of coach almost automatically had a degree to teach social studies.  Either that or physical education. Back then….if you were among the living…. can you see a coach teaching math or science, for example? Or art? Or music? Most of these guys had absolutely no interest in teaching…..teaching anything. They wanted to be big dogs….. They wanted to COACH. Wow…. What job could be better? Put in some time during the day having students read a text book….make up a few tests….spend 80% of class time talking about sports….. And, then…. Get to be a coach! Back then, it was like a dream to many males who went into “education”. And, that’s not all….. They got the summer off to mess around and do nothing….a three months vacation…..maybe conduct a few sports camps, whatever the law allowed back then….

Anyway….. Basically, social studies was my field of certification, along with elementary education. In mid-year, looking for a good social studies teaching position is sort of like looking for a four-leaf clover. It is difficult….and you have to be lucky!

I spotted a job that was available in Kansas City, Missouri. It was a junior high school social studies position….. I knew absolutely nothing about the circumstances or the conditions. But, I figured: Why not? What have I to lose?  So, accompanied by one of my aunts, I set off early one morning for Kansas City….. Hopeful, but not knowing what to expect….and certainly not very optimistic. After being being shown into the office of the personnel director (They are called Human Resources directors today.) The job was explained to me; I answered a few questions…..and I was offered the job. Right on the spot. And…. I accepted….Right on the spot.

My position was that of junior high school “Common Learning” teacher. The school was George Caleb Bingham Junior High School…..located on the southwest side of Kansas City. For me the deciding factor….the ball that knocked down the 10 pin…. was the fact that the school was actually located in a rather respectable part of the city…..far from the inner-city slums. I think I have written rather extensively about the school in an earlier blog. But, just to briefly refresh your memory…… The school was not a traditional school….with classrooms, homerooms and all that good stuff.  I was part of a teaching team in a school that did not use textbooks, but rather used an assortment of audio-visual teaching aids to get the material across: videos, film strips, slides, lectures, guest speakers, graphics, audio tapes……

The only time I saw my “group” was a short daily session called “Seminar”. One period I might be lecturing to 400 students, another period maybe acting as the “enforcer” while another member of the team presided over a presentation. Another period maybe I would be showing a video to a group of 50 students….. Who knows what I would be doing.  We had a general topics, general themes, general objectives to meet…. We were more or less on our own in

planning how we would present all of these.

Quite frankly, I think it was a lousy system;  a lousy way to expect 7^th and 8^th graders to learn. If it were not for the “Review Sessions” we held….both in the large groups and in our seminar groups, somehow I doubt if very many of the students would have even passed! For all practical purposes, we simply told the students what the test questions would be.  Better write it down…..and remember it!

Another problems….at least, in the way I perceived it…..was that Kansas City was in the process of integrating their school system. Several dozen students were bused in daily from the inner city….to bring about racial and economic balance, I suppose. In some cases, these students simply did not “fit in” very well, mostly because of their behavior and attitude. To compensate for this, there were four or five policemen assigned to roam the halls of the building…..and maintain law and order…..or to act as some sort of warning or deterrent before trouble broke out. In the two previous schools where I had taught, the teacher were given keys to the building so we could work or plan lessons during the off-school hours or on weekends. Not so at George Caleb Bingham Junior High School. We were basically in the same boat the students were in: Get your bodies out of the school before 4:30 and don’t come back until 7:30 the following morning. And, don’t even think of entering the building on weekends! Yeah…. They really trusted us!

Need I say that one semester was sufficient for me.  I am really not a masochist…..I have no reason for self-punishment…..or for an assault on my character…..or for wondering daily what I was doing standing in front of a big group of kids, pushing a button and showing a movie.

Now…. If taking that job was impulsive….. Wait until I tell you how I took the job in Valley Falls! In comparison, taking the Kansas City job probably sounds like a well-measured, thoughtful decision! A decision make by a famous think-tank after weeks of serious deliberation.

Looking back, I doubt if I ever intended to stay in Kansas City more than one semester….just enough time to find something more suitable. By the end of the semester, “suitable” was almost any job….except the one I had in Kansas City. Mostly, I just disagreed in fundamental ways about what a school should be….how students should be taught….

Again, I enrolled in the Sterling College Placement Bureau. And, it had not improved much since I first used it back in 1960. Most public school superintendents had probably never heard of Sterling College, and I am almost totally convinced that the list of teaching positions they had was a meager list….far from an exhaustive list….very rudimentary. So, when a prospective teacher enrolled there….. Well, you took what what was available. I was to find later on that the Placement Offices at K. U. and Washburn listed exponentially more teaching positions than Sterling did. But…. That is ancient history now. Who cares?

Anyway, when I got the first list of teaching positions, I saw a vacancy for a U. S. history/government teacher in Valley Falls.  Valley Falls?  I had never heard of it. I had no idea where it was located. I knew nothing about it. This was back in the “good old days”….back when there were such a thing as maps!  So, I got my Kansas map and looked it up.

“Wow! Valley Falls is only about 50 miles from Kansas City… Almost on my way home in Sterling. I can simply stop there on my way home on a Saturday for an interview.”  So, I filled out the application….. (This was also back in the day when people actually used the U. S. Postal Service to mail things!) …..mailed it back. In a few days…. Sure enough! I was invited for an interview…..the following Saturday morning! What luck! I was excited.

OK….. Now I had better figure out how to get to Valley Falls. Out came the trusty map again. I am sure I took a round about way….but who wants to get lost on the way to an interview? Just stick to the major highways. Actually, I am not sure how I got here. But, I did arrive on time. Ted Jones was the Superintendent of Schools at the time….and he actually gave me a rather accurate description of how to get to his house. In a town the size of Valley Falls, it would be hard to get lost…..although I am sure people from even smaller towns probably have done it!

I was rather surprised that the interview was to be conducted at Ted’s home (I probably should be calling him Dr. Jones….but he quickly became a friend….), instead of at his office. I knocked on Ted’s door at approximately the appointed time. “Wow… He’s young,” was my first thought when he opened the door. He was in the kitchen alone when I arrived. Apparently the rest of the family was sleeping late….or they had been instructed to make themselves scarce for a while. He was drinking a cup of coffee….but he offered me a glass of water. Another mild surprise. Maybe he was drinking the last cup.

After a minimum of small talk….and I would learn that Ted usually kept small talk to a minimum….we began to talk business. “Where did you find about the job? Where did you go to college? What was your major? What kind of experience have you had? (Maybe) why do you want to teach here? Ahhh…. You spent four years in South Vietnam?? (Probably just being polite.)”

“Come on. Let’s go over to the school. It is only a block away.” From that point on, it was a hard sell….on his part. This was in May of 1969, Construction was underway for the “new” addition. (There has been another addition since then….) As we walked through existing buildings…..and began to explore the new addition….a commons area, new library, vocal music room, band room, art room….and, of course, the reason the entire bond issue had been passed….the New Gym….Ted extolled the virtues of the school district. (The virtues he extolled have long since escaped my memory….) He spoke of how wonderful it would be to teach with all the new facilities. He talked glowingly about the outstanding sports teams that Valley Falls had produced. He pointed out the excellent location of Valley Falls….easy driving distance to Topeka, Lawrence (K. U.) and Kansas City. (Yes… That part impressed me!)

As I look back now….and even much earlier than this….I can now recall something rather important that never came up: academic excellence, test scores….stuff like that. Well…. As I would slowly discover, maybe there was a good reason for that.

Anyway, after a thorough tour of the “facilities”,  I was rather startled when Ted said something to the effect, “Well, the job is yours. Shall I have Betty (the clerk of the board) draw up a contract and send it to you?”

Here I was in Valley Falls, Kansas, in a town I had never heard of….at a school I knew nothing about….talking to a man whom I had met 45 minutes earlier….. Hooray!! Now I was being offered a job. Without hardly a second thought, I said, “Yes. Thanks a lot.” Now I really HAD a new job.

We walked back to his house. “The lady next door….” he said….indicating the house across the street…. “will probably rent you a room pretty cheap. Why don’t you go over and ask her now…..and come back to my house before you leave.”

Fortunately, she was at home. I introduced myself and told her I had just been hired as a new teacher for the coming school year. “Come on in,” she said, “and I will show you the room.” We walked up a flight of stairs. There was a room on the left….and a room on the right. “The room on the right will be yours,” she said. “Another teacher rents the other room.”

After agreeing on the rent….$70.00 a month….and the fact that I could keep food in the refrigerator (She wasn’t about to do any cooking for me.) and that I would have free access to the living room and the TV set (If I could ever manage to break her and the other teacher away from it.)……I went back across the street to tell Ted that I had indeed rented the room. We said Goodbye…..and I headed on to my mother’s house in Lyons…..with a new job.

Mother lived in Lyons….right next door to my uncle and aunt….her brother. When I arrived home, they were all congregated in my uncle’s back yard. I joined them and dramatically announced: “Guess what? I have a new job!”

Everybody seemed excited and happy for me. “Where?” they all wanted to know.

“In Valley Falls,” I told them.

My aunt looked at me with a skeptical look on her face. “There is no such place as Valley Falls,” she informed us….and me. She said it so convincingly that she almost had me doubting if I had understood the name of the town correctly.

After I finally convinced them that yes, indeed, there is such a place as Valley Falls (and it wasn’t easy), they were all happy and excited again. I think they all knew that I was not planning to stay in Kansas City more than one semester….unless I found that I REALLY liked it there. I didn’t.

Immediately after school had ended in Kansas City, I loaded up my little red VW Beetle and moved all of my earthly belongings to Valley Falls…..and into the room on the right at the top of the stairs. Now I was officially living in Valley Falls, Kansas.

Living in the house on Frazier Street was…well… Interesting. I occupied one room of the house…..up a flight of stairs, the room to my right. It was a rather dark, musty room….but nothing that a couple lamps couldn’t take care of. There was a bed, of course…..a table I could use as a desk, and a dresser. There was not a comfortable chair to sit in….but I had full access to the downstairs, and that is where I spent most of my time. By default, I sort of claimed a semi-comfortable recliner as my chair….and that became “my chair” for the two years that I lived there. For some unknown reason, there was a “lapboard” which I could use while grading papers and making lesson plans, etc.  Also, I was permitted to keep a limited amount of food in the refrigerator….usually some milk, some sliced meat and some sliced cheese.

The apartment was only one block from the school, so I could easily walk there every morning. No need to drive the little Beetle.

Another teacher also rented a room in the house….also at the top of the stairs, directly across from my room, on the left. He was an interesting character, to say the least. I am reasonably sure he loved to drink alcohol…..maybe even to excess. I won’t say he had a problem because I never saw him impaired. But, his trash basket was constantly full of empty liquor bottles….vodka, mostly. And, the land lady complained constantly about having carry them downstairs and throw them away. In the years since, a couple of his former students….his “student aides” have told me they even “ran errands” for him during school hours to fetch thermos bottles and other containers which they were pretty sure did not contain coffee!

Even though we lived in adjacent rooms….just across a 4 feet hallway….we never socialized. On rare occasions, he would sit downstairs in the evening and watch TV. Other than that, our contact was limited….if not nonexistent. I don’t recall that he ever had visitors….except for one time when his son came to visit him. I later read in the newspaper that his son had hijacked a bus in San Francisco and proceeded to drive it because he thought the bus driver was driving too slowly! (A story corroborated by the teacher!)

My land lady? Well, I was new in town, and I had no idea who she was except that she was rather elderly….well…just elderly, shall we say….and did an a lot of entertaining. She and her friends would sit for hours in the evening at the dining room table and play some card game….and gossip. They completely ignored me, so their “conversation” flowed freely. Of course, I had no idea who anybody was, so all of their little stories meant absolutely nothing to me. It was obvious, however, that they were all well-connected around town….and definitely part of the “in group”….and well tuned in to everything that was happening in town. And, it was also obvious they had definite opinions on everybody and everything. Man, I wish I had recorded some of those nocturnal discussions!

The first day of every month, as I walked down the stairs in the morning, the land lady would be standing at the bottom of the stairs…..with her hand held out. Literally, with her hand held out! Wanting the rent money! The first couple times I had to go back up to my room and write a check before I could proceed with eating breakfast….or anything. But, I wised up, and as I descended the stairs on the first day of the month, I made sure I had a check in my hand. The room had a vent for air-conditioning and for heat. But, as soon as I would leave the room, the land lady would scurry up the stairs and close the vents….even if I were only sitting in the front room with my school work. The room was never comfortable! It was always too hot or too cold. Things like this only reinforced by belief that she was probably living from pay check to pay check.

Let me tell you….. Back in those days, I did not have a clue about Valley Falls….or its people….or anything. Usually, at the end of the school day on Friday, I put my suitcase in the VW and headed for Lyons. So…. I figured that the poor woman must really depend on my rent money to simply make it through the month. I sort of felt sorry for her. Was she collecting Social Security? I had no idea? Hadn’t her husband had some sort of life insurance policy? Obviously not, I assumed. She seemed very intent on collecting the money at the earliest minute on the first day of each month.

After a couple years I moved out….and moved into a mobile home for a couple years. I more or less lost contact with the woman…. OK, I sort of just forgot about her. A few years later, she died. As I read her obituary, I was shocked and amazed. Her husband had been the president of one of the local banks; she owned several hundred acres of land outside Valley Falls; he had been one of the major farmers in the area. I was stunned. The woman wasn’t poor; she was loaded. My $75.00 was probably merely pocket change for her. Oh well…. It was her house; her room. I was only a tenant….and she had every right to collect the money in a timely manner, I suppose.

For the next couple years, I lived in a mobile home…..ten feet wide and maybe 30 feet long. It was a cramped little space….but at least, in order to pay the monthly rent, I had to walk over to my landlord’s house….which was on the corner diagonally from the mobile home.

During those early days in Valley Falls, I had become rather good friends with the family of one of my colleagues…. Dorothy Farr and her husband, Red.  Red and Dorothy lived out in the country…..way out in the country. I remember the first time I went to their house….probably with Barry. Wow….I wondered, “Where in the world is he taking me?” Back in the early 70’s, none of the roads were paved; none of them had a name. There was only one house on the Ferguson Road on our way there. I recall driving down this gravel….actually, it was dirt when it was dry and mud after it had rained….road….further and further away from civilization….deeper and deeper into the boondocks. After driving what seemed several miles, we turned onto an even more deserted road and headed west toward…..who knows where.

Actually the road led to the Delaware River about two miles or so on down the road. I wasn’t aware of that at the time, though. We passed one house….set probably100 meters or so off the dirt road. The next house we came to, a mile down the tree lined road was indeed where the Farr family lived. I looked around. I was definitely out in the country. About 200 yards on down the road was another house. At the time, it belonged to Nolan Schneider and his wife. I didn’t know this at the time. I only found this later. And, basically, that was it! Later I discovered another abandoned house another half mile or so on down the road. This was the old Meyer house, I was told. That was it. Three inhabited houses between what was….and still is….known as the Ferguson Road and the Delaware River….a stretch of road a little more than two miles long.

I felt like I was in the wilderness….unsettled territory….the frontier.

The Farrs raised quarter horses. I never did fully understand what a quarter horse is….but that really isn’t very important for this story. After a few times of following somebody to their house….or riding with one of the family, I was finally able to drive there by myself. The trip became easier and the surroundings became more familiar….that still didn’t alleviate the fact that they lived far from the mainstream of civilization!

As time went on, I found myself going to visit them more and more often….many times after school just to ride the horses. We….actually, they….would saddle up the horses, and we would spend an hour or so riding through the pastures and woodlands back of their house. The land along the road was flat pasture land, but as we rode further back from the road toward the north, the terrain transitioned into gently rolling hills covered with trees. It wasn’t exactly an Amazon rain forest, but there were enough trees that one might at least call it a woods. There were a couple meandering little creeks and a couple creek-fed ponds. Giving the landscape a rather idyllic atmosphere. Eventually, we ended up at the Delaware River….maybe a half mile away from their house. It seemed that far…..but it could have been less and it could have been more. I never measured it, so I don’t know. It was, to be sure, very pleasant and very serene and very quiet back there in the woods away from….well, almost anything.

By the time I had become friends with the Farrs, I had moved out of the dark, dingy one room I occupied a block from the school, and I had moved into the mobile home…which over time started to become almost equally as oppressive. It became similar to living in a sardine can….everything cramped and squeezed together.

Also by this time, I had made one of the major mistakes of my entire lifetime. I had agreed to let one of my nephews live with me. My youngest sister was living in Illinois….was was trying to raise three children in their early and pre-teens. She passed away after a rather extended illness, leaving the three kids….two boys and a girl….with no home. Actually, due to her illness, they had gone largely unsupervised for a period of time that I am not familiar with. But, I suspect from everything I heard and observed that they were mostly on their own and by and large just roamed the streets pretty much at will. They had a nominal supervisor, supplied by one of the local social service agencies…..but that appeared to be in name only.

At any rate, our family was notified that she was in critical condition, so I took off from my job and took my mother back to Illinois. While we were there, she died…..leaving the three kids with no home. Being naive, gullible and generally without a clue, I agreed to bring the youngest son home with me. Without going into the unpleasant details, I will merely say that it did not turn out well…..and can probably be described as one of the worst years of my life.

At any rate, at the time, I was living in the cramped mobile home….cramped even for one person….Me. Adding an additional person to the picture only made the space problem worse, to say the least.

One night we were out at the Farrs’ house…..just sitting around visiting and trading small talk. Then out of the blue….from nowhere…..either Dorothy or Red said something like, “How would you like to live out here? We can build you a house.”

I was dumbfounded…..astonished, to say the least. I had never thought of building a house. It had never entered my mind. Especially building a house out in the country….out in the boondocks. “Give me a couple days to think about it.” That night, lying in my bed, it took a long time to fall asleep. Confusing thoughts….excited thoughts….nervous thoughts…..all cluttered my mind at the same time. “Wow! Me, a homeowner….. A new house….. Wow! A mortgage! Probably thirty years in debt….twenty, at least. Wow! Could I afford it? Monthly mortgage payments….electricity bill….telephone bill…..water bill…..increased gasoline bill…. Wow! An acre and a fourth to care for. I don’t even have a lawnmower! Or a snow shovel…..”

“Maybe I had better get some more details….some more information,” I thought.

Yeah….. I would have one and a quarter acres….and I had two options to choose from. The total cost of the project….land, house, furniture….would be $24,000. We would start building as soon as the zoning was approved….right at the end of the school year.

A couple days later, I drove back out to visit the Farrs. “Yes…. I decided to go for it,” I told them. “Where will I get the money?”

Fortunately, I qualified for a no-down payment loan from the Farmers Home Administration. I was certainly poor enough to qualify for the loan…..no questions asked! After all, I was a school teacher. A thirty year mortgage at a fixed rate….somewhere around 8.00%. I think….. I was going to be in debt for the next thirty years. But, on the other hand, I was also going to have my own house….next to some good friends of mine…..and located, as they say, “Out in the boondocks.”

This was 1974….. I had never owned any property in my life. It was an entirely new experience for me. But, with the help and guidance of the Farrs, I managed to secure a loan from the Farmer’s Home Administration…..no down payment….and thirty years to pay it off…..at 8.25% interest. Today that percent of interest would almost be up there with shady loan sharks….but I guess that was good back in those days….and since I was borrowing money from the US government, it was no doubt less than the open market.  At any rate, I had no idea; I didn’t know the difference. All I new that I had to pay $169.00 a month for the next 30 years! If I had not paid it off sooner….. I would have been making payments on the house for a year after I retired! And, back in those days $169 was a lot of money…..for me, at least.

We…..and I use that pronoun very loosely because I was a rather minor player in the process, except for paying for it….started early in the summer, as I recall. At least, it seems to me, in retrospect, that we worked the entire summer on the house. We….being Red, Dorothy, Barry and I….. Although, Barry spent much more time avoiding work that he did actually working. In fact, I used to joke to myself that he worked harder in getting out of work than what it would have been to simply just to go ahead and work. Brad, who was in early grade school at time was a willing worker, although he was relegated to menial tasks such as picking up nails and stray lumber. But, they were age-appropriate jobs which he performed willingly.

And I?  Well…. I was the super-”gopher”…..the hired hand….the low man on the totem pole. I just did whatever I was told to do….mostly the most unskilled of jobs….support jobs, I suppose one could call them. I showed up each and every day….six days a week….and worked until the last nail was hammered or the last board was cut. After the school started, I even gave up my season tickets for K. U. football games so I could be there on Saturday to help.

The work proceeded steadily…. At least, I guess it did. I knew absolutely nothing about building a house….and I only did what I was told to do. Nobody consulted me about anything…..nothing.

Summer came to an end…..the summer of 1974…..and Dorothy and I went back to work. The house had been fully enclosed. It was actually a house. Red continued to work on the house. Dorothy and I would join him after work for a few hours each day….and all day on Saturday. Did I mention that I gave up my season K. U. football tickets so I could be

around to help??

My recollection of those days is fuzzy, to say the least…..but suffice it to say, one day the house was declared to be “finished”…..and I was allowed to prepare to move in.  Actually “moving day” was not very labor intensive. For all practical purposes, I owned no furniture. Furniture had been purchased and was delivered to the house sometime previously. All I had to do was haul my clothing….and the clothing of my nephew who was living with me…..out to the house. I think there was probably a TV set, also…. Oh yes, the TV antenna. This was several years before satellite TV or cable TV. It was a cold day in December…. December 30^th, to be exact…..when I officially started calling the “house” a “home”.  I was excited. This was the first house I had ever owned….or would own 30 years later. One of my students, Brent Littleton, borrowed his

grandfather’s truck and took the stuff out for us.

It had begun to snow lightly by the time we started installing the TV antenna.  As we prepared to spend our first night in the new house, it suddenly dawned on us: We didn’t have any sheets….or pillow cases…. We didn’t have any sort of drapes or curtains for the windows….we didn’t even have a curtain for the shower. I had been living in rental properties. All this kind of stuff had been furnished. I had simply taken them for granted. Now, I was jolted into a state of reality…..

By this time…..and it was dark outside….the snow was coming down heavily; the temperature has dropped; the wind had picked up. We were faced with a choice:  Go to Topeka and buy the items we needed….or wait and hope we could go down sometime later and buy them. Did we want to spend the night(s) with with windows wide open, so everybody could look in?  (I am really am not sure who would be looking in our windows…..especially in a snow storm….but one never knows.) Did we want to sleep on beds with no sheets or pillowcases? (I suppose we could have slept on the floor.) Did we want to wait some days before taking a shower. (People have done it before.)

 

 

 

 

I was still young back in those days……36 years old, I suppose. A snow storm wasn’t going to deter me from doing what I thought had to be done. So, we climbed into the car….and I suppose that car must have been a green 1974 Chevette wagon…and made our way to Topeka. We made it down there safely. Back in 1974, my main shopping venue was the K-Mart store which was located in North Topeka …..now, long gone. As luck would have it, everything I needed….sheets, pillow cases, drapes, shower curtain…..everything…..was on sale. Christmas was only a week in the past, and all the post-Christmas sales were in progress. I bought everything we needed. Color or fashion played no part in my decisions. If it was there….and on sale….I bought it.

We probably spent less than an hour in K-Mart, and when we went back to the car for the trip back home……the snow was still coming down…..heavily. Like I said, I was young. This sort of thing….driving in snow storms, on snow packed roads, in dangerous conditions….didn’t bother me much at all. To be sure, I drove more slowly than usual. I am not an idiot…. And, I am sure we were among the very few people who were driving that night on the highway. And, it is possible that I was even relieved when we pulled into the driveway of my new house. But….. We had all the things we needed to complete the furnishings of the house.

Most of the items I bought that night…..and most certainly the drapes….are still in their place at the house….even though I have not lived there for about 2 months now. I guess they were either very good quality….or I made some very good choices…..or I am just plain cheap!

 

 

 

 

Looking at the only old pictures I have of the interior…..and exterior….of the house, I am amazed how simple it was. And, how proud of it I was. I may as well have been living in a thirty room colonial southern mansion complete with Corinthian columns and ornate shutters. It was MY house…..the first and only house I ever owned….and, also….the last house I ever had any desire to own.

 

 

 

 

A lot has changed since that exciting, happy and life-changing day. The snow continued to fall during the second day….December 31, 1974…. I lived in my new house. Somehow, my nephew had been able to get out and was spending the night in town….somewhere. I was home all alone. The car was in the garage….my new garage… The road in front of my house…. It didn’t even have a name back in those days….just R. R. 2…..was impassable. But, none of that bothered me. I lay contentedly on the floor of my new front room….on the green carpet that is still there today, some 44 years later….watch TV….and waiting for the New Year to edge its way in. There were only 5 or 6 channels on TV back in 1974, so the choice of programs could not have been very large. But, back then, the programs were perhaps more “family friendly”. I could lie there watching Johnny Carson, which morphed into Guy Lombardo’s orchestra playing Auld Lang Syne at the stroke of midnight…..not some senseless hip-hop or rap music….or a movie of a dozen people being mowed down by a crazed killer…..

Shortly after midnight, I took a final look out the front door onto the snow covered landscape….and went to bed. The next morning, I awakened to bright sunshine…and the eventual sound of the snow plow….ready to being a new year and a new life in my new house.

As I look back at the first….and only….pictures I took of the house in the days after I moved in, I am constantly amazed at the simplicity….the stark austerity…..of the place….both inside and out. To be quite honest, back in the days immediately after I moved into the house, there simply wasn’t much there. But…. Do you think I cared? To me, the house was my castle! I had never owned a home before. I had never lived in a house by myself before (Well…after my nephew finally left….)

But, slowly over the years, the house evolved….just like I did, I suppose. One of the first improvement….if you can call it that….was the addition of a small wooden porch to supplement the tiny cement slab. It more than doubled the size of the porch….which isn’t saying much! I think Kevin Foley helped me build it. Over the years, the porch….which finally became a “deck”, I suppose….became larger and larger, with at least a couple additions. The final addition was added soon after I retired. Levi Beecham and a friend of his came out and extended the deck almost the entire length of the house. Wow…. What a difference that made. All that extra space….with nothing to put on it. That, of course, meant that I had to go buy some outdoor furniture…..a swing set, which eventually broke one afternoon while I was sitting in it….and a patio table and some chairs…..thanks to Rodney and Janell Watson, who picked them up for me at the spring yard sale at Ft. Leavenworth.

Keeping the deck painted was a problem….a real bummer. It seemed that no matter how many coats of primer I coated it with, the paint always started peeling off in about a year or so. For most of its life, I painted it white. Finally, I decided to use black. I am not sure why. Maybe I thought black paint wouldn’t peel off. But…. It did! In the final few years that I lived there, I simply gave up. There is probably a secret to keeping the paint from peeling….. But, I never did figure it out. Maybe it was just meant to be that way.

One of my neighbors dragged an old discarded shed out into the field…..to get rid of it, I suppose. Somehow I though perhaps he would be happy to just give it to me….and not have it sitting out among the weeds. Yes…. He gave it to me……for $75.00! But, it was cheaper than I could have built one….even if I thought I was doing a favor by taking it off his hands. It served a long, useful life, however. It housed garden tools, the lawnmower, the motorcycle….and various other toys that I accumulated. I could never keep the paint from peeling off of it, either.

It served another purpose, too. For several years, I had burned trash in the yard at the side of my house. It got to be unwieldy….and ugly….. Not to mention illegal when the county passed an ordinance forbidding individual trash burning. So, one day, Andrew Turner brought his tractor with a front scoop….along with a truck….. He loaded up all the unsightly trash, and we hauled it to the landfill. The little shed sat on the spot where the trash can used to sit. For years….up to and including the time I moved…..I still picked glass and can lids out of the soil. I was never sure where they came from….but they mysteriously appeared, especially after it rained. But, now I was abiding by the law…..although I was possibly the only household on my road who did….and the evidence was neatly covered with a useful little shed.

Shortly after Levi Beecham became my office aid at school, he volunteered to come out and assemble a metal shed which we attached to the north side of the house. It worked out pretty well, actually. There was a little concrete slab outside the garage door where I used to sit and read in the evenings. But with a nice deck, it as no longer crucial for reading. It made a great foundation for the little metal shed.

Good old Levi. That guy knows a lot of stuff! The shed came unassembled, of course….in a big box….with approximately one million parts! There was a bewildering array of metal panels, hinges, bolts, screws…… Enough to intimidate me. But, not Levi. With me as the “gofer”, he set about putting it all together without hesitation. He just “build it”.  I was pretty much in awe…..and very grateful. It, too, was an additional storage space…..a sort of “catch-all”…..and over flow…..for the garage. It served its purpose….and it is still standing. It is starting to show its age, however. The slab it is sitting on has “settled” somewhat…..and the little shed has pulled away from the house. It is still there…..still keeping stuff dry…sort of….. It will no doubt be a casualty of whomever buys the place…. But, it served its purpose. It did its job.

Speaking of Levi….and I can’t say enough good things about him…. He (along with a friend) were also responsible for building the covered patio, located just to the west of the house. It became sort of a second living area….a major place of relaxation….and also of entertainment. Looking back, I really don’t know how I survived twenty-five years without it. The year Robert Kruesemann lived with me….1998-1999….we spent one Saturday evening building a picnic table. It was a wonderful picnic table….and it is sitting in my back patio right now…..and it even looks like a picnic table! For some years, it sat in the yard…..on the grass….where Levi’s patio stands now. That, along with a swing became the first articles of furniture to grace the patio. Looking back now, they seemed rather stark and barren….just sitting there on the grass by themselves. At the time, however, they were wonderful improvement….a move into the “modern” world….into the world of luxury. A charcoal barbecue grill was added….adding another social amenity to the patio. Now I was ready to entertain….and entertain royally. In my mind, at least.

The patio evolved slowly….. First, I added a concrete slab….thanks to the help of my neighbor Matthew Erickson….with some technical assistance from a friend of mine. And, also from Matthias, one of my German exchange students. The slab, in itself, was a huge improvement. It was level; it didn’t get muddy; and there were no chiggers on it! Actually, I have never had a problem with chiggers. There is something about my blood they do not like…. Bad blood, I think. I could never convince my exchange students that chiggers are real! They don’t have chiggers in Germany, it seems. Or maybe they just do not go out into the grass as much we do. When I told them to stay out of the grass….or to wear shoes and socks because they were probably going to get eaten by the chiggers…. They just laughed. “That’s a joke….right?”…..only to find out later that night or the next morning that chiggers are real….and painful….and they itch like crazy….and it takes a day of two to get rid of the itch.  It was always one of those “I told you so” moments that I enjoyed so much. But, it was a lesson learned….and a lesson remembered.

After I retired, I finally decided to add a roof to the concrete slab….and have a covered patio. That is where Levi entered the picture again. We….He….carefully measured all the lumber we would need. We took a long trailer he had borrowed from somebody to Topeka, loaded the lumber and brought it back to my house. Over the next two or three nights, he and his friend build the patio. And, a fine looking patio it was! As I have already said, it was more or less an extension of the house….especially in the summer.

The final addition to the patio was a fire pit. Sultan was staying with me when I bought it. We constructed a base of bricks and concrete pavers….and spend an hour one cold winter evening piecing it together. Over the next three or four years, that fire pit was literally used more than the kitchen oven in preparing our meals. Well, I certainly didn’t prepare them…..but Sultan and Fayez did when they were staying at my house.

Anybody who came to my house in the very early days know that it was sort like the Little House on the Prairie. It was literally built in a horse pasture…..a former house pasture, at least. There were no trees…..anywhere. Except on the property line that divided my property from my neighbor’s property. Come to think about it, there was no grass, either, except for whatever grass…or weeds….grew in the field where the horses ate all three of their meals.

It was pretty rough….just a forlorn house in a field. Mother came up and planted some little trees…..mostly catalpa trees….which are still there today….. forty-five years later. I think she planted some elm trees, too…..but over the years, all of they died of some sort of elm tree disease. Kevin Glassel, one of my sixth grade students, a couple or three years later, also helped me plant some trees. We went out into the pasture behind my house and dug up some little evergreen trees……the kind that grow almost out of control in those kinds of places. He helped me plant them…. Three or four of them along the road directly in front of my house and two or three on the east side of the house. Except for the ones we eventually cut down to make a circle driveway years and years later, they are also still standing.

The summer that I retired….2003…..I ordered some genetically modified….fast growing….trees. Probably a dozen of them. I planted them by myself…. I even bought a “soaker” hose, snaked it around the little trees, and faithfully watered the trees for the entire summer. It must have been the right thing to do. All of the trees lived….they all developed into healthy trees. I was developing my own little forest around my house. One of my colleagues brought out a three or four trees, too…. A couple of them were ash trees (I think) and the other tree was a mulberry tree. The two ash trees (I think) are still standing. The mulberry tree?  Well, it was more problem that it was worth.  It was an open invitation to all the birds for miles around to come….feast….and leave their disgusting dropping behind. It was too close to the patio for comfort…..so I cut it down!

Of course, I didn’t even own a lawnmower. But, in the interest of developing a yard, I dutifully planted grass seed in front of the house and at the side of the house. Rather miraculously the grass grew…… I don’t know how much of the land I seeded. Probably about three-fourths of an acre. I was young then…young and naive. I bought a push mower, never considering how much work it took to mow that much lawn. For the first few years, I thought nothing of it. I just went out once a week….and spent most of the day pushing that mower back and forth across three-fourth acre of grass.

Remember….. This was still only a few steps away from being a horse pasture. It definitely was not a “lawn”….nowhere close. It was rough, still covered with “horse chips” (to put it politely)….and still with its share of obnoxious weeds mixed with the grass I had planted. Mowing was virtually an all day job, if not a two day job…..pushing and dragging that little lawnmower back and forth across the landscape. I am not sure why it never occurred to me to buy a riding lawn mower. Maybe I was just too stubborn and too cheap…..and definitely, too broke. After several years….and I am not sure exactly when it was….one of my colleagues was going to buy a new riding mower and he (or it could well have been a she)….asked me if I would be interested in buying their old riding mower. I can definitely put that on my list….and most people would say my short list….of smart ideas. Mowing the grass became much easier…if not fun….after that.

After I got my first dog….and I had three of them…. I decided that that yard would have to be fenced. At first, we constructed fence around only half the property. That seemed to be enough. Dean Edwards came out after school and helped me get it put up. This was another wise decision. Already one of my dogs had been run over….and came close to being killed….by one of my neighbors. He certainly did not like my dogs. And, I can say with a perfect degree of certainty that they did not like him! He would taunt them from the window of his pickup as he drove past….very slowly….and they never missed a chance to chase him. One day….and I really don’t think it was intentional….he ran over Moses….my second dog. After an expensive surgery and some prolonged treatment, he lived. That is when I made the decision to construct the fence.

Some years later….while Robert was living with me as an exchange student….we expanded the fence to include the entire property.

As a footnote, let me add that many years later….after I had retired…..my neighbor casually told me one morning that my fence was on their property. ‘Oh, don’t worry about it,” she said. “It is no big deal.”

I figured if it was important enough for her to tell me, it probably really was a “big deal”…..so I made plans to move it. Moving the fence was not an easy job. It took me a while for it to soak in that if I moved the fence 20 feet on the west side of the property…..then I would also have to move it 20 feet on the east side, also. And….before I could move the fence anywhere, I had to take the fence down first. So, it was a double sided job…..and something that I could obviously not do by myself. I got my neighbor boy, Todd Erickson, to help me. This was a few years before he was so tragically and unexpectantly killed in a one-vehicle accident. Anyway, every day after school for four or five days, he came over….and slowly but surely, we moved the fence about 20 feet or so to the east….on both sides of the property.

OK….. Now I had a strip of land 20 feet across…..and probably 200-300 feet long. This land had not been touched by a lawnmower…..or any other sort of mower, for that matter. At irregular intervals, cattle grazed there. But, it was wild, unkept land….part of the horse pasture from which the land for my house was carved. I set about clearing it….making it usable as part of the lawn. And, it was not an easy job. The grass…and weeds….was easily 12 – 18 inches tall. Starting with the highest setting on the lawnmower….and gradually lowering it….I made at least thee runs over the land before I actually had it under control. Of course, now the east border of my land was 20 feet beyond the tree line that I had planted. Tough! I was not about the move the trees!

The entire boundary situation was almost something out of a comic book. First of all, I had seen the metal survey marker which marked the west edge of my property. But, I did not have a clue what it was…..certainly not that it marked the boundary of my property. As for the wild, untamed pasture to the east. Well…. At time, two women lived there. They actually owned the property. I really didn’t know them because they never invited me into their house. Each Christmas they always brought cookies or candy to me…..and every Christmas I always took them some small gift. They would never come into my house….and they never invited me into their house. They were “partners”….but I never understood what that had to do with me.

One evening after Todd and I had finished relocating the fence, Suzie…Todd’s mother….stopped at my house. She was more friendly with them….. She told me that they believed that all the land….the pasture….to the west of them, and to the east of me….belonged to me. That is why they never took care of it….never mowed it…. That was a shock to me. Man, if I had owned the land, I would certainly have been taking care of it. And, they apparently thought I was some sort of slob for NOT taking care of it.

I located the deed to my house. I had to in order to know where my property line should be. I already knew what land belonged to me….and what land did not belong to me. So….and remember, the fence had already been relocated….I took the deed…..and accompanied by Suzie….otherwise I would never had made it into their house…..we walked over to their house to convince them that I did not own the land. They indeed owned the land. I really don’t think they were convinced. “The people at the courthouse told us that the land is yours,” they kept saying.  I don’t know…. They looked at the deed….looked at each other….looked at Suzie…..and probably never looked at me.   Anyway…. Nothing changed. I cleared the land that I owned…..reclaimed it as part of my lawn.  And, the rest of the land? It simply stayed like it had always been…wild and untamed.

Shortly after this incident, I decided to undertake a major “beautification” project…..and I did it without help from anybody. One of the first things I was to add a wooden fence on the east side of the lawn. It didn’t replace anything, but it provided a kind of shield….and gave a little bit of privacy to the backyard…. And, most important: It kept the neighbor’s dogs from getting into my yard. This was back in the days when I still fought a losing battle with the neighbor’s dogs.  I bought a lot of fencing boards and build a fence from the east edge of the deck to the tree line on the east….which used to be my property line. It took an entire afternoon to build the fence, but when it was finished, I thought it looked pretty tough! Now….some fifteen years later, the trees and other vegetation have grown so thick that it can not be seen from the road…. And, I simply gave up on trying to keep the neighbor’s dogs out of the yard.

The front of my house looked like a virtual flower shop! I hung flowers everywhere….from the deck, from the house, from the fence posts, from the patio…. Please notice that I used the word “hung”…..not “planted”. These were all artificial flowers…. The best kind! They do not die…. They do not lose leaves or petals….They require no watering; there were no weeds to worry about. They stayed in bloom year round….and brightened up the front of the house year round..  I am a great believer in artificial flowers!

Levi and a friend cut down the dead elm trees…..while I trimmed the others. We left the trunk of one large elm tree….and I painted it red, white and blue. These are the colors of our flag….and that is what I had in mind when I painted it.  Everybody else, however, merely assumed that I had painted it the colors of Kansas University. Well…..not really.  But, that will work, too.

I suppose I could continue to go on and on….. For many years, I thoroughly enjoyed working outside….doing little things around the yard and the house…..trying to make the property look as nice as possible. Back in those days, it literally never occurred to me that someday I would be moving away…..leaving it all behind. Even if I had…. Chances are I would have made all the changes anyway.

One pleasant interlude that I remember fondly is what I call ‘My Boat Days”. Shortly after the house was completed, and I had moved there, I had the opportunity to buy a 12 feet aluminum boat….complete with motor and trailer. I wouldn’t swear to it, but I think I paid $75.00 for the entire unit. Wow…. Was I excited about owning a boat….and a trailer…..and a motor. I immediately got the boat licensed…. Got the numbers to stick on both sides of the boat. I felt like a Big Dog…..

The boat was only 12 feet long….and it was made of aluminum….but it may as well have been a 100 feet yacht! Almost every afternoon during the summer months, I hooked the boat and the trailer to the car, and we headed toward the river. The Delaware River was probably a half mile….or a little more or less than that, maybe….directly behind my house. The nearest place where we could put the boat into the water was about two miles west of my house, down a dead-end road that ended at the river. That was close enough for me. Most of the time one of my neighbors…..one of the Farrs…..went with me. Other times somebody from town would come out for a boat ride.

I was not very skillful in backing up the boat trailer. Well…. I just plain never got the hang of it. But, it didn’t make any difference. Two people could easily carry the boat from the trailer to the river. We would strap on our life jackets….and take off….usually upstream toward Valley Falls. I had to wear a life jacket…. I don’t know how to swim.  At one time in a much earlier life, I took swimming lessons; I swear, I knew how to swim. They say that once a person learns how to swim….he will never forget…. Much like learning to ride a bicycle. I can still ride a bicycle! But…. I cannot swim!

Not knowing how to swim certainly did not deter me from enjoying the water, however. At regular intervals, we  pulled the boat over to the river bank, tied it to a log or tree….and jumped into the water. Actually, I didn’t jump…. I very carefully eased myself into the water until the water was perhaps chest deep. With my trusty life jacket, I was not afraid to pick up feet up and float along on the surface of the river. I could actually go through the motions of swimming….with the safety and assurance of the good old life jacket.

After a while, we would climb back into the boat and proceed up the river until we found another suitable place to tie the boat. More than likely, one or both of my dogs….Amos and Moses….were with us. Amos loved to swim, and we had our hands full just trying to keep him from jumping out of the boat into the river. I think he may have been part beaver! Moses, on the other hand, was much more cautious. He had to be coaxed into the water. He would almost always get into the water…..and swim directly to me….where he would stay, paddling his feet, treading water, until I returned to the boat.

The furthest distance we ever took the boat was a mile or so beyond Valley Falls….probably a good 8 miles from out starting point. We always carried a can of gasoline, because usually we would have to fill up the tank at some point along the way.

The fun lasted for maybe three summers…..and then for various reasons, the trips to the river became fewer and fewer. Maybe the “new” had worn off….maybe we found other things to do. I kept the boat for several years, however.  After the Farrs kids had all grown up,  gotten married…..moved away….the boat sat pretty much unused…. A symbol of several summers of good fun.

At some point along the way, I traded the boat to my new neighbor in exchange for him building a new barbed wire fence between his land and mine. He was a spooky guy in the most literal sense….a Vietnam veteran, although I never knew exactly where he served….. I went to their house a couple times after they moved there.  I wanted to introduce myself to him and his wife….and hopefully, become friendly neighbors. He never invited me into their house.  He always came outside to talk…..and those conversations were short and one-sided….my side! His wife never came outside to meet me….and he never called for her to come out. In fact, now that I think back, I don’t ever recall meeting her or even seeing her…..except at a distance. He made me rather uneasy….something was not quite right about the situation. Oh no…. I never expected him to come and kill me in my sleep or anything like that.  But, on the other hand, I knew rather quickly that these were not people whom I wanted to be my friends….and I certainly had no desire to hang out with them.  I mean…. What was it about my new neigbors? A couple weirdos who don’t invite me into their house…..and a couple lesbians who won’t invite me into their house…. I like to think that neither of couples like “normal” people…… Like me!

One day he came to my house and said that he wanted to build a new fence…..and that according to the law, I was responsible for half the cost. I had never heard of such a law, but he insisted that that such a law existed. BUT…. If I was willing to give him the boat and the trailer, he would  “call it even”. The boat had been sitting idle for a few years….unused….untouched. So, being naive and gullible, I agreed to the deal. I later found that this law or agreement applies only to farmers….both of whom own livestock. My house is zoned “residential”…..and obviously I owned no livestock. Obviously, I had been taken advantage of…. But, aside from branding him as an anti-social jerk, I let the matter go by. I just wasn’t worth the effort to make an issue of it.

Speaking of neighbors….and I am talking of the various people who occupied the former Farr House….. One family who lived there temporarily had in excess of 15 dogs. They roamed the countryside at will….unrestrained….. Regularly, they tore open the trash bags that I set beside the road every Wednesday morning…..scattering the trash around the driveway and road. If I caught it in time, I was compelled to take another trash bag….go out and gather the trash….. If I did not catch it…..the trash collectors would simply by-pass my house, leaving the mess lying there. Other neighbors threatened to kill the dogs…. Normally, I would never think of killing a dog.  But, I was in this case, they would have had my full blessing.

The last family to live there before I moved was a semi-black family. The husband/father was black. It was a multi-generational family. At least three generations lived there. Shortly after they moved there, I noticed a K. U. Jayhawk sign hanging on the garage. “Well,” I thought, “They must have a little bit of sophistication.”  I stopped a couple times to meet them and introduce myself. I drove into their driveway, got out and knocked on their front door….loudly. Waited….knocked again…. Nobody came to the door. As I said, I did this twice. Same results. Who knows? Maybe they didn’t see or hear me drive up in front of their house.  Maybe they didn’t hear me banging on their door. Or maybe they just didn’t want to meet me.  Maybe the third time would have been a charm, as they say. But, there was no third time. I never went back.  If they wanted to meet me….and obviously they did not….they could come to my house.

Actually, this family lived there longer than most tenants did…..maybe four or five years. One day I became aware that they were apparently moving….and then they were gone.  A couple weeks later the house caught on fire…..and was completely destroyed.

Also while I am thinking about it….  It seems a little unusual that my “weird” neighbors were always located to the east of me.  I am not sure what that says…..and I am not going to try to analyze it.  “Beware of strangers from the East?”…..  Who knows?  My good neighbors….my stable neighbors lived in the houses immediately west of me.  I say “stable” because they owned their land…. their “house” was their “home”…..not just a place to stay while they were passing through.

Noland and Wanita Schneider lived in the house immediately to the west when we build the “Ranch”.  Although I really didn’t see much of them…..they were considerably older than me….they were always friendly…..even if Noland appeared to intensely dislike my dogs…and even ran over one of them….unintentionally, I am sure.  They always waved as they drove past, and we spoke to each other on those rare occasions when we were both in our yards at the same time.

Scott Erickson bought the property from the Schneiders, and they have lived their ever since.  First Scott and Suzie…..and then Scott and Kim.  They were model neighbors….helpful and kind beyond a fault.  Dependable and always keeping an eye on me….and the property.  Always ready and willing to offer a helping hand.

I am always amused when I think back to the days when Matthew was only a little boy…..riding his four-wheeler up and down the road….going nowhere….just up and down the road….most of the time with his younger brother, Todd, behind him with his arms wrapped around Matthew’s waist.

Later, an almost daily sight was Matthew driving the tractor down the road.  In the early days, he was standing up……because his feet probably would not reach the pedals if he were sitting down.  He always had a smile on is face….and waved enthusiastically as he drove past.  I was never sure if he was going somewhere….or if he was out “joy riding”…..

Suzie watched my house like an eagle.  If somebody drove into the driveway, she noticed….and told me.  If the fence gate came open, she would go close it.  People would often ask if this bothered me:  Heavens NO!  I was glad somebody was looking out for me.

I am not sure how many times Scott mowed my lawn….without being asked…..when I was having various health problems.  It was a lot.  I always wanted to pay him (I never want to seem like an “old man”), but, in time, I learned that there was no point asking…..because he was not going to accept anything.

They…. he and Kim….readily agreed to be a contact for the Emergency Alert bracelet that I wore….. And there were even a couple times when they were called by First Responders…..always due to sort of malfunction….not an emergency, thank Heavens….

A little further away….maybe a couple hundred yards off the road, lived the Vanhooziers….Dan and Sherry.   They were also stalwarts in their concern for my health and well being.  They constantly reminded me that they were available and ready to help any time I need it.   They, too, kept an eye on my property for anything unusual or out of the ordinary.

We had a standing agreement to take care of each other’s mail when one of was away from home for an extended period of time.   I think it might have been a “draw” in who picked up whose mail the most.  They may have been gone more often…..but I may have been gone of longer lengths of time.  Nevertheless, the arrangement worked out well…..and saved both of us less worry and concern.

And, I always looked forward to Sherry’s home baked cookies and candy at Christmas time.

These were the neighbors that were difficult to leave behind.  They were the sort of neighbors who made life more enjoyable and pleasant….and who made living “in the boondocks” a joy.

Reality was a vast difference from my vision when I first moved into the house. As I mentioned elsewhere in this blog, when I moved there, there were only three other families living on the two-mile dead-end road that led from the Ferguson Road to the Delaware River. I had envisioned myself retiring….spending my idle time at the Farrs drinking coffee, gossiping, playing cards…. Well….. That was nothing but a dream not come true.

I am can’t complain….because there is no reason to complain. I had suddenly evolved from renting a small, rather rickety mobile home of maybe  300-400 square feet….neighbors only a few feet way on both sides….to my own home of about 900 livable square feet located on one and a forth acres of land. I turned a barren horse pasture into a pleasant and shady lawn, full of trees and a nice patio. Over the years, I transformed an almost barren house into my own library and gallery of memories that I had collected over the decades. I had my own office to house the mementos of my professional and “official” life, along with two computers to play with each day. I had a messy bedroom of my own….and a much neater bedroom for my exchange students and other guests.

It was my castle…. Anybody who walked into my house knew it was mine….a one of a kind. And that is the way I wanted it to be….the way I liked it…. A few well-meaning friends would sometimes comment, “Beryl, you’ve got to get rid of some of this stuff.”

Get rid of some of my stuff? You got to be joking. I was constantly looking for ways to create more “space” so I could add more!

Forty-nine years is a long time….. That is well over half of my entire life…. To write about all the memories that I collected and stored during that time would literally fill a good size book….and I can imagine that you are already thinking that this essay already seems like reading a book…. But, there are so many other things…..

For example, I have barely, if at all, even mentioned the three dogs that I owned during my time there. Actually, I got Amos shortly after I moved there. He was still a baby pup. He was advertised as a German shepherd….and I had always wanted a German shepherd. He was so little when I first saw him and took him home. I was convinced that he was really a German shepherd. He surely did look like it. I had to feed him by hand; I put some newspapers on the bathroom floor….and that was his home while I was working….. As he grew older….and grew up…..it was fairly obvious that he was not what he was advertised to be. Yeah…. I guess not many people who respond to an advertisement that says, “We have some puppies to give away. We have no idea what kind they are. They were purely “accidental” puppies…. Come and get one.” But, he was a great dog….and he died much too soon….unexpectantly and maybe unnecessarily….at the veterinary’s office…..while I was on vacation…..around 1983..

My second dog….and I named him Moses….overlapped a few years with Amos. He belonged to a colleague of mine. She lived on a farm….and she had told me that they were looking for a home for him. I drove out to her farm, southwest of town….to see him….and to take him home with me. That is when I found out that no human being had ever touched him. Although he had been born there…. He was…..for all practical purposes….a wild dog. Somebody….probably some of their hired help….chased him down….trapped him…..and delivered him….shaking, quivering, scared half to death….to me. I bought him home. His first home was in the garage. I had constructed a fence across the front of the garage….probably 4 feet high….put down some straw for his bed….a water dish…. Every day before going to work and after coming home from work, I would pick him up, sit on the back step, hold him, pet him and talk to him. I could feel him shaking…. After a few days, he began to calm down… He would actually come to me… He became “my” dog.  He was actually the only one of my three dogs who actually had any interested in “protecting” me. Even if I was only playing around, he would growl menacingly if he perceived it to be serious. He died peacefully at the age of 17 years.

After Moses died, I was heart-broken. He had been with me for 17 years….one of my closest companions, always there….forever faithful…. But, life goes on…. I was determined that I would never have another pet…. I swore: No more dogs. There were two or three reasons for this: Ever since I moved to the house, I had never been without a dog. And…. I loved my dogs. They were part of my family….just as dogs are part of most families.

Whenever I wanted to go somewhere, I would merely pack up the dogs into the back of my pickup and take them to my mother’s house in Lyons. If people think I spoiled and pampered my dogs…. Wow, they should have seen the royal treatment they got from my mother. They loved my mother….and my mother loved them. I doubt if they were even aware that I was gone.  In fact, I remember at least one time when I returned from a trip to the Oregon Coast. It was probably one of the usual three week trips. Anyway, when I returned to Mother’s house to pick them up….One of them….and I think it was Moses….actually growled at me when I first entered the house! I was startled. However, when he heard my voice, he immediately recognized me…..and was wagging his tail with joy. But, sadly, Mother died in 1994, and I no longer had a guaranteed place to take my dogs when I would be out of town for an extended period of time. Having a pet of any kind ties a person down. They must be fed and watered…. They must be taken care of. I suppose if a parents were cruel enough, they could actually leave a child by themselves (and for pity sakes….I am certainly not suggesting….advocating….and approving this!!)….put enough food in the refrigerator….leave enough clean clothes….tell him to leave the door locked…..not to admit any strangers…..etc…. But, with a dog….any pet…..it not possible to do these things. Somebody has to be there to take care of them….. At least, to feed and water them….to make sure they are doing OK.

I found that not having a pet gave me a lot more freedom….less worry…. I could some and go freely, and not be concerned or worried about shirking my duty to care for my pet.

The second reason I decided getting against any more dogs, was:   It is simply too hard for me to lose them. They become part of my family….They become my friend and companion….. Losing them is very personal….and dealing with their loss is something I always wish to avoid.

I “enjoyed” a couple years…. It could have been more or less….without any pet. It had never entered my mind to get one. Then one day….one fateful Saturday morning….there was a knock at the front door. It was one of my neighbors from across the road. She was standing there with a reddish-brown dog. I assumed it was her dog who rode along with her. Wrong! I invited her inside….dog and all…. After all, my house had been home to dogs from several years. That was nothing unusual. I can’t even think of her name now. I do remember that she was an art teacher somewhere, though. The dog was jumping upon me….licking me….wagging her tail…. She was obviously a happy dog….never mistreated…fond of attention….. After a minimum of small talk, she got directly to the point. “I think you need another dog,” she said. “You have always had one….and I think you are lonely without one.  Abby is the perfect dog for you. She was dropped off in front of our house the other day. She seems to be house broken…. She is a healthy and happy dog…. She will fit right into your life….”

In the meantime, Abby,…… She had already been named….was running around the room, sniffing here and there…..and then darting back over to me…..jumping into my lap….licking my face…. Just like were were meant to be friends.

I still do not know why I agreed to take her….and take her on the spot! Maybe I felt sorry for her. Maybe I was worried what would become of her….. Maybe I just fell in love with her…. But, nevertheless, my neighbor left….alone. And, I had suddenly acquired a new pet. Something I had never thought I would do again.

Abby was with me through all the years I had exchange students….except for my very first one….and for a few years after that, even. And…..Yes, I was right. Finding somebody to take care of her when I made trips with my exchange students…or when I went to Germany during the summer…. Well, I had to find somebody to take care of her. And, Yes! It was difficult. Maybe it wasn’t so difficult to find somebody to agree to take care of her…..but it was most definitely difficult to find somebody whom I could trust! I went through a series of various “volunteers”….some of which were better than others….but none of which I ever asked to to it twice….. Sorry, you guys, if any of you are reading this….

When Abby died peacefully one afternoon in 2005, I made an irrevocable decision to never get another pet….. But, my pets….my dogs….have been been an inexorable part of the Darrah Ranch….since its inception. The fence that surrounds the property is certainly a monument to them. The pet doors that allowed them to enter and leave the house freely are reminders…..their food and water bowls that sat in the kitchen by the hallway….and the star that Robert glued on a cabinet door in front of their food and water…..the hours of sweeping up pet hair…..the daily inspection for ticks each day when I returned from work….. the frequent trips to Paradise Point for “enrichment”…. All of these things are interwoven into my memories of the many years I spent living there.

One more thing I want to mention…. I used to joke….and still do….that everything in the house was home made, except for the TV and the computers! The house was crammed full of shelves, desks, tables, cabinets…. All of these were custom made by my friends and me….. Even the bed I slept in, compliments of some valuable help by Chris Saathoff and his girl friends (now his wife….) When I wanted or needed another shelf, etc., I would either build it myself….or call a friend to come and help me. And, my house was literally full of such self-constructed items…. Shelves to hold approximately 1200 books….shelves for gifts from my former school students and former foreign exchange students, gifts from my family, souvenirs from my travels… Desks for my office; shelves to hold a veritable history of my life (I saved everything!) shelves for the garage and its every expanding collection of “home improvement” tools….

As I mentioned earlier, many people were somewhat taken aback when the saw my house for the first time…. Yeah…. I am sure it was somewhat of a visual “overload” for them. But…. Yeah….I worked hard to make it that way…. It was a my house. Somebody gave me a little saucer that says, “This is my house….and I will do as I darn please.” And, that is exactly how I felt. I made my house as comfortable…as inviting…as non-threatening….as welcoming….and as friendly as I could. I made it the sort of house that I wanted to live in. I made it for me! Not for somebody else. I was the one who lived there. If visitors somebody didn’t like my house…. Then… There is the door. You can leave the same way you came in! Fortunately, it never came to this….nowhere close…. Yes…. Come on in. No you do not have to take your shoes off. No, you really do not need a coaster for your drinks. Go ahead and put your feet on the coffee table, if that will make you more comfortable. The drinks are in the refrigerator. Go get one, if you want to…..and, would you also please bring me one, too? If you are hungry, go ahead and make you something to eat. Just make sure you do your own dishes….and put them away!

That was the Darrah Ranch.

In time….as I got older….taking care of the house….the yard….the repairs…..the wood… It started to become too much. The “Glory Days” were over. It was time to move on.

“It was the worst of times; it was the best of times…….” That famous line comes to mind as I think of the recent trip that Fayez and I took to Colorado. And, I think it pretty well sums up the entire trip. Actually, the trip was probably not even supposed to happen. Fayez’s sister had planned to come to live with him for a few months while she attended language school. I had not even considered making the trip…. But, due to an unexpected change in plans, Fayez’s sister was unable to make the trip. This news sort of made me scramble to come up with a plan for a trip.

The most logical plan would have been to make out long-awaited trip to the southeastern states….something we had discussed for a long time. It was the logical choice, if for no other reason that neither of us had been there before…..and this would complete our conquest of all the lower 48 states. Well…..to be honest, I had been to all the states except for North Carolina, South Carolina and Georgia. Fayez had not been to any of them. We could have cleaned the slate, so to speak, with single trip.

Immediately I set to work planning a feasible route that would carry us through all the necessary states……and in only 7 days, I might add. Planning such a trip is not as easy as it may sound. Deciding on a route that would cover all the states in a logical sequence…..planning a driving day that was not too long, or too short…..ending up each night in a town that was large enough to have a suitable choice of hotels…..making sure we were able to ensure that we were comfortably back home at the end of the allotted time period….. And, then, there was the task of figuring the cost of the trip: gasoline, lodging, meals, car rental, etc…… Just finding and selecting a hotel is a time-consuming job…..finding the best motel for a price we could afford.

I hope you don’t think  I am bragging (well, maybe a little bit)…. But, I am good at this sort of stuff. It look me an entire evening……from maybe 8:00 until about 2:00 A.M….but, I did it! And, when it was all said and done, it was a pretty good plan. Most days we would travel no more than 6 hours….a reasonable time. The hotels looked reasonably comfortable, safe and clean and affordable….. I felt pretty confident that we were going to have a great trip, at least from the logistical viewpoint.

The next step was to forward the information on to Fayez. I was not at all surprised when he told me he had changed his mind. He did not want to be away from his lab, his experiments, his projects for so long. “Long”, let me remind you, was 7 days. “Let’s take a shorter trip,” he wanted. “One where we don’t have to do so much driving.” Any time ones takes a trip with the goal of visiting all 48 of the lower states…..well, there is going to be some driving involved. But, none-the-less, we discarded all my work, and began to discuss that else we might do. Fly to Portland, rent a car and drive to the Coast for a few days. Go to Houston (or Dallas). (Fayez has a fascination with Texas, for some reason.) Go to New Orleans and hang out on the beach. (One problem: New Orleans does not have a beach.) Those were his suggestions.

As for me: Well, Chicago is an interesting, as well as manageable city to visit. Lots of things to do, places to eat….. Santa Fe. A quaint small city. Capital of New Mexico, lots of art and history.

In the end, we opted for Denver. I have been to Denver on several different occasions….but a long time ago. Things change. Fayez had been there the first year he was in the USA…..but only for a couple days…..and he didn’t see anything.

So, Denver was our compromise choice…..our Spring Break destination.

It was back to the drawing board again…..but a lot easier this time. Finding things to do in Denver is fairly easy. Denver is a big town with lots of options…..and we were only spending one full day there. So….to me, at least, there were two “must-see” places that stood out: The Museum of Science and Nature and The Denver Art Museum. If there was time, we would squeeze in a visit to the Museum of Contemporary Art.

The two days we planned to spend outside of Denver were a little trickier. The highway to Mt. Evans, the highest highway in North America, is closed until after Memorial Day. The road leading up to Pikes Peak was closed. The highway that leads off US 24 into Aspen was closed. We had already been to Rocky Mountain National Park about three years ago. The highway was closed anyway!

After some calculations on Map Quest, I concluded what I considered to be the two most feasible day trips. The first trip would take us out west of Denver to the upscale resort town of Vail….and then on down to Leadville, the city with the highest elevation in the USA…..and back to Denver. Our second day trip would be a trip through the mountains down to the Garden of the Gods…..and other nearby sites, if we had the time. Of course, we never have free time…..but it always good to have plans.

The final chore was to choose a hotel for four nights. I usually book hotel rooms through Expedia. First of all, regardless of the advertising hype, almost all the online booking sites advertise the exact same prices. Yeah, maybe a person can’t find a lower price anywhere else…..but, they can’t claim that all prices are not identical. They are! Expedia offers the option of paying online. I like this option because once I arrive at the motel, there is a minimum of hassle. The room is booked…..the room is paid for…. Just give me the key….and the wi-fi password….. so I can go settle in.

Wow! I had no idea that hotels are so expensive in Denver…..especially in the downtown area. They give the hotels in New York City a good, close contest. And, staying downtown was one of our wishes for the trip. Four nights in downtown Denver would have been fun. But, it was not really even a choice once I took a look at the prices…..anywhere from $150.00 a night on the low end, extending on up to…… Well, depending on how much money I was willing to pay. Even paying $150.00 a night for four nights…..$600.00, not including taxes, fees and all the other stuff they add on….would have eaten up most of our entire budget.

After a lot of searching, I decided on a hotel in the vicinity of the Museum of Science and Nature. A fairly good location. It was $110.00 a night. More than I wanted to pay, but not so bad, considering this was Denver. I bookmarked the page. The next night I looked again, and to my great joy, I found a “special price” at a Ramada Inn near Mile High Stadium……$75.00 a night…..double room…..breakfast included. I looked at the pictures….and it looked fine. So….That would be our hotel. I booked it. That was it. The arrangements were complete. All I had to wait for now was for now was Fayez to arrive, put his suitcase in the car…..and leave.

For about two weeks before our planned day of departure on March 17, I had been bothered by a stuffed up nose. In the beginning, it was particularly bad at night. It was difficult to breathe even while I was wearing my sleep device. So, I did something that I rarely have had the necessity of doing: I bought some Afrin nasal spray, and I sprayed a couple squirts into each nostril each night when I went to bed. It took care of the problem…..and that is all I wanted.

As time went on, I found that my nose was beginning to stop up during the daytime, too. Not only that, but I had developed a rather constant runny nose. “Oh, no,” I have caught a cold somewhere…..also something that rarely happens. I looked in the medicine cabinet and found some cold medicine….a liquid product specifically for a runny nose, according to the label. So…..like clockwork, I took the medicine and I sprayed the Afrin into my nose…..and used a ton of tissue paper. I had considered calling the doctor. But, I thought, “I don’t want to be running to the doctor with a common cold.”

By the time Fayez arrived on Friday, things were no better….but I was still optimistic that it was only a matter of time before I would just naturally start to get better. Fayez and I went out to eat that Friday evening….at Appleby’s, if I recall correctly. On the way back home, we stopped at WalMart so I could invest in a supply of Afrin and cold medicine. I had wanted to ask the pharmacist what he would recommend, but the pharmacy was closed. A woman who worked there in the over-the-counter drug department was all too eager to help, though. She said she had gone through the exact symptoms. “Keep using the Afrin,” she advised, “and get some Claratin and some antihistamine. That is what I did, and it took care of the problem.”

“The woman is a genius,” I thought.

She spoke with great assurance and authority….and she did, at least, work in the pharmacy section…..albeit she was stocking shelves…..so who was I to doubt her? I laid in a supply of Afrin, antihistamine…..and Claritin, which, by the way is rather expensive….and headed for home.

Friday afternoon I picked up the rental car at Avis Car Rental, the agency where I always rent cars. I left my car at my brother’s house, and my friend, Sam, picked me up and took me to the rental agency. By the time Fayez arrived around 5:00 or so, I had already packed my stuff into the car. I was ready to roll! And, it didn’t take Fayez long to put his suitcase in the trunk.

Our plan was to get up around 7:00 or 7:30 and be in the car heading toward Colorado by 9:00. For some reason, I overslept. And, if I overslept….that means that Fayez seriously overslept! But due to some sort of unforeseen miracle, we pulled out of the driveway at 9:01…..maybe the first time in the history of our traveling together that we ever left even remotely on time. We left in such a hurry that I didn’t even think to take a picture of us standing in front of the rental car…. (Thus the picture taken in the Garden of the Gods….. No, that is not my front yard.)

The trip proceeded rather smoothly. We had both traveled I-70 on previous trips, so there was really no thought of stopping to take pictures. Yeah, I know. Pictures of what? We did make stops, however: at rest stops and to eat our usual lunch of turkey and cheese sandwiches and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Late in the morning, my nose began to become stopped up. Not just a little stopped up…..but 100% stopped up. When we stopped at around noon somewhere along the way, I put the seat back…..and sprayed some Afrin in both nostrils. Soon I was breathing better, as we drove merrily toward the west.

Our first picture opportunity was at the Colorado border. Gotta have some evidence that we were really there! Usually, this is a routine stop….taking only a few second to jump our and take the pictures and be on our way. For the first time I can remember, there were actually several other people there waiting to take pictures. For the first time I can recall, we had to wait in line to take our pictures. It was Spring Break for many colleges and public schools in Kansas, and I can imagine that Colorado was a popular destination for many people. Anyway, it was good that other people were there. One of the people waiting their turn volunteered to take our picture in front of the Colorado sign…..something that doesn’t happen very often.

 

 

 

 

 

We rolled on into Colorado…..stopped at the Colorado Welcome Center so Fayez could go inside and pick up a map…..and then continued on toward Denver. At some point….and I do not recall exactly where it was…..Fayez happened to look at the gasoline gauge. Almost in a state of shock, he said, “We are almost out of gas. We can only drive 30 more miles.” At this time, we were somewhere in the middle of nowhere. If you think you are in the middle of nowhere in Western Kansas…. Well, you will have to invent another geographical term for where we found ourselves. In Western Kansas, there are towns dotting I-70 about every 20 or 25 miles or so. In Eastern Colorado…. Man, it is desolate compared to Western Kansas. And, many of the small towns…wide spots in the road, actually…..have absolutely no services.

Our conversation sort of came to an abrupt halt. We were too nervous to talk. I was constantly asking, “How far can we drive yet?” (Fortunately, the Nissan we were driving had a mileage indicator…..something I want on my next car!) There really was no reason to stop talking…..logically, at least. It was like the more we talked….the more gas we would use. It is rather strange how people react to fear! Probably if we had kept up our conversation, the time would have gone faster….we would not have worried so much…..and a gasoline station would have seemed to appear much more quickly. Keep your mind occupied on good things…..

I belong to AAA, and if we had indeed run out of gasoline, I could have called ….and they would have brought some gasoline to us. Of course, I really had no idea where we were. What was our location? “Somewhere on I-70 in Eastern Colorado,” I suppose. “Just look for us. We are probably the only idiots sitting on the side of the highway with no gasoline.” Needless to say we did come upon a gasoline station. And, you better believe that we stopped and filled up with gasoline! It was probably a good opportunity to spray some more Afrin into my nose…..and go to the restroom.

With a great feeling of relief, and even a little bit of exhilaration, we continued on to Denver.

At this point, I have to give the GPS unit some praise. Normally, I think they are a waste of time. On too many occasions, we have been given bad directions….and rerouted far out of the way. I do not care what the calculations of those satellites are…..or what that woman up in the sky is saying: Many times it simply does not know. I have driven most of the highways before. And….I know! In a strange city, however, I will admit it is useful. Normally, it will guide to you to the correct destination. Who knows if it is the best, most efficient, quickest route….. If I knew the city well, I wouldn’t be using it. But, it does do its job in a city.

With no discernible problems we easily found the motel I had reserved…..a Ramada Inn on the near west side of Denver in close proximity to Mile High Stadium. Originally, I had selected a motel on the near east side of Denver near to the Museum of Science and Nature, but when I checked the booking site again, I found that the Ramada Inn rooms had been reduced to an attractive price…..about $30.00 a night cheaper than the original motel. I checked the pictures of the rooms…..two or three times. They looked attractive and comfortable. There were two queen size beds, a refrigerator, a coffee maker, a comfortable looking chair….plus free wi-fi and free breakfast. Wow! It looked like a pretty good deal to me. And, as for Fayez…. Well, I don’t think he could have cared less. So…..I booked a room immediately.

Even as we drove into the parking lot, my first thought was, “Man, this place looks sort of old and run-down.” But, there were a lot of cars there. The receptionist was pleasant and friendly. Within a matter of minutes, we were checked into our room……and on the ground level, too. Lucky….because there were no elevators in the annex where our room was located!

We drove to our room. As I opened the door and walked inside, the first thing I said to Fayez was, “Man, this place is a dump!” And….in my opinion….this is exactly what it was. The room indeed had all the “amenities” that were advertised on the Internet site. But, it was cramped and dark. The furniture was old and worn. Fortunately I had a multi-receptical outlet that we could use, because there were no free plug-in to be found. Later that night we stopped at a Wal-Mart and bought some 100 watt bulbs for the lamps…..just so we could see where we were walking! The air-conditioner worked only if I turned it off and on two or three times…..the drapes on the window did not completely close…..and the first night, a Saturday night, the place was crawling with college-age Spring Breakers!

On the bright side, however, their breakfast buffet was one of the best I have seen. We were trapped…..so why not make the best of it? But, it was another good demonstration of the axiom, “Don’t believe everything you see.”…..especially when it involves advertising.

After taking a short nap, we selected an Ethiopian restaurant that looked interesting. And, indeed it was. I had previously eaten in an Ethiopian restaurant in Berlin, so I was not surprised that we were expected to eat our meal using our fingers. That really didn’t bother me. That is the way I eat most of my food at home….just because it is easier. And, it didn’t faze Fayez, either. Eating with fingers is the accepted….maybe even preferred….style of eating in Saudi Arabia. At any rate, the food was delicious. I was surprised by the number of people who were eating there. Somehow, Ethiopian cuisine doesn’t strike me as being one of the most popular. But…. I guess in Denver it is.

 

 

 

 

 

Sunday morning, we made our way to the breakfast buffet in the main building next door to eat our breakfast. For some reason we walked right past an elevator that would take us to the second level where breakfast was being served. Consequently, I slowly groped my way up the stairs, very unhappy that the motel did not have an elevator. But, there was a surprisingly large variety of food to choose from….. cereal, pastries, of course, but also scrambled eggs, two kind of sausages (which Fayez could not eat, of course), some fruit, yogurt, biscuits and gravy (again, probably containing pork)….and the normal coffee and juice. There was also an eclectic variety of people eating there, too…..most of whom did not speak English! There were a fair number of families included in the mix….but most of them were obviously college age kids…..young adults is perhaps a better term.

We were going to spend three full days in Colorado…..not very long, considering everything Denver and the state of Colorado has to offer. We decided to devote two days to sightseeing in the mountains surrounding Denver and one day sightseeing in Denver. Having decided this, I set out to plan our three days. The problem, of course, was not finding things to do. It was choosing the things we really wanted to do……at least, things I really wanted to do. Our choices were somewhat predetermined for us. As I mentioned earlier, the highway to the summit of Mt. Evans was closed until after Memorial Day. The road to the top of Pikes Peak was closed. The highway that would take us to Aspen from US 24 was also closed…..not to mention that Rocky Mountain National Park had not yet opened for the season.

Faced with those limitations, our options were somewhat restricted…..but not so much that we would not have a lot of fun and see some interesting sites. For our first day trip, which took place on Sunday, we drove to Vail…..the famous up-scale resort town about a hundred miles west of Denver.

The drive out there was pleasant. The mountains were covered with a thick carpet of snow…..a wonderland of contrasting green and white. On a couple occasions we pulled into rest stops and overlooks….got out to take in the spectacular scenery…..to breathe in the mountain fresh air……to stretch our legs……and, of course, to take pictures. A couple of these stops also served another purpose: My nose was 100% stopped up again, and I needed to treat it with its fix of Afrin.

 

 

 

 

Driving west of Denver on Interstate 70 always means a trip through the famous Eisenhower Tunnel. Even though I have driven through it dozens of times, it was another first for Fayez. I don’t know if they have tunnels in Saudi Arabia, but I am pretty sure none of them are as long as the Eisenhower Tunnel. And, really…..the Eisenhower Tunnel is not really very long in comparison to other tunnels in other places in the USA. It was long enough, however, that he can now honestly say he has driven through an authentic tunnel. Actually, the Eisenhower Tunnel is about 1.7 miles long, and it was initially opened in 1973. It is located at the highest point on I-70. Close to 33,000 vehicles pass through it each day.

As one drives east toward Denver, the tunnel has another name: The Johnson Tunnel. For a long time, I assumed that it was named after President Lyndon Johnson. I was rather surprised that it is actually named after a former Senator from Colorado…..obviously a Senator Johnson!

As we approached Vail….indeed, even as we entered the town…..I did not recognize any of the surroundings. In fact, I was a little bit startled that we arrived so suddenly.

The last time I was in Vail was in 2002. Obviously a lot of changes had taken place since then. One of the most disturbing changes was the fact that downtown Vail seems to be one large pedestrian mall now. Maybe it was that way back in 2002. If it was, my memory is slipping….along with several other things, by the way. There seems to be a series of expensive parking garages now…..and very few outside parking lots. We explored one of the parking garages, but for the short length of time we were going to be there, it just wasn’t economically feasible to pay the price they were asking.

We pulled into a church parking lot about a block from downtown Vail, but unfortunately there was a sign that warned, “This Parking Lot Is for Church Parking Only”. And, I have a feeling that the church was probably in no mood to show any sort of mercy! After driving around many blocks….many times…..we located what appeared to be a parallel parking space, almost directly in front of the church. Fortunately, the church does not control who parks on the street. At least, I don’t think they do. Fayez, with all the skill….and luck…he possessed…..and after repeated tries….finally squeezed into the space. Yeah….. We were still only about one block from downtown. Talk about good fortune.

We walked into a rather deserted pedestrian mall…..a vast contract from 2002. On that trip we were there in August…..and it was packed with tourists, like us, wanting to live the “good life” for a few hours. We immediately looked for a place to sit down and soak in the exclusive ambiance of Vail, Colorado…and rub shoulders with the “beautiful people”….so to speak. We quickly settled on a coffee shop called “Mountain Cupcakes”. It was “upstairs”, but luckily there was an elevator…..which made the selection process a little easier, I suppose. We had eaten breakfast only a short while ago…and it was not yet time for lunch…..so we both ordered coffee and some sort of over-priced pastry. I headed outside to the terrace to find a place to sit while Fayez waited for our order.

The day was semi-pleasant…..not really cold, but not really warm, either…..so we chose to set outside on the terrace. Since Fayez does not like to mingle with strangers, I chose a table several feet from the little coffee shop. Actually, most of the customers soon finished whatever they had ordered and were on their way. We sat and watched what few people there were milling around the pedestrian mall below. The center of attraction was a small ice skating rink which had been set up almost directly below us. It, too, had attracted only a few adventurous skaters….ranging from the obvious beginners to a girl who had obviously been ice skating at least a few times before.

Adding to our amusement…..mine, at least…..was watching poor unobservant, hapless drivers wander onto the mall….only to find they had made a mistake. The mall was closed to all vehicle traffic. I am glad it was they…..and not us….knowing that people like me were sitting there chuckling…..and watching them try to find a way out of their misfortune. Actually, I felt badly for them and found it easy to empathize with them. But, on the other hand….. They should have been watching….and obeying the signs. Finally, the cars had to resort to simply backing up….or trying to turn a corner on to a legal street….or turn around and go back. Nobody seemed to care….but I can well imagine that many, if not most, of the people were laughing inwardly and saying something equivalent to, “You dumb ass.”

The mall had a definite “elite” quality about it…..constructed in the obviously mandatory old-West wooden, ski resort, chalet style. Only judging from my last visit back in 2002, I had the distinct impression that most of what we were looking at was fairly new construction. We were probably not in the original part of downtown. When Sebastian and I were there in 2002, we sat in a coffee shop directly adjacent to the iconic Vail landmark…..the big clock in the center of the square. On this trip, we didn’t even see it. There were, however, some rather odd looking sculptures or “yard art” that dotted the surroundings. One item occupied most of my curiosity, though. Right in front of us, situated adjacent to the ice-skating rink, was a tree-like sculpture that looked vaguely like a tree. Maybe it was…..although I think that would have been much too obvious.

At any rate, Vail seems like “a nice place to visit”, but I certainly would not want to live there permanently. First of all, it is primarily a resort town…..ski resort in the winter and outdoor recreation resort in the summer. That is why people go there, I suppose: to spend their money, to say they have been to Vail, to take advantage of some rather expensive entertainment. And, of course, the opportunities to spend money abound! There is not a lack of expensive cafes, coffee shops, boutiques, souvenir shops, fashion stores….not to mention the myriad apartments, condos and hotels. Their parking garages probably generate more income in one month than the entire annual budget of many small towns

and cities across the USA.

Actually, there was not a lot to do in Vail…..except look! And, except for the good old Mountain Cupcake break, that is all we did…… That, and drive around looking for a parking place. We took a short drive on a mountain road, mostly just to take some pictures, looking down on the town. Vail is not only a beautiful town from street level…..but it is also a picturesque town as viewed from above. No matter where you view it, the ever-present snow-covered mountains are an ever-present backdrop, adding to the beauty and the drama.

 

 

 

 

And, of course, the mountains are probably the only reason Vail even exists. In the winter and spring….when we were there….skiing is by far the major magnet that attracts tourists and skiing enthusiasts. It is a world-class ski resort and attracts people from all over the USA….and probably the world. It is entirely possible that it is losing a portion of its popularity in recent years due to the proliferation of other ski resorts in the Western USA. In the summer time….like the last time I was here….all sorts of outdoor activities are available to amuse people: hiking, horseback riding, fishing, riding the ski lifts, mountain biking. Four-wheelers….and

whatever else capitalists think might entice visitors.

After a couple hours in Vail, it was time to head to our final destination of the day….Leadville.

Leadville has the highest elevation of any town in the USA…..built an elevation of more than 10,000 feet. I have been there several times, and somehow I thought that Fayez had also been there…..something I continued to believe until I was looking through our old vacation pictures. It turns out that Sultan and I have been there…..but not Fayez. If I had realized this, I would have pointed out some of the interesting sights. At least, I would have taken his picture in front of the history “Leadville” sign….and maybe the Leadville Opera House. Oh well….. He never mentioned that all of this was new to him. So…. I will share part of my guilt with him!

Other than the fact that is was somewhere to go, the main reason I put Leadville on our itinerary was to revisit a small hole-in-the-wall coffee shop that Sultan and I had stumbled upon by pure chance a couple summers summer before. We were looking for a place to sit and rest…..and also to grab a bite to eat. Not a meal…..but just a snack. While walking down the main street of Leadville, passing by the larger bars and quaint, upscale restaurants, we saw a little place called “Cookies with Altitude”. A quaint name, to be sure…..but it is definitely a place worth eating. There are only two tables. We were fortunate enough to get one of them.

It obviously is not part of any fast food chain! The selection of food is not extensive…..mostly sandwiches, desserts, bottled drinks. But, make no mistake: Everything was made from scratch…..and from quality ingredients. I settled on a Reuben sandwich. I am not sure what Sultan ordered. But our food was delicious….food a person doesn’t find very often. Both Sultan and I agreed that it was some of the most delicious, mouth-watering food we had ever eaten. It was food that you remember….and look forward to eating again.

Last summer when Sultan and I were in Colorado, he wanted to go to Leadville just so we could eat there again. Unfortunately, our travel plan did not include Leadville….and it was too far out of our way for a special trip. But, we promised ourselves that the next time we were in Colorado, this would be a top priority on our places to visit. Well….Sultan was not here to make the trip….but Fayez was. And, as I said, I thought Fayez had already been there.

Nevertheless, I had only a vague recollection of the name of the place. I knew what side of the street it was on, and I was confident that when I saw it, I would know it. So, we slowly drove down the main street of Leadville…..made a U-turn and started back. “Ah ha! There it is!” I exclaimed. Since the town was almost deserted that Sunday afternoon, we were able to park almost directly in front of the little coffee shop. As soon as we walked in the door, I immediately recognized the place. It looked just like I remembered it. I took a look at the menu……and was happy that the same Reuben sandwich I had ordered on the previous visit was still there…..corned beef, Swiss cheese, sauerkraut, Russian dressing, all of this between slices of rye bread. Of course, that is what I ordered. Delicious! We lingered over our food…..and while we were there, several other people came to order take out food. Apparently it was a popular place to eat. I am assuming that many of the people actually lived in Leadville….and this was where they regularly bought their food. If I lived in Leadville, this would be my Number One eating place, too.

 

 

 

 

 

Our trip back to Denver was much more exciting that we had planned on or expected. As we drove along the mountain highway, we could not help but notice that the sky was becoming darker and more ominous. Still high in the mountains, perhaps about 30 or 40 miles from I-70, the first snow flakes started to descent from the sky…. It was nothing serious for the first few minutes, but as we continued to make our way through the mountains, the snow fell as a faster and heavier pace. It was not long before we found ourselves enveloped in a raging snow storm. Thankfully, the wind was light. If the wind had been blowing only a little more, we would have found ourselves driving through a bona fide blizzard. And….that would have not been good.

Surely, when we reach I-70….and lower elevations…..the snow will have stopped….and even maybe the sun will be shining. This was not to be. The snow storm continued, unabated. At that point, I-70 is still far above sea level. Driving on I-70 was even more dangerous. This was around 5:00 in the afternoon. The in-bound traffic to Denver was probably at its busiest time. All those people who had escaped Denver for the weekend, were making their way back into the city.

Believe me. Denver….just like every other part of the country…..has its own abundant share of idiot drivers. From the point we entered I-70, about 40 miles west of Denver, we encountered at least eight accidents….all of which brought traffic to a snail’s pace….stacking up cars for literally miles. Do I need to tell you that our trip back into Denver was not a

relaxed, carefree drive? We were no longer in a sightseeing mood. We were no longer talking or laughing and enjoying ourselves. To say the least, the trip can best be described as tense and somewhat stressful.

 

 

 

 

Back in Denver…..somewhat later than we had planned….we found some nondescript pizza place to eat our supper.

We capped off the evening with a trip to an Immediate Care Clinic. Fayez was having some rather severe problems with his ears. We drove to a clinic so Fayez could hopefully receive some relief. It was still raining in Denver when we pulled into the driveway of the after-hours clinic. I waited in the car while Fayez went inside to see a doctor. It was around 8:00 when we arrived. Fayez disappeared aroundthe corner, and I put my head back for some rest while I waited for him to return. “He should be back in about 20 minutes,” I estimated. Not a bad little nap. Eight-thirty came and went. No Fayez. Eight forty five. I was getting concerned. Maybe it was more serious than we had anticipated. Eight-fifty. Maybe I had better go check on him. I found the clinic…it was around a corner and I didn’t see where he had walked in….and looked around for the clinic. It was upstairs, of course. There was an elevator, luckily. I walked into the office….and was greeted with the usual cool, rather indifferent attitude of most doctor’s offices. “Is Fayez still here?” I asked. They looked at each other. “Who is

Fayez?” the receptionist asked. I was rather annoyed. “He came in here about an hour ago with an ear problem.” After meticulously checking something she had in front of her, she turned to one of the nurses and said, “Do you know anything about Fayez?” “For Heaven’s sake,” I thought. “How many people named Fayez have come in here tonight?” The nurse, somewhat more accommodating, said, “He is just about finished.” To the receptionist, I said, “Well…. “Thanks a lot! I am glad he didn’t die or something like that. If he did, you would probably be the last to know.” Well, I didn’t actually say that. I just went back out into the rain again and waited in the car. He showed up a few minutes later….still alive. And….with cleaner ears!

Monday was our “Denver Day”. After adequately satisfying our morning hunger in the breakfast bar….which I say again was the only strong point or saving grace of the motel…..we locked the door to our room, climbed in the good old rental car and headed to our first stop….. The Denver Museum of Art. I had been there before, and as we approached, I immediately recognized the building. Except for one minor

detail: The building was in he process of being demolished. Wow…. I guess we arrived a couple days too late! The all-knowing GPS assured as that we were at least in the right vicinity. After driving around a few blocks and staring intently at the signs, we finally determined the location….a newly built building adjacent to the old museum. Luckily we had arrived early enough that we found a parking lots across the street. You surely didn’t think we would park free…..did you?

We paid our entry fee and began our tour of organized wandering. As with most museums and art galleries, it was organized around “themes”. Don’t even bother to ask me what themes were represented. I have very little recollection of the time we spent there. Quite frankly, I was disappointed. Yeah…. There were lots of pictures, sculptures, artifacts, murals….. But….and this is only a personal observation and probably reveals some ignorance on my part….none of them were “famous”. Very few of them were by well known…at least, to me….artists.

 

 

 

 

Fayez and I toured the entire museum….all that was included in the “basic price”, at least. We probably covered it more quickly than I would most art museums….those in Berlin or Paris, for example. Actually, I enjoyed the Nelson-Atkins Museum of Art in Kansas City more than I did this one.

Nevertheless, we did pause to take closer looks at some of the works of art…..even took some obligatory pictures. And, fortunately, the museum had elevators. Otherwise, I would have never have bothered to negotiate the stairs. Don’t get me wrong. I am sure that this museum has fine….even outstanding….collection of art. It simply wasn’t art that I particularly enjoy….or fully appreciate. My taste in art definitely lies in the area of abstract and contemporary art. My memory is becoming vague. The last time I visited the Denver Museum of Art was…..Wow! Many, many years ago. The memories of that now distant visit must have made a much better impression. Good enough to want to go back.

Denver also has a Museum of Contemporary Art. After some reflection, I suspect that all the abstract art has been removed from the Denver Art Museum….the one Fayez’s and visited…..and was used to form the new Contemporary Art Museum. Oh well…. When I made out agenda, I didn’t know that. And, the morning was far from a complete waste of time. We did see some important works of art….just not the genre of art that I as expecting. We broadened our artistic horizon a bit, I suppose….were exposed to something new and different….and that can’t be all bad. Can it?

After eating lunch…..somewhere….we headed for the Denver Museum of Science and Nature for our afternoon entertainment and enlightenment. This museum is located in what is probably Denver’s oldest and largest city park. It is also the home of the Denver Zoo and other attractions.

The huge parking lot was already filled when we arrived….a phenomenon that really didn’t surprise me. I got out in front of the building and waited while Fayez looked for a parking space. Fate must have been on his side. He found a place to park in the first row of parking spaces. I was hoping this was a good omen. We paid our entry fee….and there we were inside the huge (for Denver, at least) and rather bewildering array of options to explore. Again…..the museum had undergone a radical and complete metamorphosis since my last visit….Oh, so long ago.

Not only had the area been greatly expanded, but entire “feel” of the place had changed. It has obviously become much more “interactive” and hands-on. In fact, large areas of he museum appeared to have been designed and geared toward children. If this indeed was their goal…. They should give themselves an A+…..because they succeeded. And, as visible evidence of their obvious success…. The museum was teaming with school age kids. Big kids….little kids…. I would venture to say that kids outnumbered adults at least 2 to 1. Some of these little people were in organized groups under the general supervision of a teacher or other adult….probably on a class trip of some sort.

But, in general, most of them were running loose, so to speak. And…..kids can be obnoxious little things. Oh…. They are not intentionally obnoxious. This is just the way kids are….enthusiastic, impulsive, mostly oblivious to what is going on around them. If adults are like this, we call them arrogant, self-centered, narcissistic….morons, idiots…. But, with kids: they are just being kids. I understand why many museums have made this change…..orienting many of their exhibits toward youth. It is probably the only way they can stay in business. Catch them as early as you can….reel them in….make it a fun experience….offer them an experience they will remember and want to return to. As adults….parents….they will be more prone to taking their own kids there, too.

As a former educator, I am not finding fault with this practice. It is good…. And, we admittedly went on a not so favorable day. Not only were their class trips, but it was also Spring Break for many schools. The kids are at home. What better way to entertain them than take them to the museum….with plenty of sensory fun….visual and tactile. For an adult, though, who just wants to walk around peacefully…..undisturbed….leisurely: Well, several hundred or a few thousand kids put an end to this dream immediately.

 

 

 

 

But, disregarding the kids…..and it is difficult to do…..we spend an interesting two or three hours walking through the exhibits. There were absorbing displays relating to space, weather, health and medicine…. The exhibit that grabbed my attention and no doubt was the highlight of the visit for me was the section devoted to mining…more specifically to minerals and precious metals….even more specifically to the many examples of BERYL which were on display.

Beryl…..or beryllium… is the name of a semi-precious metal which is mined in Colorado…..as well as in other parts of the world. Normally, it is a blue-green color…sort of aquamarine…..but it has actually be found in other colors, too….blue, green, yellow, red, white. Pure beryl is colorless. It is the impurities that give it color. Actually, emeralds are nothing less than green beryl. Do you think that beryl is just another worthless mineral compound? Take a look at the pictures. Maybe that will change your mind. It is actually quite valuable. Maybe that is why my mother gave me that name!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The rest of the museum? Actually, I don’t remember much about it. As I said, there was a section devoted to out space…..and lots of kids. There was a section devoted to health and medical science….and lots of kids.

As we left the museum, I began to wonder: Maybe it would work out better if there was a section of the museum for school age visitors…..and another, better organized, more orderly section for adults. I accept the fact that this museum has actively chosen to orient its exhibits to children. It is not the kind of museum where artifacts from the past are displayed. When considering the name of the museum….The Museum of Science and Nature…..I suppose I should have put two and two together and figured this out before we went there. It simply is not a history museum. I suppose both kinds of museums serve a valid function. Quite frankly, however, I rather prefer history museums… And, to me, this is what the true connotation of the word actually means.

When we finished our rather perfunctory visit of the museum, my nose was completely stopped up….again. Back in our dreary motel room…..but at least with better lighting…. I looked up the location of more Immediate Care Clinics. I found one that was closer to the motel…..not the one where we went the previous night.

When we walked into the clinic, I was the only patient there. As soon as I showed my insurance cards to the receptionist, she was very friendly and eager to help. Of course, I had to fill out obligatory history of my life…..something I did half-heartedly. They would never see me again. How would they know that I had never had the plague?

Almost immediately after we walked into the clinic….probably within a couple minutes….at least 5 or 6 other people appeared….in quick succession. Wow…. Talk about timing! I got Fayez’s attention and wiped my brow in a symbolic sign of relief. I am assuming that people who come here cannot be turned down. At least, that is the impression I got from eve-dropping on some of the conversations. I also got the distinct impression that some of them had been there before. And, I further got the impression that the receptionist sort of had the attitude, “Oh….You again..Just sit down and wait.”

I didn’t see an M.D…..and I guess I really didn’t expect to. He was a Physician’s Assistant who got his training at Wichita State University. I thought that Fayez would be pleased to meet him. The nurse came back and said that nobody by the name of Fayez was sitting in the waiting room. Later I learned that as soon as I went into the examining room, he went outside….. Yes! You guess it. To play with his cell phone!

The young Physician’s Assistant was alarmed….and not very happy…..when I showed him the Afrin nasal spray I had been using for the past three weeks. He (almost) grabbed it, and threw it into the waste basket. “Stop using that immediately,” is ordered (in a semi-friendly sort of way). “That stuff does you ten times more harm that it does good.” Wow! I knew that the label says not to use it for more than three days. But, who reads….or believes….labels on over the counter medicine? Mostly, I have always thought, they are not really medicine anyway. However, the Afrin was actually helping my nose…..temporarily. It was the only way I could make it through the day, really. The Physician’s Assistant went on to explain all the damage it can do…..and in my case, all the damage that it had already done. “Don’t use it any more,” he admonished. How could I? He had already thrown it away. After chatting a few minutes about the NCAA Basketball Tournament….and the misfortune of Wichita State….he left, and a nurse came in and gave me a shot of some sort of steroid.

The steroid took effect almost immediately. Surprisingly fast! That must have been some strong stuff. The PA told me to buy some Claritin…..and some Flonaze. Those are “real” medicines, and they can be used almost without limit.

Ahhhh…. Now I was feeling better, so we headed to an out-of-the way restaurant called the Jerusalem Restaurant for our evening meal. The Jerusalem Cafe had good reviews on Yelp, and by the number of people who were there, a lot of people apparently know this. When we first got there, there were no empty tables, so we were directed to an outside eating area. This was OK with us….especially Fayez. We had only been sitting there for a few minutes, when a waitress told us there was an empty table…..if we didn’t mind sitting “upstairs”.

“Upstairs” involved squeezing past the cash registers, through an equally small door and walking up about a half flight of stairs. The cafe was packed….both on the main level and upstairs. Not only was it packed, but packed close together. One might say that it was a very “intimate” setting! Although we had our own table, we were elbow to elbow with our neighbors. Nobody seemed to mind the tight setting…..and neither did I. One of the good thing about crowded restaurants is that you are practically anonymous. Nobody pays any attention to you. They are so involved in their own conversations to be concerned with what is going on beside them.

In most states….and probably including Kansas…..the cafe would have made a perfect training film which might be called, “A Textbook of What NOT to Do if You Want Your Cafe to Pass a Safety Inspection.” This place hit all the buttons. It was upstairs; it was vastly overcrowded; there were no exits; there were no fire extinguishers (that I could see anyway.)

But, the food was delicious! That is why there were so many people there. Safety was probably the last thing on their mind as they enjoyed the tasty and outstanding food. Did I mention that this was a Middle Eastern restaurant? That is why we chose it. Of course, Fayez was in charge of ordering the food. And, he did a good job; he made some good choices. We…. Fayez, actually…..ordered two separate meals, one for each of us….and we shared the food when it arrived. We left filled to the brim….and contented…as we drove back to our dingy motel.

My luck was holding out…..or the steroids were holding out….because my breathing has more or less returned to normal. Man, I felt fortunate….and relieved. I slept through the night with no problems.

Tuesday was our final day in Colorado…..another day on the road. After fortifying ourselves at the excellent breakfast buffet, we got into the car and headed for The Garden of the Gods, down in the Colorado Springs area.

In order to make the drive as pleasant and scenic and dramatic as possible, I plotted the most mountainous route possible…..taking into consideration which highways were open this early in the year. Of course, the most breathtaking mountain highways were still closed because the winter snow fall. Despite the protests of Fayez…who is a slave to the GPS….we took MY route….the route I had already planned on using….of all things…..a map! Fayez thought we were doomed…..lost forever….as we drove along. Surely that large piece of paper with all those colorful lines on it couldn’t possible know anything, let alone get us to our destination. I mean…. How primitive can you get? Never mind that people have been using maps for thousands of ears. Even I…. This is the only way I have ever know to get from point A to point B. I have never gotten lost while using a map….something I certainly cannot say about the GPS. He surely must have been surprised as we made our orderly way along the highways.

The scenery was beautiful….maybe not spectacular, after all, the spectacular routes were closed…..and we stopped on occasion to take pictures of the mountain scenery. Much of the trip was at elevations of 8 or 9 thousand feet above sea, the mountain passes being even higher than that. At this high elevation, we rarely came to a village or town. After all, this would be a difficult place to establish and maintain any sort of services which sustain a town. The distance to the nearest large city or town would be much too far and inconvenient for most sane people. And, I can imagine that a person would have to possess the lungs of a mountain goat in order to even breathe up there. Certainly, I doubt if the high schools would have a cross-country team!

But, there were ranches….seemingly working and operating ranches….at this extreme altitude. Cattle were plentiful. They must have good lungs. Of course, they don’t move around a lot, either. Ranch houses and barns and corrals dotted the landscape. Of course, I don’t know….we didn’t do any sort of survey…..but I can well imagine that most….if not all…..of these ranchers were born and raised there and become well acclimated to the climate….and the lack of oxygen. We even saw school bus signs…..so apparently the kids went to school…..somewhere. The bus ride must have been a bummer…..like taking a trip every day….except they go to the same place every day.

As I sat in the car, looking out on the scenery, I felt OK. On the infrequent occasions when we stopped to take pictures, I felt somewhat unsteady, but nothing I couldn’t handle by being careful…..and often learning on the car to steady myself. Actually, everything seemed to be going well. I told Fayez about my misfortune….and misery….a couple summers ago when Sultan and I had camped in the mountains, and I spent sleepless nights because I was not able to breathe. (See “Sleepless in Colorado….”)

As we drove along, we talked about many things, not the least of which was what it would be like to live such as isolated life….miles from the nearest town….miles from the nearest neighbor….miles from any sort of amenity….miles from any sort of social interaction…. But, on the other hand….nobody forced them to live there. It is a life they chose….and apparently like…..maybe even prefer. I do feel rather sorry for the children, though. I think it would be rather tough not to see friends….to hang out with them…. And, can you imagine what it is like to drive to school and home each day. But, I can also imagine that as soon as a kid is old enough to have a driver’s license….they get one. I wonder what kind of attendance they have at their high school sports events? Mom and dad would have to be pretty dedicated to keep up with their son or daughter, considering that sometimes there are sporting events two….three….four times a week. Oh well…..

Somewhere, maybe three-fourths way to Garden of the Gods, we stopped in a small town for a restroom stop….and to pick up something to drink. Fayez bolted out of the car and was probably in the little store before I had even gotten out. I guess he had to “go” urgently! I felt rather unstable….wobbly…. But, after standing for a minute, I thought I could make it from our parking spot to the little store. I negotiated the parking lot in pretty good shape. But, as I approached the store, I felt “it” slipping away. “I need to hold on to something,” I was thinking…. But, what? I inched my way forward, trying to grab hold a pipe that was supporting an overhanging shelter on the front of the store. But, I felt myself going down….things just fading away…. I managed to reach out to the pole and pull myself up….after what I thought was only a nanosecond of time.

“OK, I will just stand here and act cool….like I am waiting for somebody,” I thought to myself. I really didn’t see anybody around, so I felt like I could simply stand there until Fayez returned….and he could help me back to the car. But, it was too late. It was more obvious than I thought it was. Some man, wearing an Olympic Training Center cap, came rushing over to me. I tried to act normal….nonchalant… But, he knew something was wrong, and stood with me, talking to me, asking how I felt….until Fayez came back out. Actually, I thought Fayez was going to walk right past me! But, he stopped….puzzled, I suppose…..feeling badly, I hope…..and then we walked slowly back to the car…. I would wait until a later time to go to the rest room!

Yes….. Some minutes later, at a lower elevation, we did stop at a rest area. I managed to successful complete the process.

We arrived at the Garden of the Gods in the early afternoon. For those of you who have never been there, it is an area of unusual rock formations jutting up from the ground. Some of them form unique, tooth-like shapes. The last time I visited the Garden of the Gods was….Wow….many years ago. And, as about everything else I have revisited lately, the changes are remarkable. The traffic has increased incredibly….parking is almost non-existent. And, as with all the other places…..almost with no exception…..the changes which have been made are not good changes. Oh yes, I suppose they were necessary to accommodate the vast increase in visitors. But, they have succeeded in making the park very user-unfriendly. What I remembered as a beautiful, relaxing drive through some spectacular and unique rock formations is now a steady stream of impatient tourists. About half of them are following you….just daring you to stop and impede their in-and-out progress. The other half are already stopped along the road….illegally, if there is such a thing as illegal around here….daring you to stop and wait for them to take pictures….or to risk plowing into an oncoming car….in order to get around them. Yellowstone all over again…..

After circling the park two or three times, luck finally smiled on us….and we gleefully pulled into a parking place, beating out probably four other cars! And, even it was not a “good” parking place….insofar as taking pictures was concerned. But, as they say, “Beggars can’t be choosers.” At least, we had the satisfaction of watching a few dozen other drivers continuing their search….and probably cussing us.

On an ideal day, we would have had a leisurely drive. And, this probably would have been an ideal day….being in the middle of March, far removed from the tourist season….except it was Spring Break, and everybody else in the nation was doing the same thing we were……Spring Breaking.

Some time ago when I was going through old pictures….scanning them and putting the into digital form so they can be preserved, hopefully forever…..I found an old black and white picture of me….taken when I was a freshman in college. We were in the Garden of the Gods….and I was photographed “holding up the Balanced Rock”. I am sure that at that time, I thought the picture was cute….and original….probably something that only I, in all my cleverness, would think of. But, back them I was a little more naive than I am now….not much, but a little bit. This picture has no doubt been taken ten million times over the years, by people who thought they were equally inventive and original.

Actually taking that same, exact picture was probably the only concrete goal I had for the excursion to the Garden of the Gods. The Balanced Rock is somewhat removed from the heavily traveled part of the park. There were lots of people there….but only a fraction of the number milling around in other parts of the park. I was very much anticipating the pictures…..a comparison of probably a 60 year time span. Pretty cute, again…..don’t you think? Age, perhaps 18 or so…..compared to age 79. Historic!

But, it was not to be. Again, blaming my faulty memory….or the passage of time….or more changes made by whoever maintains the park…..the Balanced Rock was located on a sort of ridge or cliff or hill….whatever… There was no stairway leading to it. The only way to approach it was to climb up to it….. It was not something only a mountain goat could do….but it was beyond what this guy could do. That was the end of that dream. It was the end of a dream for me…..so I did the best thing: I had a nightmare! No, not really. I took approximately the same picture of Fayez trying to do the same thing. Sort of a surrogate. His picture turned out to be a little more dramatic than my old picture. But….Fayez is probably a more dramatic person than I am. Well….not really.

 

 

 

 

 

There are lots of other interesting and exciting things to do in the Colorado Springs area. But, I was aware that Fayez probably was not interested in doing any of them….so we headed back to Denver.

The trip was uneventful. The scenery was beautiful…. I mean, this was Colorado. We made a couple stops for pictures, but, no doubt about it, the main goal was to get back to Denver. We were more or less following the map again. I could tell that Fayez was nervous. Surely, maps can’t be useful….can they? They don’t know where they are going. Can you trust them? After all, they have only been used for a few thousand years. Not nearly long enough to prove themselves. In order to rest, go to the restroom….and soothe Fayez’s nerves…..we stopped at a rather isolated, but inviting, coffee house called “Decker’s Corner”. After a refreshing stop, we continued on back to Denver and our final night in the dingy little motel room.

We ate supper in a Moroccan restaurant called the Sahara Restaurant. There was nothing Moroccan about the decor of the restaurant. It was decorated in a fake Middle Eastern style. But, nobody was fooled. People did not come there for the decor. They came for the food. And, there were a lot of people there, too. A surprising number…at least compared to what I expected. The restaurant was located in a nondescript strip mall in what seemed to be the southeast section of Denver. I have no idea what we ate. Fayez selected it. The food was delicious….outstanding. This could have been the highlight of our day.

Well….as they say, all good things must come to an end. It wasn’t all good….but at least for now, most of the physical misery had been alleviated….thanks to the Flonase and the Claratin….and the steroid shot! Not only did we see some spectacular scenery and relax in some quaint and historic towns…..but I also learned a valuable lesson…. Get rid of the Afrin!

After eating our final breakfast in the well stocked breakfast bar, we had one more important piece of business to accomplish. Maybe it was the most important thing that I saw. We (Fayez) kept putting it off….. It was always, “Let’s do it tomorrow.” Well, now there were no more “tomorrows”. So before leaving Denver, we paid a visit to Mile High Stadium…. Bronco’s Stadium….the home field of my favorite pro-football team…..the Denver Broncos. This was definitely “the best of times”. After gazing fondly on it for a few minutes….and taking some pictures for posterity….we broke ourselves away…..and headed back home to the Ranch.                                                                                                                         

We reached our KOA Campground late on a Friday afternoon. It would be our home for the next seven nights. I had wanted to camp in one of the state parks along the Pacific Ocean….specifically Beverly Beach, just north of Newport, Oregon. But, in order to be fortunate enough to reserve one of those cabins….or, in this case, a Yurt….a person has to make the reservation probably one year in advance. Or plan to stay there before the rush of the tourist season starts around the last of May and extends through probably the first week of school for the Western States. We were not able to do that…..and this was the first time since I have been vacationing on the Oregon Coast that I had to settle for a KOA Campground.

This trip to the Oregon Coast was no doubt….how should I put this?….the worst trip I have had. That is just sort of how it turned out:

1. We were not camping on the ocean front.

2. My knee was hurting badly….and the pain was increasing, making it nearly impossible to walk in the sand.

3. Sultan was not nearly as excited about the ocean as I am. In fact, he was decidedly unenthusiastic about any degree of exploring or adventure.

4. The beaches and the highways were much more crowded than I have ever seen them before.

I am not saying that I did not have a good time during the time we stayed on the Oregon Coast. It is just that I have had better

times…..much better times.

The biggest problem….first and foremost….was my knee. It was hurting progressively worse as time went by. Second….the shortness of breath and disorientation that still persisted. Even a few steps in the sand was almost unbearable. Literally, it was four or five steps…..stop and rest… Four or five more steps….stop and rest…. And, all the time was was clinging to Sultan for fear of falling on my face…..and most of the time that would be been in front of dozens of other people.

Most days, however, we managed to take our camping chairs….or at least, I would take my chair….and sit on the

beach for a couple hours. Once we had reached the edge of the ocean where the waves had washed ashore, the sand was firm, and walking was much easier….and much less painful. And, once I was comfortably sitting in my camping chair, the ocean air was refreshing….and the sound of the waves was comforting and soothing. The sight of the waves….constantly rolling in with their never-ending cycles is awe inspiring. The ocean is mysterious….inscrutable. I don’t think I can ever tire of the magnetic attraction of the ocean.

Normally, one of my favorite activities on the beach is searching for agates….those translucent stones that wash up on shore from…..who knows where? Over the years, I have collected…..and polished…..hundreds of them. In years past, it was fun to wade out into the waves….slowly and carefully, of course…..until the waves were lapping at my thighs….or, if I was brave…..my stomach. The last time I was there, Fayez spent hours on the beach flying his kite….while I took pictures! We looked for….and found….secluded beaches where we would not be disturbed….where we could enjoy the solitude of the ocean….and the sound of the waves. But…. Not this year. I was lucky to be able to walk to the beach….and back to the car.

We saw a lot of the ocean….took dozens of pictures. But, there was no exploring. Sultan simply did not find the ocean to be as alluring and appealing as I do. But… That is OK.. There will be other years….other opportunities. Sultan did 100% of the driving….Bless his heart! If I had been driving, I am sure we would have spent hours exploring…..searching out beautiful, but deserted, beaches. Actually, I already know where most of them are. It is just a matter of driving to them…..

 

 

 

 

 

But….. It was my knee that was the problem. If my knee had been healthy, the entire situation would have been different. On the second or third day in Oregon, we found a walk-in clinic. The personnel were polite and attentive…. The doctor asked the right questions…. But, without x-rays and more extensive examination, there was little she could do for me…. They are accustomed to treating immediate

problems….problems that have a more short term solution. The doctor, just like I, suspected that I had twisted my my knee….or sprained it….or had stretched a tendon or ligament….. The word “arthritis” was never mentioned….or probably even thought about. “Keep off it. Keep it elevated. Keep ice on it.” Those were her logical instructions….. None of which were really possible to obey. None of which dealt directly with the (at that time, unknown) problem.

On the Oregon Coast there are other interesting and entertaining things to do besides hang out on the beach…..especially when I had already spent more than a dozen summer vacations there. But, as everybody probably knows, what is fun and entertaining to one person is not necessarily fun and entertaining to another person. I think this was the basic situation this summer while Sultan and I were there. Maybe due to all the health problems I was having at the time, this became more pronounced….or

more accentuated….or more evident…..something. But, the simple fact is: Sultan is not nearly so attracted or excited about the ocean as I am. Maybe this is because he lives closer to a large body of water….albeit not an ocean….than I do. You would think that a desert dweller would be wildly excited about water….the beach…. Of course, they have lots of sand. But the beach at the Pacific Ocean not only has lots of sand….but also water.

We did spend a few hours exploring some of the quaint little stores in Depoe Bay…..the picturesque little village south of Lincoln City….a charming small town with only one main street that runs parallel to the ocean. And, it will stay this way. Right across the highway is the Pacific Ocean. It is a tourist town….pure and simple. It is, however, appealing and charismatic….without being overtly phony. It is one of the centers of whale watching on the central Oregon Coast.

We strolled up and down the sidewalk on the only business street, gazing into the windows at the merchandise that always looks attractive….but that I certainly do not need… or passing iconic little cafes selling clam chowder, shrimp, clams, oysters…. The aroma that drifted out onto the sidewalk was tempting. But, it was ten o’clock in the morning…and far too early to start a day of unnecessary eating, despite what our nose and taste buds were pleading for. There are also signs inviting us to take a trip out into the Pacific Ocean…..the excitement, the adventure, the thrill…. Actually, I have done that before…. Take my word for it…. There is only water here….water there….water everywhere. And, it all looks the same!

Our main purpose was to find an Oregon Coast t-shirt for Sultan. I am sure we walked into every souvenir store in Depoe Bay….looked at every shirt that was for sale….and found:

Nothing. It was somewhat frustrating and disappointing. One would think that out of the hundreds of t-shirts on display…..there would be one special shirt that would immediately stand out. That shirt that has “I am the One” written all over it…. But, either that shirt was not there….anywhere, or it was speaking a different language.

Our second mission was to carry on one of my fondest traditions: Buy some fudge and some toffee from one of the many shops who specialize in making this delicious and sinfully delicious confection. This is a mission where it is almost impossible to go wrong. It is all good. I don’t know if each little shop makes their own candy….or whether it is simply mass produced in Taiwan. But, no matter…. It is good!

The Bay Front….the waterfront….in Newport…..is always an interesting way to wile away some time. It too is a bustling

street….this time on both sides of the street….bordering the Newport Bay. It is also lined with its own variety of shops, restaurants and bars. It is probably a little more “high class” than Depoe Bay, however, Some of the souvenir shops….or galleries…sell originally and (supposedly) locally produced crafts….all with a nautical theme, of course. In fact, it was there….in one of those galleries….that I first got the idea of making my own stained glass art. At the time, little did I suspect that twenty or thirty years later, I would have made somewhere around sixty of my own stained glass creations. So….chalk up a point for the Newport waterfront!

On the Bay side of the street are the fish canneries….the docks…..the fishing boats. On the opposite side of the street are the more traditional retail establishments…..the souvenir shops, the galleries, bars, restaurants, etc. Merchandise, as well as services, do not come cheap here. But, that is why people are here…..to spend money. And, the merchants know it. I seriously doubt if we could have found even one permanent resident of Newport….aside from the employees….walking on the sidewalks or in any of the stores. It is strictly a tourist venue. It is a place for tourists like Sultan and me to leisurely walk up and down the sidewalk, peering into the windows, and maybe even going inside to handle the merchandise and who knows? Perhaps even buy something. It is a place to buy a meal of expensive sea food…..maybe caught just off the Oregon Coast….and maybe imported from Japan or the Gulf Coast. Nobody really cares.

It is a place to stand and watch the fishing boats enter or depart the docks….and if you are lucky, to see the fish being unloaded and perhaps even cleaned. But don’t expect to find any bargains on the sea food. Many people have the mistaken idea that sea food is dirt cheap in these little coastal towns and village. For the people who think this is true…. They will suffer a severe case of sticker shock. I have never seen anybody

carried off to the hospital in an ambulance, but I have seen the incredulous and disappointed expressions on many tourists’ faces…..and I have heard the murmuring of disbelief when they see the prices. And, I hasten to say…..the price of all the sea food is clearly marked, so nobody ends up working on a fishing boat for a week to pay for the fish they just naively bought.

The only other long-standing tradition that I have when visiting the Oregon Coast is to eat on Mo’s. Mo’s is an Oregon Coast culinary icon….easily the most famous eating place on the Coast. And, at least, in my opinion, the reputation is well deserved. Mo’s is famous for its clam chowder….but all of the sea food is top quality and, again in my opinion, unparalleled in its quality and taste.

I ate there on my first real vacation on the Oregon Coast in 1978….and it has been a continuous tradition in each succeeding vacation. The restaurant….and I hate to downgrade its status by calling it a restaurant….was founded back in the 1950….and has expanded to a “chain” of maybe five or six additional eating establishments up and down the Central Oregon Coast. The most iconic restaurants are located in Newport and at the Devil’s Punch Bowl on a cliff overlooking the Pacific Ocean a few miles north of Newport.

Quite by accident, I think, I had read an article about Mo’s…really never expecting to actually eat there. But, as we were exploring the coastline, we took one of the hundreds of little “detours” off the highway to see a place called Devil’s Punch Bowl….and quite unexpectedly, there in front of us was Mo’s. We did not want to pass up this opportunity. So…. We ate our evening meal at my very first

Mo’s….clam chowder, salad and cheesy French toast…..and a glass of hot wine. I have never missed eating at Mo’s in any of the succeeding trips. In recent visits, we ate at the almost equal historic and iconic Mo’s on the Bay Front in Newport. It is larger….but full of its original charm and history.

But, what is a tradition for one person….me…. If not necessarily a “future” tradition for others. Yeah…. Sultan had little interest in or curiosity about eating at Mo’s. Oh… Yes, we did eat at Mo’s. He did not want to drive down to Newport….or even The Devil’s Punch Bowl….so we settled by eating at Mo’s in Lincoln City. The food was excellent, as usual. But, Mo’s in Lincoln City is “new”….and it lacked the historic charm and unknown secrets that it holds from the past. Who knows. Though? Maybe it will also become a part of the tradition for future trips. Well….. Don’t count on it. I am sure that is not going to happen.

Our time on the Oregon Coast had come to an end. We left the mysteries of the Pacific Ocean and looked forward to spending a day among the equally inscrutable big trees of the Redwood National Forest in Northern California. Just like the ocean, it also impossible to describe the grandeur of the mighty redwoods. Sure, I have taken dozens of pictures of the redwood forest. But, when a person looks at them, he is comparing giant a redwood with another giant redwood. There is nothing to give it perspective. There are no oak trees or elm trees…. If there were, these trees that might seem to be “mighty” in a forest of their own would be

dwarfed in the shadows of the redwoods.

One way to get somewhat of an idea of their mammoth size is to try and put one’s arms around one. Even a basketball player with long, dangling arms cannot even hope to cover the surface that is facing him. To merely tell a person the redwoods are awesome…or even to show pictures….is vastly inadequate. In order to fully appreciate a forest of redwoods, a person, I think, has to actually stand in the midst of them….. To gaze upward into the heavens….to stand beside them and know first hand how insignificant we are in comparison…..to find a fallen tree, climb up on its trunk and walk the distance from beginning to end. And, don’t worry, you are not going to fall off, not even if you want to. A person must walk among them and absorb the silence, the shade, the protection of a thousand trees towering above.

But, do not walk too far into the forest. The trees are much like the ocean. There is a sameness about the forest…… Look ahead, there are trees; look to the right, more trees; look the left…..look behind you. There are trees; you are surrounded by trees. Basically, they all look the same. There are no landmarks. The silence, the trees….all those trees…. It can quickly become disorienting. You are walking through the peaceful bliss of the forest….and all of a sudden, you realize, “Where am I?” There may be a moment of panic. Which way did I come from? You turn around and start walking back…. But… Was this the way I came from? Where is the road? Where is my car?

This happened to me only once! And once was enough. We learned our lesson. Luckily we had not walked very far into the forest. When we realized that maybe we had better turn back……we looked. Where was my car? we started walking…. we were fortunate, we heard cars passing on the road. we walked to toward the sound of the cars. Eventually, we found our way back to the road…..but it was few hundred yards from the car. Like I said, walking in the redwood forest is much like being on water…. You had better have a plan for getting safely back to the point where you started. For the most part, the sun is rather blocked out….all the trees look the same. It is better to follow an established trail….and to stay on that trail. Or simply do not walk so far into the forest….Keep an eye on your car. Never let it out of sight.

An average redwood tree is somewhere in the range of 30 feet in diameter. Think about that. It is probably somewhere around 94 feet in circumference. That is why not very many people can but their arms around them! A typical redwood is normally between 250 and 300 feet tall…..the really tall ones are even taller. That is higher than a football field is long. From just one of these trees, there is enough lumber to construct 40 5-room houses. Wow, I live in a small 5-room house. Forty more houses….maybe even

a little larger than mine…..can be build using only one tree. And….then…. What I think is probably the most remarkable statistic about a redwood tree: Many of them are at least 2000 years old. And….this is a statistic that I also read back during my very first visit in 1978. This means they were actually growing in Northern California when Christ lived his short life on earth in the Middle East.

For those of you who have been to the Redwood National Forest, you probably know what I am talking about. Merely talking about them does not do justice. No doubt the only way to really comprehend these giant trees…..a vast forest of these giant trees….is to go there and experience it. If you are a person who thinks he is a big shot….pretty important….walking among the redwoods will cut you

down to size in a hurry!

The next day was spent driving from our campground in Manchester, California, to Reno, Nevada. The trip turned out to be one of the worst drives of the entire trip. I am not sure how it happened….Maybe it was the fault of the GPS… Normally the trip is an idyllic trip though some scenic mountains….with the vast stretch of some dry, but irrigated farmland filling the valley between two mountain ranges. This year we were routed onto a crowded multi-lane highway that took us on a circuitous route that scraped the northern fringes of San Francisco. Like I said….I don’t know how we got on this highway, but it was boring, stressful, and seemingly never-ending. And, believe me…. It will never happen again.

 

 

 

We spent the high in Reno. I used to call it the “Little Las Vegas”. Back in the good old days, it was a major gambling and entertainment town. It was bustling with activity. As the sun went down….the volume of traffic on the sidewalk went up. Many times I almost had to hold hands with the person I was with in order for us to stay together. Either fortunately or unfortunately, the problem did not occur this time. Virginia Avenue, the main casino street in Reno, was basically deserted. There were a few other people out wandering around, but Sultan and I certainly did not face the problem of staying together….and we did not hold hands!

As is my usual custom, we ate our dinner at Circus Circus…..taking advantage of their mega-buffet at a semi-reasonable price. I used to know exactly where the buffet was located….and we could walk directly to it. The location had changed, and it took some searching….a lot of searching, in fact…..in order to find it. In fact, I was becoming apprehensive that maybe they had closed it down. But…. We found it. It was as delicious as I remembered it being. And, I think Sultan was pleased, too.

When we finished eating, we found ourselves in a somewhat of a maze of slot machines and blackjack tables. Finally, we spotted an exit sign…..and made our way toward it. Casinos are constructed with no windows….no source of outside light….so it is difficult to keep directions oriented. Sort of like the redwood forest! But, luck was with us….and within in minutes, we found ourselves back out onto the street. But…. Now where we

entered. In fact, on first glance, we had no idea where we were. To begin with…. We entered the Circus Circus Casino…..and somehow we exited through the El Dorado Casino. It was like we were caught up in one of their magic shows. We started searching for a sign that said “Virginia Avenue”. Once were were back on a street we had heard of, we glanced up and saw that an overhead passageway connected the two casinos. No wonder we felt disoriented. I still have no idea how we wandered through the passageway….from one casino or another…..or why the passageway even existed. Probably the two casinos had merged together into one company. However, I don’t know…..and I really do not care.

For some reason much of Virginia Avenue had been blocked to traffic, and even though nothing was happening, the barriers were still in place. We were able to walk in the street, a factor which made it seem like there were even fewer people. But, it also gave us a better perspective to take pictures. We snapped pictures of the iconic “Reno” sign….and most of the casinos. There was little else to do, though. Sultan was too young to gamble….and I had no desire to gamble…..so we slowly made our way back to our motel…..also located on Virginia Avenue.

After leaving Sin City “Junior”, we faced a day-long trip across the Nevada desert to Salt Lake City. It really is not as bad as it may sound….especially if there is somebody to talk to and laugh with and make the time go by a little more quickly. Fortunately, this has always been the case for me…..and it certainly as the case this year. I had Sultan to talk to. The day held another rare treat, too. This was the day of the historic complete eclipse of the sun. A few weeks earlier, my mechanic had given me two pairs of “cheap” glasses to be used for viewing the eclipse. I just about left them at home….thinking we probably would not be in a place to look at it. Luckily, I put them into my briefcase….and I am glad I did. At the appointed hour…..around 10:30 or so in the morning…..we pulled into a lonely rest stop somewhere in the Nevada desert. Under normal conditions, probably nobody would have been there, except us. But, on this day other people had the

same goal as we did: Watch the total eclipse of the sun.

Of we had stayed in Lincoln City, Oregon, for another few days, we would have been in the direct path of the eclipse. Or, if we had stayed at home, we would also have been extremely near the direct path of the eclipse. However, we pulled into the rest stop, rather surprised to see so many people already there….gazing intently toward the sky through their specially made viewing glasses (I hope.) Merely driving along I-80, it was impossible to determine the extent of the eclipse in western Nevada. A haze….sort of a shadow….was evident. But, we both knew enough not to look up directly at the sun.

When we stopped and looked through our glasses, I was surprised to see that the eclipse was approximately 85%…. Eighty-five percent of the sun was blocked. We stood beside our rental car and looked at the phenomenon for several minutes. Sultan was especially fascinated, I think. This was the first time he had observed any sort of eclipse…..so I can imagine it was rather astounding for him. Eventually, we drove on…..although we did stop beside the highway at least once to get out and check the progress of the eclipse.

Just a few miles across the Utah border is the vast Great Salt Desert….several square miles of completely flat land covered with a thick layer of salt. The salt is the last remnants of an ancient inland ocean or sea that covered the area millions of years ago. Its surface is to perfectly level that it has long served as a testing ground for various speed tests conducted not only by private companies, but also by the United States government. There is not much to do there….except look….and be amazed by the miles of salt that stretch for as far as the eye can see.

 

 

 

 

 

Good old Salt Lake City. I have been there on every trip I have taken to the West Coast…..and that is several. I am not a Mormon….and I do not even believe many of their doctrines…..but I always enjoy visiting Temple Square and the neighboring Conference Center. Temple Square is the site of the iconic Mormon Tabernacle and the Mormon Temple. The actual church headquarters is located a few blocks away in a sleek high rise building. Apparently their church governing hierarchy is extensive enough to require a 20 story building….in addition to other building scattered across downtown Salt Lake City.

Temple Square is a walled compound covering probably four square city blocks….two blocks in each direction. Within its walls are peaceful, well-tended gardens, along with the Tabernacle, the temple crowned with a golden statue of Maroni (look him up), a church building and a couple visitors’ centers. Almost the instant a person enters one of four gates, he is accosted by two young female guides or hostesses….always with a smile on their faces. These young guides come from all over the world and serve for a total of 18 months. This is their form of church service….a counterpart of the male missionaries that serve for an equal period of time in a foreign country. These young guides will either take you on a personal tour of the compound….or more than likely, direct you to a regular tour group that is being conducted by similar guides.

The Mormon Tabernacle is….or me, at least….the highlight of the tour. In fact, it is really the only part that I really care about. The great egg-shaped building is a fascinating example of practical ingenuity both in its shape and in its structure. The original building was constructed using wooden pegs and leather straps to bind the building material together…..instead of metal nails which were not accessible to them at the time. The balcony is built on “stilts”, and at no point does it touch the outer wall. This is a major contributing factor to the almost perfect acoustics of the building…..a feature for which is is famous. All of the columns are made of pine wood…..and stained to look like marble. Actually, it was not until I had been there a few times that I realized amazing optical illusion. The benches are original….extremely uncomfortable. Maybe intentionally in order to keep people awake during services.

 

 

 

 

 

The centerpiece of the Tabernacle is the giant, iconic Mormon Tabernacle Organ, with its trademark pipes covering the front of the building…..and the organ with its five keyboards and dozens of stops.

Somehow….and I do not remember exactly how or when…. I started listening to “Music and the Spoken Word” on the radio. This is the longest-running program on radio….still active today. I would sit and listen to the program on WIBW in Topela….even though I lived in Lyons….before I went to church on Sunday morning. I was addicted to the sound of the choir….and especially to the tabernacle organ. And, it was a rare and exciting treat to be able to watch one of their Christmas specials on TV. To me, the Mormon Tabernacle Choir and Organ were the epitome….the supreme example….of what a choir should sound like. But, like all good things….. As time passed, even the Mormon Church decided it had to “keep up with the times”. So, it added an orchestra….and relegated the organ to a rather minor role. Instead of being the supreme example of a church choir and organ….it became just another show-business act, trying to appeal to the “masses”….and trying to sell its recordings. At least…. That is my opinion.

The two visitors’ centers are a modern, high-tech display of the Mormon religion…of their doctrine and beliefs. It is done subtly and in a low-keyed manner. Actually, most of their religious message is presented in the form of short films. The person viewing the films….as a form of entertainment…. is probably not aware that he is actually being indoctrinated. On the other hand….. Most of them probably are not watching the films anyway.

 

 

 

 

 

After crossing the street to the Conference Center, we received a personal tour of the truly huge building by a personable guide. Fortunately, we could tell him the truth…. We had only 30 minutes left on our parking meter, and we were more or less in a hurry. The Conference Center houses the largest, unobstructed line-of-site auditorium in the USA….if not the world. It is a truly an amazing place. The Conference Center, too, as might be expected, is also home to a huge pipe organ….although not as ornate as the one in the Tabernacle. Twice a year,

Mormons from all over the globe….by invitation….come and participate in one of the semi-annual conferences. Rather amazing, considering the fact that not so many years ago, non-white or non-Caucasian people where not even accepted or welcomed as members of the church.

After leaving Temple Square, we were looking forward to additional sightseeing, but just like Yellowstone, for example, traffic was overwhelming. After driving around in circles a few time and looking unsuccessful for a parking spot, we gave up and concluded our attempt and visiting anything else…..except for a quick drive-through at the campus of the University of Utah.

The next two days were spent driving through Zion

National Park and Bryce Canyon National Park. Both of these national parks are packed with magnificent scenery. The rock formations are truly spectacular. Over the thousands of years, nature has worked its magic as only Nature can do. The wind….and maybe water, also….has chiseled the rocks into a beauty that only God can imagine. The shapes and forms are grandiose in scale….and intricate in design. The domes and peaks, the valleys and the canyons are elegantly formed….colored with hues of yellows, oranges, reds, and browns….and are framed by the bright green of the forests

that hover in the background.

Sultan said that Zion National Park is the better of the two….and he maybe right. But as I think back on them, they are almost interchangeable in my mind. Both of them begin at a low elevation and the highway winds its way upward, offering imposing views of the breathtaking vistas. There are numerable view-points in each of the parks that invite visitors to absorb the dazzling backdrop of Nature’s handiwork.

The National Park Service reports that Zion National Park is the 6^th most visited national park in the nation….right behind Yellowstone National Park. Judging by our experiences in Yellowstone….and also on the Oregon Coast….we were prepared for the worst…..traffic congestion….and more Japanese (!)…. However, we were pleasantly surprised to find that although the traffic was steady, there was no congestion…..and we had no problem parking in any of the observation point parking lots. Initially, we were concerned when we pulled into the parking lot of the visitor’s center in Zion National Park. The parking lot was packed….literally. This caused a few minutes of mild panic. But, as we started our trip into the park, we figured out that many….maybe even most….of the tourists had elected to park their cars and take the free shuttle buses that run through the park at regular intervals.

 

 

 

 

If our theory is indeed correct, this could well be a model the National Park Service may be well advised to follow in all of the national parks….at least the busy ones. This is a point that Sultan and I discussed….at least, I did. Sultan probably just sat and listened…. In heavily attended parks, such as Yellowstone, these open air tour buses would serve a couple important services. The most obvious service would be to eliminate the congestion that exists on the interior roads for the entire season. Traffic

would move smoothly. There would be no parking problems. Tourists can relax and enjoy the ride….and the scenery. Frequent stops would be made to insure that they do not miss any of the important sights. People would be able to get on and off any bus at their leisure. For those tourists who merely want a quick view and a picture, they can hop off the bus, take their picture and get back on the next bus that comes along. If buses arrive and depart every 5 or 10 minutes, this would be a convenient, non-frustrating way to see the park. If they are the kind of tourist….and there are a lot of them….that leave the car running, send their kids to take a picture….and are gone in 30 seconds. Well…. Tough luck. This will force them to “stop and smell the roses”….enjoy the park, maybe even see something they didn’t expect to see.

 

 

 

 

The second advantage seems to be that it will do wonders to preserve the ecosystem of whatever park we are talking about. Air pollution will be cut drastically….hopefully enabling natural plant and animal life to better grown and prosper. Simply improving the quality of life in the park will increase the longevity of the park….and the living organisms that we are trying to save and sustain.

Other by-products such as lower maintenance costs and lower personnel costs will also benefit.

OK…. So, even if the scenery in both Zion National Park and Bryce Canyon National Park are very similar….at least, to me. Sultan and I enjoyed the time we spent in both of them. We were fascinated and mesmerized by their splendor. And…. We were ready to move on.

 

 

 

 

Friday was another drive through seemingly endless desert and low mountain to Williams, Arizona, gateway to the Grand Canyon. After spending the night in a KOA Kamping Kabin, we started out early on Saturday morning to enjoy one of the premier natural attractions in the U.S.A. I had been to the Grand Canyon previously. It was in the 1978….almost 40 years ago. I had only vague recollections of what it looked like….although, of course, like everybody else, I have seen thousands of pictures.

There are, however, two things that stand out in that first trip of 40 years ago. At that time, I had a Pentax slide camera….with detachable lens….a telephoto lens and a wide angle lens….in addition to the regular lens. Buying and developing film was expensive. Back in those days, a person chose camera shots carefully: a representative shot of this, a representative shot of that. I recall taking pictures of what I thought was important and would remind me of the visit. I kept taking pictures and taking pictures. “Wow,” I thought, “I am getting a lot of pictures from this roll of

film.” That evening as we were camping….somewhere along the side of the road…. It hit me like a ton of bricks! The film had not caught on the sprocket. The film was not advancing through the camera. I had taken absolutely no pictures! Yeah…. I had snapped the shutter….but no pictures. My spirit was crushed! No pictures of the Grand Canyon! It was evening….far too late to do anything about it. So, on my first trip to the Grand Canyon, I returned home with Zero pictures.

The second thing that stands out in my mind about that first trip was something entirely unrelated to the trip. We found a relatively secluded place to camp for the night….back away from the road….in a little grove of trees. We proceeded to set up out tent for the night. Then we saw something we did not want to see: huge red ants. Huge red

ants crawling everywhere! They were giants. And, I can well imagine that one bite from one of them would put a person in a world of hurt. We stacked our stuff onto the picnic table while we debated what to do. Fortunately, as the sun disappeared from the sky, the ants apparently called it a day….and they, too, disappeared. Back into their underground burrows for the night, I suppose.

So….. If those two incidents were the highlights of our trip to the Grand Canyon, you can imagine how long ago it must have been….or how little we saw of the place.

 

 

 

 

But, not so this year. Sultan and I drove the entire distance of the Canyon….from the middle to the west; and after retracing out route…. then from the middle to the east. Maybe not the most time efficient way to do it. But…. Too late now. We have already seen it.

What can I say about the Grand Canyon that has not already been said? To begin with….it was not as crowded as I had expected it to be. Except for the parking lots at the tourists facilities…..and they were packed. As we drove the length of the canyon, we easily found parking places at all of the “pull-in” overlooks. And, also as I expected, the Japanese tourists were still following our every move! They were everywhere. I seriously doubt if any of them had a clue about the Grand Canyon…. How is was formed…. How long it took to form it….. The name of the river at the bottom of the canyon….. Or probably even what state is is in….. They saw it in a guide book….and there they were.

 

 

 

 

The Grand Canyon is fascinating…. It is truly “Grand”….. It is awe-inspiring….. It is mesmerizing….. Depending on the time of day….the angle of the sun…..where you are standing…. The colors of the rock formations change hues….various shades of red, orange, yellow, brown….are accentuated. And, the colors change as the light changes….as a person changes his viewing position or viewing angle….

As I stood or sat and looked out over the canyon, my eyes picked up hundreds of intricate details of delicate rock formations or exquisite colors…. The longer I sat and looked, more subtle details became evident. It is almost hypnotizing to sit and look down and out across the canyon. The old adage says, “You have to be there to appreciate it.” This, I think, is definitely true of the Grand Canyon. I have seen hundreds of pictures….most of them impressive and beautiful. But, my eyes are my best camera. Only they can fully interpret and decode the majesty and splendor that lies in front of them.

And….unfortunately…..all I was able to do that day was to be an observer. I hobbled from car to the viewpoints, all too eager to sit and “let my eyes to the walking”. Let me state….and state honestly….it was an accomplishment to even walk to the edge of the canyon where I could sit or stand and appreciate the great beauty of the canyon. The Grand Canyon can be a very interactive place. There are ample opportunities to walk along trails to become part of the experience. There is the famous Angel Trail that leads to the bottom of the canyon.

No, no, no….. I would not have hiked to the bottom of the canyon. Maybe thirty or even twenty years ago….maybe. But, I would have most certainly have walked some of the easier trails. But, like so many of our other national parks, most people come…look….take a few pictures….and leave. That is the category where I found myself…..but definitely not because that is the way I wanted it.

 

 

 

 

Even though I was not able to do any hiking, I encouraged Sultan to go exploring on his own. We agreed that he would be gone for about an hour. I gave him my camera….and off he want….leaving me rather forlornly alone. I sat and looked out over the canyon for a while….watched the tourists….and then returned to our rental car….and took a nap. When Sultan returned perhaps 60 or 80 minutes later, he was excited and exhilarated by his hike….of the scenery he had enjoyed….of watching other tourists…of various ages and states of physical fitness….as they also attempted to become part of the Grand Canyon experience.

After having covered the entire length of the canyon, we headed back to our campground in Williams…..both excited and satisfied with the experiences of the day. Both Sultan and I felt we had both seen and experienced the Grand Canyon. Maybe Sultan just a little more than I, however. We knew that it was not merely a “touch and go” experience. But, we had actually gained a rather well founded appreciation for the park.

We capped off our Grand Canyon experience by a visit to seemingly the only buffet available in Williams. The restaurant itself was unremarkable. It was an unusual….and embarrassing….experience that made the evening “memorable”. As we entered the restaurant, we paid for our meal up front…first…. I handed the woman at the cash register my debit card and asked her for some extra money to leave as a tip. She informed us that she was not allowed to give us any extra money….even though it would be charged to the debit card. This was an answer that I have never, ever, gotten for a request for extra money for a tip. Most places are all too happy to give the money….as much as I want.

I looked at Sultan. “Do you have any money?” It turned out that neither of us had and cash on us. I told her. She was sympathetic….but no extra money. “It’s OK…. Just want until your waiter has gone into the kitchen…..and then get up and hurry out!” was her solution. Actually, it was the only solution, I suppose! And, that is what we did. I felt rather bad about doing it…..but in reality, it was the restaurant’s fault. I wonder how many poor waiters are cheated out of a tip each day because of this policy of not giving the diners extra cash? To make the situation even more embarrassing, we were seated directly in front of a guy who was playing his guitar and singing. All through our meal, people would come up and put money into a jar….which I can imagine was the only money he made for his entertainment. But…. Not us. We tried to avoid looking at him….like that was going to do any good. But, fate was with us. He took a break….and keeping a careful eye out for our waiter…. We got up quickly and lost no time as we

headed for the door.

Our final sightseeing destination was Mesa Verde National Park….the Cliff Dwellings….in southwestern Colorado…..with an intermediary stop at the Four Corners. The Four Corners is the only spot in the U.S. A. where four state touch each other….Colorado, Arizona, Utah and New Mexico. It is not part of the national park system. It is owned and operated by American Indians. Thus, as one might expect, it is not so easy to drive to. The location is remote….in the middle of the desert, in fact.

I have been to the Four Corners three or four times previously, but this was, of course, the first time for Sultan. The afternoon we were there….a Monday….the sun was beating down relentlessly….with hardly a cloud in the sky. There are very few amenities….no cafes, no air-conditioned malls, no green parks with shade trees. It is just there….sitting in the middle of the barren desert. It is not like they had a choice, though. I suppose it may have been coincidental that Native Americans happened to own this land…. This land where four states just happen to join each other.

The site itself is merely a large polished concrete circle with the boundary of each state leading to the point where they touch each other. For those flexible enough….and I am not one of them….a favorite pose it to “be” in each of the four states at the same time. This is done obviously by putting one foot in each state and each hand in one state. Sultan, too, chose to merely stand and have our picture taken.

The monument itself….the large circle with the state boundaries etched on it….is completely surrounded by souvenir kiosks where the Indians are selling all sorts of souvenirs….predominately jewelry. I have no idea if this merchandise is produced locally….or if it is imported. It is pretty, and for those who like this sort of stuff, it makes a good souvenir to take back home. The afternoon Sultan and I were there, the attendance was sparse, so we had plenty of time to check out some of the stands….although neither of us had any interest in buying anything.

There was one item in which we were very interested… At least, I was. That is the native flat bread that the Indians make. I call it “Indian bread”…..but I doubt if that is the correct name. I had eaten this bread on previous visits…..and, take my word for it: It is super delicious. On the trip that Fayez and I took to the Four Corners a couple years ago, I had played up this bread as the possible highlight of the entire trip. We were both highly anticipating eating some of it. But….as usually happens in cases like this, the day we were there, we couldn’t find anybody selling it. Authentic Indian bread is only sold by Native Americans. It is not sold at Walmart! And it is made on a grill right before your eyes. Individuals work out of little kiosks. You order the bread….and sit at a makeshift picnic table to eat it. (Or, you can take it with you, too, I suppose.) So….Fayez and I left disappointed.

Sultan and I were much luckier. We spotted an Indian bread stand and headed straight toward it. We placed our order and talked to the friendly American Indian woman while she prepared the bread for us. With the sun beating down from a cloudless sky, the temperature was scorching. We took our bread….and some non-Indian made soft drinks….and returned to our car to eat it. Sultan wholeheartedly agreed that the Indian bread

had lived up to the advance billing I had given to it.

Having eaten our lunch…..and the Indian bread was our lunch…..we drove on toward the Cliff Dwellings. We arrived at Mesa Verde National Park in the late mid-afternoon. Although it was not as early as I had anticipated, we still had ample time to take a quick look. Fayez and I had explored much of the region about a year ago…..and there is a more complete description of the caves in that blog.

Briefly, however….. The Cliff Dwellings are the remains of an ancient Indian civilization….the Anastasia tribe. For some reason….and I don’t think anybody has figured out exactly why…..they built their homes….entire villages….into the side of a mountain….into the cliff….and then inexplicably disappeared. The remains of many of these dwellings were discovered and have been excavated. Looking across the deep, tree lined valley, they are visible from the opposite side of the canyon. Some of the dwellings appear to be multi-level structures, and they probably housed entire extended families….and were the

center of village life.

Although none of the Cliff Dwellings are entirely intact today, archeologists have been able to make educated theories about the different components of the structures. And, they have offered their best assumptions about life as it must have been lived out within that ancient society. They have fairly accurately identified their ventilation system….their means of storing water…..their methods of storing and preserving food…. They have also set forth their ideas on various structures within the main structure: ceremonial, cooking, sleeping, celebration…. Who knows if they are right. But, at least, there is a reference point as one is looking the decaying ruins. They have, I think, fairly accurately determined that these villages were reached by an elaborate system of ladders….ladders which enabled them to fairly easily come and go, as the perhaps tended their fields, gathered their harvests, hunted their prey.

One thing is obvious: It for sure was not an easy life….certainly not by our standards. I have no idea what they did for entertainment or relaxation, but we can be pretty sure that their life started at sun up and ended at sun down. We can be pretty sure life was “all work and no play”. We can be pretty sure that conditions were very cramped and crowded…..and personal privacy was something that did not exist. If we can believe the various drawings that have been exhibited, clothing was either “optional” or simply did not exist. It makes one wonder where intimate relations between man and woman took place. Or maybe they were not so uptight about things like that back then, For sure…. It was not a life that I would like to have lived or experienced. But, I can also imagine that their society was “advanced” for their time. And, just like us today….. They no doubt were on the cutting edge of technology for that period of history. “What you don’t know doesn’t hurt you.”

 

 

 

 

My knee was still hurting…probably even worse than before….so I knew that my participation would be looking at only the most accessible of the ancient ruins. For some reason, nothing in the park looked the same as I remembered it from any previous trip. And, at this point in the trip, I really didn’t care. However, I did want Sultan to enjoy the experience….to see and learn as much as possible. When Fayez and I were there, it was in mid-March, during this Spring Break. One of the major loops was still closed. I have a suspicion that this is the loop we chose to take. If we did….no wonder nothing looked familiar. I had not seen it before. But, fortunately, we did see much of the park….and most of the dwellings, I think.

During the entire afternoon, Sultan was awesome. He was helpful; he was sympathetic; he was understanding. Never once did he complain. He always maintained his trademark smile and his sense of humor….and he was always more than willing to lend me a helping hand….literally! Some of the paths to the view points were rather far from the parking spaces…..and the paths were inclined too sharply for me to walk. Sultan took my camera and cheerfully took the pictures while I waited for him at the car. Sultan was my hero for most of this trip.

The next night was spent in Santa Fe, New Mexico, in an unremarkable hotel and we ate in an unremarkable restaurant. That is all I remember. Some day I want to return to Santa Fe. I am sure it has much to offer.

After a brief stop in Taos, New Mexico, we drove on to Clayton, New Mexico, the next day….a Tuesday….where we spent the night. Taos is another tradition on any visit I make to the Southwest. I can clearly remember my fifth grade teacher talking about her visits to Taos…..and this had to have been back in era of 1948. She talked of meeting Indians selling their merchandise from makeshift tables or off blankets on the ground. She even had pictures to show us. She laughed when she told us never to pay the “asking” price for anything they had to sell. If a person paid that price…. Well, you made the Indians happy, of course, but they also knew they had a gullible sucker on their hands….and they could sell him anything. “They are shrewd bargainers,” she told us. That is probably where I first learned the word “shrewd”.

Even as a naive and impressionable ten year old boy, I was impressed with her black and while pictures…..and the variety of blankets, bracelets, necklaces, rings, pottery and paintings they were selling. And….in 1948, I think we can be pretty sure they had made this stuff all by themselves. This was long before the days of Taiwan, Sri Lanka, Thailand, Mexico….and all the fake “authentic” merchandise that is produced there today.

Today there are not any makeshift tables….and certainly no merchandise displayed on blankets on the ground. Instead there is another “quaint”, “authentic” replica of what is am sure is Spanish architecture….buildings clustered around a small town square…..complete with covered boardwalks and colorful displays of a myriad of colorful….but really, completely useless….products. Of course, this is not Walmart, so they can be forgiven for this, I suppose.

In the center of the “town square” is a mini-park with benches, statues and gazebo….and an attempt at landscaping. But, we didn’t stop because we wanted to admire the landscaping or to load up on impractical stuff to take home with us. We came to take pictures….. And, to use the public restrooms (!) …. and to buy the only item we were interested in: their fudge and toffee! Having accomplished those three goals, we were back on the highway heading for Clayton.

 

 

 

 

We drove on to Clayton, New Mexico, the next day….a Tuesday….where we spent the night. The highlight of this night was the opportunity to visit some old friends….a former colleague of mine….Sherry Lambert and her husband, Tom. My relationship with the Lamberts dates back to the late 1990’s when Sherry taught the business education classes in our high school.

More important…. She was very knowledgeable about computers. For some reason that I have yet to comprehend, I was appointed as Technology Coordinator for our school district. I may as well have been appointed chief brain surgeon at the Mayo Clinic. I could easily have written my total knowledge of computers on the back of a postage stamp. My main solution to all computer problems was to unplug it….and then plug it in again. (And fortunately, this was one of the major computer problems. The custodians had unplugged the computer so they could use their vacuum sweeper….and had neglected to plug in in again!) Sherry was always ready and willing to come to my rescue. There is little doubt that she should have been paid my salary for that position.

The Lamberts are a personable, intelligent and welcoming couple, and we always look forward to seeing and visiting with them.

When Fayez and I visited them a couple years ago, we arrived on a Monday afternoon….and the restaurant where we had planned to eat was closed on Monday (of course). We ended up eating dinner in an historic hotel….which was an equally neat experience. However, this year we arrived on a Tuesday, so we were able to eat in the Jack Rabbit Cafe….the place where we had wanted to eat. Actually, according to Yelp, it is the highest rated eating place in Clayton. The cafe specializes in Mexican food….and we all agreed that it deserves its high Yelp rating.

After we finished eating our dinner, we followed them to their house and spent the remainder of the evening in pleasant conversation. And, as we usually do…. We stayed much longer than we had intended. But, like they say…. Time goes fast when you are having fun.

Our final stop of the four week trip was in Oklahoma City…..the city where Sultan lived for a year or two while he was studying English. This stop was for Sultan’s benefit….not mine. He wanted to visit the family he had stayed with while studying English…..and he also wanted to meet up with a friend he had made while studying there. Thus, he was gone most of the time….including the night time….and I was more or less confined to the hotel. Even though I was not aware of this in advance, I made the best of the situation. I had looked forward to doing some sightseeing….but at least one of us had fun. Actually, by this time, all I wanted to do was get back home. My knee was continuing to hurt….walking was painful….breathing was difficult. I

probably would not have enjoyed sightseeing anyway.

Even with all the problems, the trip was awesome. Sultan and I had a lot of fun….we made a lot of memories…..we saw places I had never seen before….we stayed in places I had never stayed before…..we drove on highways I had never driven before….I took pictures I had never taken before….more than 2300 of them, in fact….we spent hours talking and laughing

This was the longest trip by car that I have ever taken….both in number of miles and in length of time. Even considering all the things I mentioned above, four weeks is too long to be away from home. Four weeks is too long to be constantly packing and unpacking a car. Four weeks is too long to be sitting in a stationery position regardless of the beautiful scenery we saw. But…. We did it. I am glad we did it. But, I was also glad when we drove into our driveway…and we were home again.

Sultan was nothing short of fantastic throughout the entire trip. He did 100% of the driving. He was always upbeat….helpful….encouraging….funny….concerned….and empathetic. Someday he will be a terrific doctor….and hopefully, MY doctor.

It had been a bad month…..maybe one of the worst months I have ever spent. But, the nosebleeds seemed to be under control….the doctors gave me some pills for the dizziness and disorientation….and the pain in my right knee had not kicked into high gear yet. Of course, the doctors did not have a clue what caused the nosebleeds….and actually, the doctor whom I went to didn’t really seem to care.

“The bleeding has stopped. What more do you want? Who really cares what caused it?” Well, he didn’t actually say this. But, this was certainly his attitude.

The doctors….mainly my cardiologist….told me to stop taking Plavix, the blood thinner. This was the one most repeated point in the Emergency Room during my “visits” there in the middle of the night. It turned out that my good old cardiologist was probably the smartest one of all. Even though he didn’t know what had caused the marathon nosebleeds (and he, also, probably didn’t care), at least he recognized that the Plavix was more than likely the main culprit in

the uncontrolled bleeding.

The lightheadedness and dizziness…. Well, they ruled out a bunch of stuff….mostly concerning the heart. I had pills for vertigo. Even one pill would literally knock me out. And, I think that diagnosis was only something the doctors pulled out of thin air.

At any rate….. All of my doctors agreed that I should proceed with plans for our long anticipated trip through the West. If nothing else, it would get me out of their way for a while.

Sultan finished his last English class at Washburn University on Friday, August 4. We planned to leave early on Saturday morning, August 5.

I ate lunch with my friend, Sam, as usual while Sultan ate a final going-away lunch with some of his fellow students from the class he had taken at Washburn University. At 2:00 I picked up Sultan, and then we proceeded to pick up our rental car from Avis. I don’t know if Avis is the cheapest place to rent a car…..but for me, it is the most convenient. I can pre-pay the rental fee online, so when I go to pick up the car, all the other money-making side issues have been

resolved: No, I do not want insurance; no I do not want to pay for their GPS; no I do not want their fuel plan….etc. It is a fairly simply matter for me. I show them my driver’s license….they give me the car….and I drive away. Also, I joined some sort of Avis fan club. I am not sure of its name, but I get a discount on each rental. So….Avis is place for me.

Of course, Sultan was waiting outside in my car….well out of the line of sight. It costs extra for an additional driver……and much extra (if it is even legal) for a driver who just turned 20 years old. Of course, they would have gone ballistic….and they would never have rented the car to me if they had known that he would be the sole driver….for 100% of the trip.

After depositing my car at my brother’s house, we hurried home to begin the process of packing. Having Sultan around to help was a

welcome treat for me. Normally, this ordeal is left for me to contend with. I have compiled a list of what we were going to take…..a complete list, accurate, but definitive. There is nothing on the list that we were not going to use. And, everything we need is on the list. I have perfected this list over the years. It is a carefully thought out list…..not just an accident.

While I gathered the stuff together, Sultan began packing the rental car….systematically and making the best use of the available space. Every rental car is different….so by logic and experimentation, we fit all the equipment to the car….always trying to consider what must come out first when we reach the campground. Actually, by the third or fourth night, it really doesn’t make much difference! At that point, the goal each morning is to merely stuff the things in the car….and take off.

Early to bed….early to rise….. Our goal was to be on the road by 8:00 Saturday morning. And, Bon Jovie…..we almost made it…..around 8:05, I think. But, for us….that is “on time”. Forget the GPS….at least for today…..I had already decided on the route we were going to take….regardless of what the GPS said. Our first destination was Chadron, Nebraska….a little over 600 miles from the Ranch. We knew that it would take close to 10 hours to drive this distance. But, the good thing about traveling to the West: We gained an hour. So, on paper, that cut out time down to 9 hours. Entirely manageable.

One bad thing about driving from Ozawkie to Chadron,

Nebraska….in the far northern reaches of the state…..is that there is nothing to see. One of the good things about driving from Ozawkie to Chadron is that there is nothing to see! These two things probably about cancel each other out….they sort of equalize things. As we angled northwest up through the state of Nebraska, there was not a lot to capture our attention or our interest. As I looked back through the more than 2300 pictures that I took during the trip, there is not a single picture of our trip between home and Chadron….except for the Nebraska state sign. That, it seems, was the most interesting site we saw.

It can be argued….and I will support this argument…..that rich, productive farmland is a beautiful sight. Yes, it is. But since I have lived in this environment almost all my life, it doesn’t generate a lot of excitement. Appreciation, maybe….but not excitement. I do not like to stop and take pictures, only to wonder what they are, where they are, and why I took them a couple months later. So, we pretty much contented ourselves by talking, laughing and answering questions from the invaluable Book of Questions.

The good thing was….and still is….we gained an hour between Ozawkie and Chadron. So, for all practical purposed….and definitely looking on the bright side of things….it took us only NINE hours to drive there….and not TEN. Yeah….I know. It is a weak and shallow argument. But, take the points when you can score them! Even after we arrived in Chadron, the memories are lost to the past….. Where did we eat? What did we do? What did we see? The only fact I am sure of is that we stayed in a Super 8 Motel.

Early the next morning….and that would be a Sunday….we set out for South Dakota….and Mt. Rushmore National Memorial. Even I deemed it prudent to use the GPS on this segment of our trip. I remembered the problems that Fayez and I had finding the place a couple years ago. But, come to think about it…. We were using the GPS then, too, and we still had some problems. Everything went smoothly. The scenery was much more pleasant and dramatic….much more like we were on vacation. The flat dry farmland that stretched for miles in every direction quickly morphed into hills covered with green conifer and evergreen forests. We snaked our way past hundreds of tourist traps, and we

reached the entrance to Mt. Rushmore around mid morning. And, just as I suspected….the parking lot was already virtually full.

I was already having problems walking….my knee was hurting….I was lightheaded and short of breath…. But, luckily, we found an elevator to take us from the parking lot up to the level of the monument. I have seen Mt. Rushmore and the faces of the four presidents….Washington, Jefferson, Lincoln and Teddy Roosevelt….many times. Still I am always impressed by the magnitude of the job. And I marvel and wonder how the artist and the workers maintained such perfect perspective on the gigantic project. I am constantly amazed how the lifelike likenesses emerged from years of blasting rock from the side of a mountain. And….I still wonder how Theodore Roosevelt got included with Washington, Jefferson and Lincoln…..

Sultan, of course, was seeing the granite sculptures for the first time. For a foreigner….for a person who is totally unfamiliar with United States history….I somehow doubt if the monument has the same impact on him as it does on those of us who were raised from childhood knowing the greatness, the contributions and the impact each of these presidents had on the history and the development of nation. I did my best to give a brief history lesson….and to explain why this Monument is historically significant….and how the actions of each of these men still affect our lives even today….and why so many people come from near and far to visit the Monument.

Sultan, I think, did understand why each of these presidents hold a special place in the history of the United States and in the hearts of American citizens….. Although it was a little more difficult to explain why Teddy Roosevelt was included among the other three.
Maybe even more important….and no doubt more enjoyable….were the ice cream comes which have become one of my staple traditions on each visit to Mt. Rushmore.

After taking several pictures….and crowding our way through the hoards of Japanese tourists…and eating our ice cream, we left to do more sightseeing in the area.

 

 

 

 

Ah yes…. The Japanese! Where do they come from? They are ubiquitous….like little ants or insects scurrying around. Almost always arrogant and rude…..pushing people out of their way….but constantly walking into camera shots with no regard or consideration for others….. Unfortunately, they seem to be oblivious to their crudeness and disrespect. I have a feeling that most of them feel “entitled”…. Like, “Look at us. We are rich Japanese…. We got to go to the USA…. We are big shots…..” I think, probably to the dismay of Sultan, I can also be rude….and very protective of the rights of own citizens. Rarely did I even pretend to try to be polite to them….sometimes even intentionally walking in front of the camera, maybe just to show them what their own behavior is like….and often not so subtly muttering my feeling toward them….hoping they could speak English well enough to understand what I was saying.

It is rather strange. We heard a myriad of foreign languages being spoken by a wide variety of foreign visitors. But, none of them, without exception, were as rude, as inconsiderate, as insolent as the Japanese. I don’t know…. This must be a cultural thing. I wonder if this is the way they act in their native country? It is probably cliché…but Japanese are always known for being super “polite”…..the bowing, the genuflecting…the constant smiles….. One on one, I have experienced their politeness from time to time…. When they are in a group….well, some sort of undesirable transformation takes place.

This brings me to two conclusions I have formed: 1. All national parks should have a “Japanese Day”. One day a week the parks will be closed to everybody else…..and only Japanese people will be allowed entrance. The other six days: The parks will be closed to Japanese people so all the other people can enjoy them…..Japanese free. 2. Summer is an excellent time for the rest of the world to visit Japan. Obviously the country is empty….and we will be free to enjoy their country….free from scurrying little pests.

 

 

 

 

We moved on from Mt. Rushmore for a drive through Custer State Park. The motorcycle traffic was pretty heavy. Inadvertently…and quite coincidentally….and I must admit, somewhat luckily….we arrived in South Dakota at the precise time that the famous motorcycle rally was taking place in Sturgis. And, it was very evident from the hundreds of motorcyclists we encountered at Mt. Rushmore, in Custer State Park, in the little towns we passed through…..indeed almost everywhere in South Dakota.

The good things about the motorcyclists: For the most part they were courteous drivers and model tourists…..quite unlike the group of people described above. The public perception of motorcyclists seems to be changing…..at least in the Midwest. Far from being violent revolutionary outlaws, most of them seem to be average law-abiding citizens….who happen to like riding motorcycles. To be sure, at least once a year, they dress up on their motorcycle  costumes….and head out to have some fun…..somewhere. If not in Sturgis….then there are plenty of charity rides and worthwhile fundraisers to occupy their weekends. Not even once, did we observed motorcyclists causing problems……and this summer, they were literally everywhere….dressed in their finest leather, often with their wife sitting behind them. We also noticed that, in most cases, they were spending a lot more money than we were: on motels, on food, on souvenirs… Yeah, I don’t think most of them were down-and-out vagrants! (Although they may have thought Sultan and I were!)

Anyway…. As were driving through Custer State Park, I was keeping an eye out for the herds of buffalo the park is famous for. The buffalo were obviously taking the day off….after all, it was a Sunday. But as we drove along, we spotted something that I had honestly forgotten about. Wandering out in the large expanse of meadowland was a small herd of donkeys….burros, would probably be more accurate. Ah! The little burros. The delightful memories from past visits started to come back….. I had encountered them on three or four previous trips to the park. Then, they were on the road….blocking traffic….wanting attention.

These burros are perfectly tame…not a wild bone in their

body….even with their young offspring with them. In those days, they would wander from car to car…..sticking their head into the car, hoping for a hand-out….something to eat. Not only would we pet them, but we got out of the car to pet them and hug them. Luckily, we….like almost everybody else….and something to feed them. In our case….bread. They were happy for anything we had to offer. Crowds of people began to congregate….all cheerfully feeding and petting the burros.

This time was no exception. They were not on the road….people had already spotted them and had walked out onto the grasslands to pet them….and of course, to feed them.   Sultan and I were not about to

pass up this opportunity. We quickly parked the car and made our way to burros. But, we learned quickly…..If you want to pet them…..You’ve got to feed them. They are not dumb! They go where the food is. Sultan quickly ran back to the car to get some slices of bread. Now….We were in the game. The burros loved us. And, we loved them. We spent our time feeding the burros….petting them…hugging them….and finally sadly telling them that the food supply had run out. They did what you and I would do….. They left us and went in search of people who had some food.

My first encounter with the burros was in 1978. Wow….. That is almost 40 years ago. It is rather exciting…..and maybe a little sentimental….to realize that these little burros are the

children….and probably the grandchildren…..of the burros I fed and petted then. These adorable animals are thoroughly domesticated….totally unafraid of humans. And, why wouldn’t they be? They have been treated with kindness and affection by generations of humans….and through the years, I am sure their DNA must have altered to a point where they fully identify as much with us humans as we do with them.

The only other “attraction” I wanted to show Sultan in the Black Hills was the monument being erected to honor the Indian chief, Crazy Horse. Somewhere along the line, they started charging a fee to to drive up to it. Another money making scheme for somebody. There is an unobstructed view of the monument from the highway, so there is really no reason to pay money to get a closer look. Actually, the monument is still very much under construction…..it has been for a long while…..and almost certainly will be for a while longer. It looks almost precisely the same as it did when I saw it three years ago. And, I suspect that it will not have changed materially by the time I see it again. Nevertheless, people were shelling out money for a closer look……probably all those Japanese! But, Sultan and I were fully content seeing it from the highway….probably a better and more comprehensive view anyway.

 

 

 

 

We had had enough fun at Mt. Rushmore and Custer State Park….and throw in Crazy Horse Monument for good measure….but it was time to move on to more exciting things.

I wish I could claim credit for it. I wish I could say it was due to my careful research and planning. But, that would not be accurate. In other words, I would not be telling the truth. It was a fortunate….and I might add, exciting…. And coincidental stroke of luck that our trip to South Dakota occurred during the first week of August. The Sturgis Motorcycle Rally is held during the first full week of August. So there we were, smack dab in the middle of it. Sunday, August 6.

Even before we reached the Black Hills, I began to notice an

inordinate number of motorcycles on the roads and highways. They were all headed somewhere….. And, I suspected it might be the big annual motorcycle rally held in Sturgis each year. Probably about half of the visitors at Mt. Rushmore were motorcyclists. (The other half were obviously Japanese!) In the evening when we got to our campground, I plugged in my laptop to check. Yeah! The next day we were going to the Sturgis Motorcycle Rally. Other times when I have gone to Mt. Rushmore, I had arrived a week early…..or a week late. This year was right on the money. The rally was in full swing.

I am not sure if the Sturgis rally is the biggest motorcycle in the world or not. But, I suspect it is. If not THE biggest…..then certainly it trails close behind whatever is in first place. The rally was first held in 1938….an important date in history. That is the year I was born! It has gained in popularity, and the attendance has grown steadily as the years went by. In 2015….a couple years ago….the attendance was approaching 500,000 people. That is a half million people! I read somewhere that the attendance this year was 376,000. Stop and think. That is a lot of motorcycles. Of course, this is spread over a 10+ day period. But, it is still an awesome sight….especially for somebody like me who rarely sees more than a few dozen motorcycles a week.

Sultan and I no doubt looked a little out of place. We were both dressed in shorts…or at least, I was. I guess we just neglected to bring our “leather” with us. And, of course, we were not riding a motorcycle…..and sadly, we didn’t have any “biker babes” with us. It really didn’t make any difference, though. Nobody cared. And, there were others there who had come only to look at the spectacle….feel a part of it…..and say they had been there.

For people like Sultan and me, there really is not a lot to do. Except to look at the hundreds….no, probably thousands….of motorcycles. Motorcycles parked in double rows up and down the blocks….motorcycles going up and down the street…..entire parking lots filled with motorcycles. There were vendors everywhere…..It actually probably put the State Fair to shame…..selling everything. Everything a motorcycle rider would want. Mostly clothing….hundreds of T-shirts….souvenirs of every imaginable kind and variety…..and beer…..LOTS of beer….and food….again making the State Fair look like amateurs and not very creative.

Unbelievably, there were more empty parking spaces for automobiles than there were for motorcycles. Only “outsiders” like Sultan and I drive cars. All the “authentic” people were riding their motorcycles. Sultan parked our rental car and we walked a few yards to the main street, where everything seemed to be happening. And, as I said….there really was not a lot of do….except look. We walked around briefly, looking at the souvenirs and the clothing for sale in the stalls that had been set up the entire length of the street. We had eaten breakfast only a couple hours before, so we were not hungry. Anyway, the price of food….as you can probably imagine….was priced appropriately for a throng of bikers who had come to have a good time….and not worry about sticking to a budget. Believe me…..Sultan and I were sticking to a budget.

The only concession I made was to buy some T-shirts. Actually, they were reasonably priced….for an event such as this, that is. But, I paid a price for the purchase. Later in the day, as we were traveling to Miles City, Montana, we stopped for gas along the way. I routinely inserted by debit card into the slot on the gasoline pump….just like I normally do. This time, there was a message said said something like, “Not valid” or “Insert card again”…..or maybe it was, “What are you trying to do? Cheat us?” or “Come on loser….you don’t have any money in your account.” Whatever it was, my debit card was not going to work. No point trying again.

Not only was I puzzled….but I was also worried. I knew that I had far more than sufficient money in my account to cover such a small sum as the gasoline…… Unless my account had been hacked! Heaven forbid! At the moment, I had no other choice except to use a credit card….which worked fine. (For some reason that I do not recall, Sultan’s debit card was not working, either. He cleared his problem up quickly online, however.)

We filled the car with gas….and then I immediately called my bank. “What is going on?” I asked. “Why doesn’t my debit card work?”

“Oh…. We blocked it. There was a suspicious purchase that just came through,” I was told.

“Wow. Really? Where was it from?” I was getting a little worried.

“It was from a mercantile company in Sturgis, South Dakota.”

“Oh…. I just left Sturgis. And, I bought some t-shirts.”

“So…. It is OK, then?”

“Yes…. It is OK.”

Two things that I would like to mention….. well, three, actually. First of all, I am happy that my bank is keeping a close watch for potential fraud. Second…. What is so unusual about me being in Sturgis….and buying some t-shirts!? I am not that unexciting….am I? Third….. I wish they were that quick in paying my monthly bills when I submit them. I would save a lot of money in late fees!

After spending the night in Miles City, Montana, our next major

destination was Yellowstone National Park. There are several ways to drive from Miles City to Cooke City, where we would spent two nights. There was the “easy” one….following I-90 most of the way. Or there was the scenic route…..a highway that would take us through the Bear Tooth Mountains. I could remember the Bear

Tooth Mountains from a trip I took in the distant past…..back when I drove a pickup which had less power than the average bicycle. Back in those nostalgic days, it was a major adventure coaxing the little truck up the steep mountain highways….around the hairpin curves…..above the timberline which looked down on truly magnificent vistas…..gazing upward at the jagged, snow-covered mountain peaks.

That was the route we elected to travel. The scenery was still

spectacular, and the vistas were still breathtaking….the forest covered mountains were still beautiful and awe inspiring. But….alas. Nostalgia! Somehow, something was lost for me. Yeah… I know. I should have been happy that we were driving a car that didn’t hesitate climbing the mountain highways…. That performed like a well-trained mountain marathon runner…..never complaining or never gasping for breath.

Of course, I enjoyed the ride. Who wouldn’t? But, probably Sultan found it to be just a little more exciting….a little more entertaining…..a little more daring….than I did. But….Kids? What to they know? They never lived back in “the good old days” when life wasn’t easy…..when things were rough!

 

 

 

 

 

We arrived in Cooke City, Montana, a town about 20 miles outside the Northeast Gate of Yellowstone National Park, at around 5:00 in the afternoon, I suppose. We found our hotel easily. It is right on the main street of the town….and it looked exactly like its pictures. In Cooke City it would be hard to miss almost anything. Cooke City’s population as of July 1, 2017, was officially 77 people. Obviously tourism is its major source of income. It is a picturesque little village…. Mostly hotels, cafes, bars, souvenir shops and service stations. It is built on one main street….and that is where we found the Soda Butte Hotel. The Soda Butte is a rather sprawling hotel….again quaint and picturesque. From all appearances, it was an old building….a building that was constantly added onto as the years went by and the tourism industry grew.

 

 

 

 

This was the first time I had stayed in Cooke City. And, even this time, it was by necessity….not choice. Always before I have stayed in West Yellowstone. In fact, until the last couple times I visited Yellowstone, I have not even bothered to make an advance reservation. But, this year, the hotels in West Yellowstone were either full….or they were absolutely out of our price range. We paid $319 for two nights in Soda Butte….more than we paid for two nights in New York City a couple years before.

For this price, believe me…..we did not have a luxurious room. Far from it. To begin with….and this is always a sore point with me…..there was no elevator. Strike One! The room was “adequate”. After all, we were tourists….and we had come for sightseeing and not to sit around our hotel room. There were no comfortable

chairs…. There was no table or desk for my laptop….. There was no Internet connection. (Well, there was….but it was serving more than 100 rooms…. Go Figure!) There was no little refrigerator or microwave oven. However, luckily, it did have two beds! And it had a shower. So, like I said…. It was “adequate”……but on a scale of 1 – 5

Stars, I give it a 1….and even that is probably being generous.

After checking in at the hotel and depositing our bags, we set off for Yellowstone National Park, which, as I said, is about 20 miles away. There were only two stops on the agenda for the evening…..actually the only two sights we would have time for. First, we stopped at Mammoth Hot Springs, the northernmost attraction in the Park. Compared to what it was like, let’s say, 30 years ago….today it is only a vague ghost of itself. Back in its “glory days”, there were a cascading series of mineral-formed plateaus, with steaming water spilling over each plateau to the plateau below it. Today….and for the last two or three times I have been there….the water has dried up; there is no cascading water spilling down…..spilling down anywhere. Basically the water has dried up….and thus there are no pools of steaming water. In a couple places, there are still a few of the hot pools of mineral water. They are isolated, and the almost eerie beauty of long ago is gone. And probably gone forever.

 

 

 

 

The other attraction that I was eager to show Sultan had a more personal magnetism…a more special meaning……for me, at least. The quest to find it was doomed from the very beginning. The road which lead from Mammoth Hot Springs down to the halfway junction road is being reconstructed. By reconstruction…..I mean it is torn up….ripped apart…. The trip was filled with a snail-pace speed limit….and a series of lengthy, time-consuming delays…..and even more time-consuming detours. We were working within a limited time frame, too. Darkness would soon fall over the park….and we would have to return to our hotel.

As we slowly….very slowly….made our way from Mammoth Hot Spring to the mid-way road that would lead us back to hotel…..now probably 40 or 45 miles away….I kept a close and constant lookout

for the attraction I was so eager to show to Sultan. But, I did not see it. Could I have missed it? Could the road have been routed away from it since I last saw it? Had they removed the signs? Whatever…..? Even if I had found it, no doubt we would not have been able to stop because of the road construction. I was disappointed, to say the least. But, we had reached the mid-point road. There was no more time to search. We headed back to our hotel in Cooke City.

Early the next morning, we started off for a full day of exploring Yellowstone National Park. The first attraction was Tower Falls. I was fully aware that I would not be able to see this. There is a long flight of steep stairs and an equally steep incline path leading to the falls. Going down would not have been so bad. But coming back up? Let’s just say that I would probably still be there….unless a helicopter came to pick me up and carry me back to the car! However, I saw no reason why Sultan should not go take a look. I sat in the car and waited for him to return. I waited a little longer than I had expected….or wanted….to wait. But, eventually, he returned….before I got out to go search for him.

We made the obligatory stop at the old “Photo Shop”….the store

where I worked for three months in the summer of 1989. The store….now renamed “The Adventure Store”….or something like that….. is part of the shopping complex in Canyon Village. Every time I walk into the store, somehow I expect to see somebody I know. A rather irrational thought, considering it has been almost thirty years since I worked there. But, there is very little that is familiar these days…..different name and different interior.

Having shown Sultan where I once worked, we got back into the car and started our day of sightseeing and exploring. We drove back west to the west loop road where we had driven the previous evening….turned south and headed down toward the geyser basins and eventually to Old Faithful.

As we were driving along, I kept an eye out for wildlife….mostly elk and moose. We did see any. A couple miles down the west loop, I looked to my right and…..Wow! This looks familiar.

“Pull over,” I told Sultan. “Eureka! I think we have found it!”

Yes. Of course. This is it. This is what I have been looking for. We just didn’t drive far enough last night. This is the main attraction in Yellowstone, so far as I am concerned. We had found “Beryl Spring”.

Sultan seemed surprised and excited….but probably more to please me than anything else. Yeah….I think he appreciated it. You don’t find stuff called “Beryl” very often.

“Why did the call is “

 

 

 

I was tempted to tell him that is was named after me. And, who knows? Maybe he would have believed me. (I doubt it, though.) So, I told him the truth….of what I assume is the truth. The name comes from its color. Beryl is the name of a blue-green, semi-precious stone…..approximately the same color as Beryl Spring.

After an appropriate amount of joking….and picture taking….we moved on to see the “lesser” attractions in the park.

The remainder of the day was basically a waste of time. We saw a couple geyser basins; we paid a brief visit to the picture-post-card Lower Falls; we made a brief stop in the Hayden Valley. But, for all practical purposes, we may as well have packed the car and moved on.

We were in Yellowstone National Park during the beginning of the first week of August. And, it was packed with humanity. I have never seen it so crowded in all the times that I have visited the park…..probably 10 or 12 times…..nor during the three months that I worked there. The crowds were almost literally out of control. Parking was almost non-existent. Traffic was heavy. Competition for parking places was fierce. Simply put: There were none. We actually witnessed TWO “almost” physical confrontations over parking spots. And…. They could have been real. We didn’t stick around to watch. Fortunately…..I guess….neither of the near-fights involved Sultan and me. No amount of driving around in circles helped. There was always a car in front of us to take any available spot…..sort of like Salt Lake City.

At Old Faithful, we did manage to find a parking spot….one located probably more than a city block away. Of course…in keeping with our luck…Old Faithful had just erupted. That meant at least a 65 minute wait before the next scheduled display. No Problem! We ate some lunch

at the Old Faithful Inn….at vastly inflated prices, of course. After finishing an expensive, but leisurely lunch, we were ready to walk around the corner….and about 100 meters to watch Old Faithful erupt. Again, so very in tune with our day….the wind started blowing, the temperature fell about 10 or 15 degrees and it began to rain….and hail!

 

 

 

 

Neither of us….and apparently nobody else….wanted to stand in a near freezing rain to watch some steam come out of the ground. Sultan, bless his heart, went to get the car while I waited inside the door at Old Faithful Inn. There was really nothing to do but move on. We headed southward along the West Loop road. Wow…. In many places, the ground was white! Covered with hail. The weather was not good! We made a brief stop to take some picture at the Continental Divide….something new and different for Sultan….and something I think he found to be interesting….whether he actually believed it or not(!)

As I indicated, we made a brief stop at the Hayden Valley, but out next major stop was at Lower Falls….an icon of Yellowstone National

Park….a picture often found on postcards….and the main attraction of the area where I had once worked. We did actually find a parking spot, believe it or not.

Our problem here was fighting our way through…..Yes. You guess it! Japanese! The little insects had found their way to the Falls….and had climbed the steep steps to the viewing platform. They were everywhere…shooing people out of their way….walking in front of other people’s camera shots…. Being their usual, rude, inconsiderate, obnoxious selves. My knee was hurting badly. I was having serious

problems breathing. I don’t know if I would be exaggerating if I would say I was in agony….but it would not be much of an exaggeration. I was not in a good mood. Again, I am rather ashamed to admit….I intentionally walked in front of Japanese cameras, happily ignoring their frantic hand motions…brushing away their hands as they attempted to shoo me away. By that time I did not even make an attempt to be civil….toward the Japanese, at least.

We did get a good look at the falls and the Yellowstone Canyon. It was probably the major triumph of the day. But, I was tired…..My knee was hurting….Sultan was getting tired. The frustration of driving….of

looking for parking spaces….of contending with the traffic had worn him down. We were ready to simply leave….get out the place….go back to our “barely adequate” hotel.

There was one sight that Sultan and I never got tired of, however. On at least the past two times I previously visited Yellowstone National Park, there was a curious absence of buffalo….anywhere. One year, I even

became suspicious….or concerned…..or something. I had told the person with me that he was about to see hundreds of buffalo. He would see them in the meadow lands; he would see them in the forests; and he would very possibly even see them on the road. As we drove around the park….almost the entire loop….we failed to see even one buffalo. Not one lousy buffalo. Now, that was unusual; that was simply not right.

On one of our sightseeing stops late in the day, I asked a park ranger where all the buffalo were. I don’t know what I expected him to say…. Maybe: This is their day off. Or… We rounded all of them up and put them in a pen. Or… We sold them all to McDonald’s so they can make McBuffalo Burgers…. But No…. He said they were probably all up in the mountains where it was cooler. (Well….sort of a day off, I suppose.) So, we left Yellowstone without seeing a buffalo. So much for me as the Yellowstone “expert”.

The first afternoon we were in Yellowstone….after we had checked into our barely adequate hotel, we got back into the car and headed for the park to explore. After driving a few miles into the park, we saw cars parked up ahead…. It could have been anything…. People who have never been to Yellowstone will go bananas over anything that has fur and is moving: an elk, a moose, a bear, an eagle….probably a skunk, if they were from the city.

As we got closer, we saw why there were dozens of vehicles backed up on the road. Buffalo! Hundreds of buffalo. Buffalo grazing in the far fields. Buffalo grazing near the road. Buffalo in the road! Yes, the cars were not able to move, even if they wanted to. Some of the huge,

shaggy, beady eyed, ugly animals were leisurely crossing the road. And, when buffalo cross the road….they are in no hurry. Maybe there is a riddle that asks: “Why did the buffalo cross the road?” Maybe they were standing there trying to figure out the answer. Buffalo cannot be hurried. They do things at their own pace….in their own good time.

It does no good to honk your horn. They will just stare at you with those inscrutable beady eyes. Probably deciding whether to charge the car….or just feel sorry for the poor, impatient idiot driving the car. If they would choose to charge at the car….there would be no contest. The buffalo has already won before the contest begins. The only thing to do is ……Wait! Wait….and take pictures. And, this is what most of the people were doing. I was actually waiting for some moron to walk up to a buffalo and put its arm around its neck…..and have their picture taken. And, I was also waiting…..camera in hand…..to take a picture of the person as he went flying through the air….hopefully, toward a hospital. But, generally speaking, people were patient….content to take picture….after picture…..after picture. Just like Sultan and I.

This scene was repeated five times! Every time we drove into the park….and every time we drove back to our hotel….. And, even though maybe the fourth and fifth times it became a little bit annoying, the sight of literally hundreds of buffalo was an awesome scene to behold.

Now….. I know where the buffalo are located. Maybe next summer we will set up a little booth down by Old Faithful….or maybe by the Lower Falls…..put up a sign that says, “If you want to know where all the buffalo are located….. Give us Five Dollars and we will share the secret.”

 

 

 

 

Early on a Thursday morning, we left Yellowstone to explore other things. In order to leave Yellowstone, we had to enter Yellowstone again….and then leave it again…. Yeah….I know it is confusing. But, check the map and you will understand.

As we left Yellowstone National Park that morning, I made a decision. I am crossing the park off my list of places to visit….Unless: I can to there before May 15….or after September 15. That seems to be the peak tourist season….. After the public schools and the colleges have dismissed for the summer….. Forget it. For me, it is simply not worth the effort to fight the crowds….the inflated hotel and food prices…..the foreign (Japanese) tourists. Yes, it is a great place to visit. However, if you cannot find a parking space….if you are going to spend the entire day driving around in circles…. Why bother?

I have been to Yellowstone National Park probably 10 or 12 times….worked there for three months. I have seen it….seen everything. I have hiked it….seven days a week for three months…. There really is nothing new there for me to see. I know it is a good place to take foreign visitors. But…. There are other good places, too. Glacier National Park, Mt. McKinley, Olympic National Park, Mt. Rainier National Park….. Maybe these places are also crowded. But, I don’t know…..and maybe it is time to find out.

We proceeded on toward the West. The drive along I-90 was rather boring…..like most Interstates, I suppose. But, we amused ourselves, as usual by using our good old Book of Questions….by laughing….and otherwise trying to make the time pass quickly. It did. After we

crossed the border into Idaho, the scenery started to change…..and we were back on a two-lane highway again…..and heading in to the forest covered mountains. Most of the other times I have driven this route were earlier in the summer…..late spring, to be exact. For instance, Fayez and I made this same trip a couple years ago…..but we were traveling in late May….not early August.

Fayez and I were treated to a much more dramatic scene….and, a much more beautiful scene. The snow in the Bitterroot Mountains was starting to melt….and the rivers were full. We followed the Lochsa River as we drove through central Idaho today our campground in Lewiston. The river was full of crystal clear water as it rolled down from the mountains. As the elevation dropped, the river increased it momentum as pulled the water downward. Along the way, water from other streams flowed into the river. The effect was dramatic. The river churned with power as torrents of water, capped the white-capped energy, giving off its spray and mist, cascaded uncontrollably down the mountain beside the highway. We stopped often to listen to the roar of its energy and be captivated by its melodramatic odyssey to its resting place at the

base of the mountains.

The day that Sultan and I drove this same route, the mountain snows and long since melted, the Lochsa River was tame and almost serene as it flowed peacefully down the mountains to the lowlands of western Idaho. Although the river had lost its drama, the scenery was still beautiful….the forests thick and untouched….the water pure and clean….the setting quiet and pristine.

I told Sultan that high up in those mountains were an unknown number of highly fortified compounds, build and inhabited by paranoid survivalists. They contained arsenals of weapons hoarded by crazed, wacko misfits who have somehow become disaffected and suspicious….no, schizophrenic….about today’s society. They are waiting…. Nervously? Patiently? Eagerly?…..for our government to attack them….or for the world to come to an end….or something. Who knows how long they are willing to wait……

 

 

 

 

That night we stayed at a camp ground in Hell’s Canyon State Park. The two other times I have stayed there were early in the tourist season. On those occasions, whether we were supposed to or not…. We drove our car up to our cabin and parked it. Well…. OK. We were not supposed to do it, but nobody stopped us. Under “normal” circumstances….and that is when we arrived this year…..there are designated parking spaces….probably a half block from our cabin….where we are supposed to park. That means carrying all our stuff a half block to the cabin when we arrive…..and carrying it a half block back to the car when we leave. Believe me…. That is not fun. Not with as much stuff as we had to unload and load. And, to make matters worse, we had to make multiple trips….each time walking past other campers…..and I mean, within just a few feet of other campers….on each trip…..each time with them staring at us, and probably wondering how we could possibly have so much stuff for just one night! Well…. This camping ground has been eliminated from my list of campgrounds. Not only did we have to carry our camping gear a half block…..but the showers were more than twice that far away. Time for new scenery.

The only notable sight between Lewiston and the Pacific Coast were

the vast fields of wheat in east central Washington. For most people, wheat fields would probably be another excuse to step a little harder on the accelerator. But for me….a nearly lifelong resident of Kansas….and having been born and raised in Central Kansas, the major wheat producing area of the USA…..these seemingly never ending fields of wheat were almost awe inspiring. They stretched on and on….beyond the horizon, even further than my eye could see.

Of course, Kansas produces far more wheat than Washington. Washington, however, certainly rivals Kansas in the size of their wheat fields. It is possible, I must admit, that Kansas possibly has even bigger fields, especially in central and western parts of the state. But, Kansas is flat. The view of the fields is linear….and that limits the ability to judge their size. In Washington, on the other hand, the fields are stretched across rolling hills….often rising in elevation in the distance. The view is panoramic. A person feels surrounded by the sight of golden wheat on all sides….as the view

disappears into the distance.

Wheat is irrigated in Kansas, but probably not to the extent that it is in Washington. If not for the water, it is doubtful if there would be any wheat growing there. It is not at all unusual to see the seemingly infinite fields of wheat on one side of the highway…..and on the other side: wasteland….semi-arid land covered with mesquite and other scrubby plants. Water makes the difference.

Our next destination was the Oregon Coast….our ultimate target for the trip….where we would bask in the sun on the beaches of the Pacific Ocean…renew our spirits and bodies for the trip that would ultimately take us back to the Ranch.

 

It is October now. Some time has passed since Sultan arrived at my house on June 18. As I thought back to the time we spent together before leaving on our trip….June 18 – September 5….I almost panicked. The only thing I could think of were the emergencies….the trips to the hospital….to the doctor….and all the other physical things I would rather forget.

After looking through the pictures again, all the good memories started to return. Actually we had a blast…..and we were rarely idle…doing a wide variety of interesting and fun things that now overshadow the darker moments of that five weeks. It demonstrates, though, that sometimes the “bad” tends to dominate the “good” when the brain sorts and prioritizes its memories.

 

It was something we had anticipated for almost a full year. We talked about it every time we chatted on Skype. It was a main focus of our conversations. We planned and plotted for months….. We did not want anything to go wrong…..like it had the previous year.

Yes…. Sultan was coming to spend the summer at my house… We were planning a month-long bad ass trip…. We had planned one for the summer of 2016…..only to have our plans fall through because of a visa misunderstanding. At least, what was interpreted as a visa misunderstanding. Who know? The more people who get involved in any situation….the more complicated it becomes….the the more muddy the water becomes. At any rate, we had to abandon our plans at the last minute….leaving me to “undo” everything that had already been done.

This year, we were careful that we did not find ourselves in the same quagmire of unfortunate circumstances. He was duly enrolled in a college class at Washburn University….he checked and doubled-checked his visa to make sure that everything in in proper legal order…. Canceling twenty campground and hotel reservations at the last minute is not a lot of fun.

But, the important thing was: Sultan was coming.

Yes….. There he was….his bright and cheerful smile. I saw it as soon as he walked into the waiting room at the airport in Kansas City. And, he saw me at almost precisely the same instant. Sultan’s long awaited return was finally a reality.

Sunday, June 18, was cause for a double celebration. Not only was this the first day of a two and a half months visit…..but it was also Sultan’s 20th birthday. Soon after we had arrived home….and Sultan has taken his suitcase and backpack to his room….the birthday celebration got underway. Yes… It was only Sultan and I, but it was a celebration,

nevertheless. We couldn’t let the day go by without a birthday party. And, the event was even more important and special because this was his very first birthday party. Quite unlike the USA…..and other Western countries….birthdays in Saudi Arabia are not special occasions….and usually pass with no recognition or fanfare.

I was not about to let his special day go by without a celebration. I had already bought a birthday cake (You can take a look at the picture.)….and a couple gifts that I hoped he would like….and would be special to him. It was all over in less than 15 minutes. But, 15 minutes are long enough to get the job done….and provide years of good memories. Since it was already getting late in the day, we left immediately for Sultan’s birthday dinner at the Golden Corral in Topeka. Yep…. Sultan has officially been welcomed to the Darrah Ranch for the summer.

Sultan is truly a remarkable young man. They simply do not make human beings any better that him. This is probably going to be a recurring theme in the pages to follow….and it is true.

Sultan had told me many times before he arrived that he would help me do many of the things around the house and yard that I am not able to do by myself. Well….I hate to invite somebody to my house and then treat them like a hired laborer…. Really! But, Sultan had insisted….and persisted. So, I figured…. “Why not?!” During our Skype conversations, he repeatedly told me, “Just wait until I am there, and I will help you.” He seemed sincere enough….and he was….but I still felt a little badly about having so many things for him to do when he arrived.

All of the things that I needed help with were things that I normally did by myself….back in the “Old Days”….when I was still relatively young. I knew how to do all of the tasks…..so I made a good supervisor. Through the years, old age just sort of crept up….silently and in the shadows. These days I make a great boss….but a bad worker. As for Sultan…. He had never done any of the tasks. So…. That made him a great worker….getting all the benefits of a knowledgeable mentor. At least, that is the way I prefer to look at the situation.

Until recently I took a drug called Plavix. I started taking it about 10 years ago, right after some stents were inserted into some of the arteries entering my heart. Ideally, the Plavix keeps the blood

platelets from sticking to the stents…..and blocking the arteries again. It was an unpleasant drug to take….even though it was useful and necessary, and probably was instrumental in saving or

prolonging my life. But, like most good things….there was also a down side. Through its very nature, it kept blood from clotting. In the arteries, that is exactly what it is supposed to do. But….of course, it also kept blood from clotting….well, everywhere. If it didn’t prevent blood from clotting, it certainly slowed it down significantly. A little cut or scratch would potentially bleed far beyond the normal expectations. The slightest bump would cause an unsightly bruise. But, that was the price I paid for keeping the blood flowing smoothly and steadily through the body.

You are asking…. What does all this have to do with Sultan…and the tasks I had saved up for him to help me with? OK…. My yard seems to be full of dangerous trees! Locust trees grow wild….almost better than the weeds. This type of locust tree is the kind with the little thorns on them. Well, some of them are not so little. They were the Number One cause of flat tires on my lawn mower….and had been since I have lived here. Over the years, I did a pretty good job of controlling them…..when they grew in my yard. But now, they were mainly growing along the fence line….and just over the fence on my neighbor’s property….. And, as they grew taller and taller, the branches hung over onto my land. Controlling them became a pain in the rear….if not impossible. For me to really get rid of them required getting over fence onto my neighbor’s property. Again, several years ago, this was not a challenge. I just got a limb saw, climbed over the fence….and cut them down.

As if the locust trees were not enough, another shrub or bush or vine…. Actually, it is a combination of all three of them….has been entangling itself onto and into fence posts….especially the heavy

wooden corner posts. It grows in stringy vines…all entangled with each other. I call them bramble bushes, for lack of an accurate name. I am sure that is not their real name….and I have already given them a few other names that are no doubt inappropriate for this blog. But, they are covered with literally thousands of needle-sharp thorns. They cut through skin on mere contact….and sometimes, it seems, even when I am near them.

OK…. Now I am sure you are asking (again), “What could be the connection between Plavix and moving the lawn?” For the past 10 years, every time I mowed the lawn, I always carried a clean towel with

me. Not to wipe the sweat off my face….Mowing the lawn is not that difficult….but, rather I carry it to wipe the blood off my arms…and legs….and face! As hard as I try, not a lawn mowing event goes by without me sacrificing a pint of blood. Well….maybe not a pint. But I finally got fed up with donating my blood to a bunch of evil trees and vines.

Enter Sultan: The Hero of this story. Between him and the electric chainsaw, the locust trees and the bramble bushes had met their match. One morning they were systematically banished to the place where satanic locust trees and bramble bushes meet their eternal fate. Once we got about l00 feet of electrical extension cords stretched out to the northern most reaches of the property, the work of cutting the offending trees and bushes went quickly. Once they were cut down, we merely tossed them over the fence onto the property where they grew.

There was another problem that the chainsaw solved. In the past trees grew almost uncontrollably….especially along the road near the ditches. They were largely ignored….until the county started coming along and cutting them down. I became rather apprehensive that someday they would start sending me a bill. So using my better judgment….and economic common sense….I started having them cut down. This was back in the day when I did not own a chainsaw, so normally one of the high school boys who come and helped me brought his chainsaw out and cut them down for me.

Every time they cut one of these trees down, I would beg them, “Cut it as far down into the soil as possible, so I can mow over the top of it.” Starting their chainsaw with a macho flourish, and giving me one of those “Don’t worry….I know what I am doing” looks”, they would proceed to cut off the undesirable tree….about 6 inches above ground level.

“Is that the lowest you can cut it?” I would ask.

“Yes, I can’t get the chainsaw any lower.”

Or, more likely, I would just say, “Will you go out and cut down those trees….and cut them as close the ground as possible, so I can run the lawnmower over them.”

Then I would go out later on and find the stumps sticking up six inches out of the ground.

All of this was back in the days before I owned a chainsaw…..only a limb saw. And, it was not possible for me to kneel down and finish cutting them off.

But….Again: Enter Sultan! “Let’s go out and cut down those stumps.”

So, one way or the other….he cut them…piece by piece….under my expert supervision, of course…..until we had them cut down to ground level, or in some case, even below ground level.

The major difference with Sultan? Well, there are many differences….and Sultan comes up looking like a genius in all the comparisons….but the main difference is that Sultan actually tried! Instead of making an excuse…taking the easy way out…..he just went ahead and got the job done.

 

 

 

 

And, another big difference….. Sultan was having fun! It was the first time he had used a chainsaw….and he was having fun. Sometimes it is amazing how much a person can accomplish when he is having fun doing it.

The end result of these few hours of work is that I can now mow the lawn without the danger of cutting my arms, legs and face….and losing enough blood to make a normal person unconscious. I no longer have to mow wide swaths around the trees and vines. And, in the ditch in front of my house: I can simply hop on the lawnmower and go mow it. No longer is it a game of Lawnmower Roulette….will I hit a stump and ruin the lawnmower blade….or will I make it through the maze of stumps with the lawnmower blades intact.

The locust trees are gone; the bramble bushes are gone; the stumps are gone. Now I can happily mow the lawn with no worry about danger to myself or to the lawnmower. And…Sultan knows how to use a chainsaw. Well….sort of.

As an added reward…. Some friends of mine happened to be driving by our house with their horse and wagon. They stopped and invited us to take a ride with them down to the river and back…. A welcome respite from work….and a happy reunion with friends.

We were not finished having fun with dangerous toys yet. If you are going to play….put some drama into it. Our next two projects were not as dangerous as wielding a chainsaw…but they did provide some new experiences for Sultan. Now that I am retired, the sort of activities I am involved in on a daily basis are really not intellectual pursuits. Rather, they are basic life skills that, in my opinion, every man and woman who own a home should possess, if they are to live successfully and independently. Of course, one option is to call a carpenter or a repairman every time something around the house or yard needs attention. And, maybe if you are going to be a doctor, this is a viable option. But….if you are poor like me, the better choice is to learn how to take care of small problems by oneself. And, this is one of the lessons I tried to pass on to Sultan.

The first project was to construct a new “false floor” or hard surface, for my desk chair to sit on…..a surface on which is could roll between my two desks easily. For years I had to contend with maneuvering between the two desks on shag carpet. The carpet would clump up and make it impossible for the chair to move easily.

My first solution was to buy a piece of commercial carpet….smooth and simple. Maybe this may have worked if the carpet had been stretched tightly so no wrinkles could form. But doing this is easier than it sounds….at least, for me and my helpers with no special equipment to tighten the carpet. My second brilliant idea was to buy a 4 x 8 ft. piece of plywood and put it down. This fix was a pretty good Band Aid for a while….until the plywood started coming apart….until splinters starting forming, threatening me with a case of tetanus….until little holes started forming, making it even more annoying that the carpet itself. And, then, the guy at the lumber company somehow convinced me that I need to buy a sheet of some sort of particle board… “Much superior than the plywood,” he said. Who was I to question his wisdom. I mean… He worked in a lumber yard. He was supposed to know about stuff like this. This was another Band Aid, of sorts. It worked great for a couple or three months….and it, too, started breaking apart, making it a major pain in the rear. OK…. Now…. Beryl has his own solution. A light came on somewhere in my brain. Admittedly is was only a 25 watt light….but a light nevertheless. I decided to buy a sheet of plywood…..and cover it with linoleum squares. Not only would it look nicer with the linoleum squares….almost like a real floor….but the wheels of the chair would never come into contact with the plywood. Foolproof!

So, one Sunday afternoon, after we returned from eating lunch in Lawrence, Sultan agreed to help make this plan come true! I have to admit, this project did not require the use of any dangerous tools or electrical devices that potentially might result in a visit to the

emergency room. But…. It did require the use of Epoxy paint….which is actually just Epoxy glue…but in a more plentiful form. I suppose there was a danger that his hand….or some other even more important part of his body….would become permanently attached to the plywood. And, then he would have to be forcefully separated from it. Or maybe he would simply become a permanent fixture at my house, lying on the floor and studying to become a doctor from a prone position.

Neither of these things happened. The two parts of the Epoxy paint were carefully mixed together….the plywood was carefully coated with the mixture, just enough to keep ahead of the linoleum squares, and the linoleum squares were applied precisely….and with great

care. You know like the old saying goes, “Stick once….because there is not going to be a second chance!” We divided the labor. Sultan mixed the “paint”; I brushed the paint onto the plywood….staying about a square’s length ahead of him; and Sultan applied the linoleum squares to the plywood. It was good teamwork….and the results were pleasing. And, Sultan was not permanently bonded to the plywood….and he is at home in Saudi Arabia, sitting in a chair, studying to become a doctor.

The second project was a little more complicated. It was not complicated because it was “complicated”…..but because Sultan could not immediately grasp the concept of construction I was trying to explain to him. Actually, there was no need for him to understand the concept. All I needed him for was to do the work…..to do what I told him to do…..to carry out my instructions. But, Sultan…having an inquiring mind and a stubborn spirit….just

kept staring at me, and saying, “What?”

We were making a cover for the crawl space beneath my house. The old cover had disintegrated….fallen apart….and it was well past time to construct a new cover. After several prolonged explanations….lots of gesturing on my part….and saying, “Just do what I tell you”, and finally walking around the house to show him where the cover would go….and demonstrate how it was going to work…..the light finally came on in his intelligent mind. And, the construction process started. This required using an electric saw. Actually, I suppose that potentially more things can go wrong with an electric table saw than can go wrong with a chainsaw. However, I carefully, patiently and clearly (Notice, I am describing myself now!) explained and demonstrated how to use the electric table saw correctly and safely….. And, Sultan performed like the champion that is truly is.

Both projects have turned out to be mostly successful. I have done some minor work to the cover of the crawl space, and Sultan made a minor repair to the floor project before he went back to Saudi Arabia. The locust trees and the bramble bushes have slowly began to grow back. They are insidious; they will forever rear their ugly heads and have to be dealt with. However, the hard work was accomplished. None of these projects would have been done without Sultan’s help and hard work. And, he will be back next summer….probably doing the same jobs again.

And…. Another happy report: I examined Sultan’s hands…and counted his fingers. He returned home with all of them intact.

There was another job that Sultan was more than eager to do. It was a job that I had doubts; about which I was much less enthusiastic. Sultan had asked on more than occasion if he could mow the lawn….using the riding lawn mower, of course. I have rather demanding standards when it comes to my lawn….how it should be

mowed and how it should look after it is mowed. Up until this point….I am the only one who has been able to meet these high requirements. The succession of high school kids who have worked for me over the years have by and large never even come close to meeting them. My theory….my law of life….is: Take your time. “Do it right the first time…and you will not have to do it again.” And, a companion maxim: “Anything worth doing is worth doing well.”

However, the kids whom I have hired to mow the lawn over the years seem to have another goal in mind: “Get it done as fast as you can…. Get the money…. Get out of there.” Therefore, I was somewhat hesitant to let Sultan anywhere near the lawnmower. But, necessitated by conditions beyond my control, I relented and consented to let him mow the lawn. I am sure that if I had been

physically able, I would have done it myself, though. So, again, after some careful and detailed instructions, Sultan set off on an adventure that he had longed for: Mowing the lawn.

While he happily went about the task of mowing, I stood and watched nervously. But, he seemed to be doing a good job….and he was having fun….so I soon grew bored watching him and went back into the house…..returning only at regular intervals to check on his progress. Each time he saw me, he waved happily….and perhaps a bit

triumphantly. The end result was not so bad. He did a good job. The lawn looked pretty good….. Better than most of the high school boys ever did…..but still not quite up to level of perfection I achieve! But…. He passed the test. He was happy; I was happy. And….the lawn was mowed. And, I was thankful and happy for his help.

About a week after Sultan’s arrival we took the opportunity to drive to Arkansas to visit one of my cousins….actually two of them, since her daughter, my second cousin, lives in the same town. I was hoping they would be happy to see me (although I was sure they would be!). However, I knew they would be happy to see Sultan again. Sultan and Fayez have both met both of my cousins on previous occasions. They liked both of them. I mean… Who wouldn’t?

The last trip I made to see them was with Sultan. The visit was a huge success, and they liked Sultan immediately. But…the visit did have a minute or two that proved to be awkward….for both my cousins and Sultan….and for me, for that matter. And, it was probably my fault that the entire incident took place. I probably simply neglected to tell them that Sultan is a Muslin. For me… Well, I have always known it…compensated for it….accepted it…. And, quite frankly, it just did not make any difference to me.

But, during the first trip that Sultan made with me to visit them, we sat and talked cordially, catching up on old times. Lunch time came….And, Dorothy announced that we were having ham and cheese sandwiches, along with…. Well, it really doesn’t make much difference what came after that. I sort of gasped….Sultan looked at

me with a rather startled look on his face. For a second, I didn’t know how to react….or respond. I think it as I who finally said that Sultan didn’t eat pork because of his religion. Dorothy, of course, was highly embarrassed….a little confused and flustered, to say the least. I felt sorry for her. I should have made this clear during our previous conversations….but it simply did not occur to me.

Sultan handled the situation like the true gentleman that he is. He laughed and immediately assured her that everything was OK….that there was enough other delicious food that he would not miss the ham. In fact, he said, it would simply mean more ham for me to eat. Fortunately, Dorothy had cut thick….very thick….slices of cheese for the sandwiches. They, by themselves, made an appetizing and yummy sandwich, especially when combined with the other food she had prepared. Sultan handled the situation flawlessly…..and we happily moved on to pleasant conversation.

Being fairly assured that they would welcome Sultan with open arms….and I mean that almost literally….we started on our journey mid-morning. To make the trip more interesting…for me, at least….we opted to take a different route to Farmington. We took US 75 south out of Topeka and continued on highway 75 until we reached US 54. We then turned east toward Nevada, Missouri. The route took probably an extra 45 minutes, but we were not in a hurry. And, it is probably the most direct and straightforward route. There wasn’t anything special about “scenery”….but it did eliminate the necessity to depend on the GPS.

We stayed in Carthage, Missouri, overnight and continued on to Farmington the next morning. Our plan was to eat lunch with my cousins….hang around until perhaps 1:00, at the latest, and then start back home. On our way back home, we planned to stop at Sam’s farm in Pleasanton. I had calculated that we would reach Sam’s farm around 4:00….and had told Sam to expect us.

Indeed, they were happy to see both of us. Our visit, as usual, started with happy conversation….and then moved to the dining room for lunch. Well…. This time Dorothy informed Sultan that she was NOT serving ham…and amusing reminder of what had happened the last time. We all laughed as we recalled the incident….and the proceeded to eat our lunch. And talk….and talk….and talk…. Dorothy has an

outstanding memory…. Did I mention that she is 92 years old??….and regaled Sultan with many interesting and funny stories from the past. Sultan was an eager and attentive audience (I had heard the stories before.)….and before we knew it, time was a critical factor. We took a few quick photos….and by vital necessity, our visit came to an all-too-soon end.

We hit the road for Sam’s farm. “Well,” I rationalized, “Maybe we can make up some time by some intense driving….and perhaps just a bit over the speed limit.” This may have worked, but there were tons of highway construction…..the same highway they were working on

last summer when we drove down there. If anything, highway construction moves at a slower pace in Arkansas than it does even in Kansas. And, I always thought that Kansas took First Prize when it came to slow progress. Anyway, it became painfully evident that we were running seriously behind on our schedule….and we were helpless to do anything about it.

“Oh well…. Maybe we can make up some time when we finally get out of the construction area.” That was nothing more than wishful thinking. By necessity, we had to stop at a rest stop along the way….we had to drive back through the heavy traffic areas of Joplin, Carthage….etc. And….I hate to bring this up…..but Sultan had left the charging cable for his cell phone in our motel room from the

previous night. The owner was kind enough to send a text saying that he had found it….and was holding it for us. Another necessary…..but highly critical delay. The bottom line: We were forced to send Sam multiple messages….each one postponing our arrival time until a little later.

I was highly embarrassed by the delays….and I hoped that we were not causing Sam any undue inconvenience. It was after 6:00 when we finally pulled into Sam’s farm. Sam was waiting….apparently unruffled by our late arrival. (Who knows what he was probably thinking, though!) He offered us a snack….we visited for a short period of time….looked around a bit….and then, because we wanted to reach home before it got dark, said a premature good-bye….and started for home…..cutting our visit shorter than we had previously planned by probably two hours.

Normally…almost always….my planning is much better than this. But, I suppose when it involved family whom I had not seen in about a year….highway construction that seemed to go on forever and ever….and the demands of Nature…. Maybe this is to be expected. Combining the two visits into one day was no doubt a mistake. Accomplish one goal at a time….and make sure there is ample time for each goal. But, we had an amiable visit…..and, we did make it home just as the sun was setting.

Sultan and I did make a couple other sightseeing treks during the summer….if one can classify driving to Topeka as a “trek”. Sometimes it is difficult to find interesting things to do in Topeka. There is not an abundance of sightseeing opportunities. There are the old stand-byes, the Capitol Building, the Kansas Museum of History, Old Prairie Town…..and those are the place where we went. Admittedly there are still some places where I have not yet been….even after living around here for 48 years. So this is not the time to complain about the lack of things to see or do in Topeka.

At any rate, we made our obligatory visit to the Kansas Museum of History on the far west side of Topeka. This is a site I have visited dozens of time….dating from the time I was teaching 6th grade up until Sultan’s visit. For those of you who have already been there, I think you will agree with me that the museum does an adequate job of depicting Kansas history….ranging from prehistoric times, through the time it was occupied by Indians, progressing through the migration of farmers following the Louisiana Purchase, the strife and conflict of the Civil War…plus the social and economic developments that take us to today’s environment.

For me, the only thing that stands out about this visit was a slightly embarrassing misunderstanding. As we walked into the museum and paid the entrance fee, I asked, mostly as a rhetorical question, if we were allowed to take pictures….and if so, were were allowed to use a flash. The volunteer working at the reception desk said, Yes, not only could we take pictures, but we could also use a flash. I was rather surprised that she said we could use a flash. But…. Who am I to argue? Actually, this was good news. I could take better pictures. And, if taking flash pictures was OK with her….it was certainly OK with me.

As we walked through the museum, I took several pictures of Sultan

standing in front of various exhibits….and he also took some of me. Everything went well, until we were in the final stages of our visit. A guard….probably THE guard….approached me and said that using a flash was not allowed. I told him….politely, of course….that the girl at the reception desk had told us it was OK. “Well, it isn’t,” he said. We agreed to stop….and he disappeared, leaving us a little embarrassed and self-conscious, since there were a few other people in the museum…..People who were NOT using their flash. A few minutes later, the guard reappeared and said he had talked to the girl at the desk, and she had given us the wrong information. Well….OK. We had already stopped taking flash pictures…..and we were also at the end of the tour.. On the way out, we sort of slinked past the girl….figuring we had probably perhaps created an unpleasant situation for her, too.

 

 

 

As I said, I have been to the Kansas Museum of History so many times, that it is no longer very interesting for me. But, I think…and hope….that Sultan enjoyed the brief look at the history of Kansas…and that he came away with a slightly more educated picture of our past. I am almost certain that he found the American Indian exhibits more interesting that I do….and probably also the exhibits of the involvement of Kansas in the Civil War.

On another weekend, we paid a visit to Old Prairie Town….formerly know as the Ward-Mead Mansion. Basically this is an outdoor museum, centered around an historic Topeka Park. Other old buildings have been donated and moved to the premises….and a historic old Kansas village of sorts has been created. There are also scenic and colorful gardens of flowers and shrubs that create a graceful atmosphere of a bygone era. The grounds are often rented out as a wedding venue, and each year the annual Apple Festival is held there. Each Christmas the mansion and grounds are adorned with elaborate Christmas decorations.

However, on a daily basis, the mini-park seems to be sparsely

attended…..although it is well worth a visit. Normally, I have had the misfortune of

arriving too late in the day, and all the buildings are closed. But, the Saturday afternoon that Sultan I visited, many of the buildings were open. We walked into the drug store….complete with an old fashioned soda fountain, booths and a juke box. For me, it was a nostalgic visit back into my past….when I was in high school and college. The major after school meeting place was the drug store. We students would congregate at the soda fountain and sit on the revolving stools….or we would crowd into booths….and sip on our chocolate or cherry Cokes or cherry limeades….or perhaps order a chocolate malt. Inevitably, somebody would “put another nickle in….in the Nickelodeon…”….in the juke box, in other words. We would sit and talk…and listen to the latest pop tunes of the day. Yeah…. We actually talked to each other. That was our form of communication. No cell phones…no text messages….no Facebook….or Twitter. We had to actually look at each other, open our mouth….and talk.

The drug store sort of recreated this all but forgotten gathering place. Only this this time, is was only Sultan and I. We each ordered a Coke….a plain old Coke. I don’t think this place served chocolate or cherry Cokes. In an attempt to recreate the atmosphere, I decided to put some money in the juke box and play a few tunes. The selection of songs, I must admit, was severely limited, but there were still titles that I recognized. The only problem was: A coin had gotten stuck in the juke box….and the thing was jammed up. In other words…. It wouldn’t play. The woman who was working there opened the juke box and proceeded to attempt to repair it. She did basically what I would have done: She kicked it….hit it….and otherwise persuaded the offending coin to complete its circuit and drop where it was supposed to drop.

 

 

 

 

 

So…. We sat and listened to some music….attempted some conversation. But, as they say…. “You can’t go back in time.”…. And, I really do not think Sultan understood much of the “flavor” of what it was like to be a teenager in the 1940’s, 50’s and 60’s. Life for him is probably unimaginable without his cell phone in his hand….without his text messages….without his Twitter… And, as with almost any of today’s youth, it would be useless…..a waste of time and energy….to try and convince him that our life back then just may have been a more wholesome and satisfying life. And, certainly a life with less violence and domestic conflict.

 

 

 

 

Our final major endeavor at sightseeing was a trip to our State Capitol Building. This is basically the home of our elected government….both houses of our conservative, backward legislature meets here….and it is home of our lowlife, narcissistic governor. I mean…. What more is there to say about it? Again, this is a building I have visited numerous times. The first time, like

everything, is the best, however.

In previous years…up until the tragic events of 9/11, visitors could enter from any of the Capitol doors. But, nowadays there is only one entrance. That entrance is on the ground level on the north side of the building. Although Kansas has an unrestricted “open carry” gun law in effect….everywhere except medical facilities and buildings that have their own privately funded armed guards….every visitor must still pass through a metal detector…making sure they are protected, even though the remainder of the public is not.

The Capitol Building was completely renovated a few years ago at a cost of something like $350 million….completed over what seemed an interminable length of time….but probably somewhere around 3 years. I will admit that the building looks good…even grand….and is dramatic and historic.

Sultan was immediately attracted by John Brown….the itinerant rabble rouser who traveled the nation carrying out his personal violent campaign against slavery. From the first picture in the basement visitors center to the larger than life mural of John Brown

in the grand foyer of the Capitol, Sultan continued to express his admiration of the probably deranged self-proclaimed crusader against slavery. That was entirely OK with me….although perhaps personally, I would not choose a hero who undoubtedly would be very much at home in an institution for the severely mentally ill. But, on the other hand, it is an inescapable fact that John Brown was a color figure in Kansas history.

We wandered through the hallways of the building more or less at will, examining the murals and other artifacts, gazing upward into the magnificent dome, taking pictures in the Old Supreme Court Chambers, as Sultan stood behind the podium and pantomimed a

speech of fire and brimstone….and outside the Governor’s office. As usual, we were running behind, and too soon, before we had the opportunity to look into the Senate and House of Representatives Chambers, a voice on the PA system announced that visiting hours had ended….and everybody must exit the building.

 

 

 

 

After leaving the Capitol Building, we walked around the two-block square ground for a while, taking pictures, and then concluded our expedition until another time.

 

 

 

 

Even though we were able to do several things and go several places during the time Sultan was with me….and although we had a joyous and fun time together for those two and a half months…. As I said in the beginning, when I started planning this blog, the only things I could think of were the bad things that happened. They tended to overshadow the good things…..and for sure, they were always lurking in the background, affecting almost everything that happened during the summer.

It was a Sunday night, July 2nd. It was around 10:30. Sultan was already preparing to go to bed….or at least, get into his bed to so he could look at the cell phone! I was sitting in my office, preparing to go through probably 200 e-mail messages that had accumulated throughout the day. As I sat here in front of my computer, a couple drops of blood fell from my right nostril. Of course, I immediately reached for a tissue, expecting that there was really nothing wrong….and maybe there was a sore or a cut somewhere on my nose.

There was neither a cut nor a scratch nor a sore…. I had a nosebleed. Lots of people have nosebleeds. I am sure that at some time in my life, even I had a nosebleed. I wasn’t very worried. I rolled up some tissue….stuck it up into my nose….and pinched my nose as hard as I could….just like the First Aid book recommended. I could see out of the corner of my eye that the tissue was rapidly becoming red….soaked with blood. I rolled another tissue to replace the one soaked with blood….expecting that the bleeding would soon come to an end. I tried to keep the pressure on my nose. After using several tissues, I began to become a little concerned. Why wouldn’t the bleeding stop?

I called to Sultan who was in his room, unaware that anything was happening. When he came into the office and saw the blood, he immediately became concerned. Neither of us knew of any other remedy other than to continue to pinch the nose….and to keep replacing the bloody tissues. The bleeding continued at a steady pace….showing no sign of letting up. We were steadily using tissue paper….and the trash can beside the desk was receiving more and more blood filled tissue papers.

Sultan was worried…..maybe even a little bit scared. I was not feeling so good about the situation myself! After a while, Sultan began insisting that he take me to the emergency room at Stormont-Vail Health Center….my hospital….in Topeka. Hoping that at some point….and by some sort of miracle….the bleeding would stop, I resisted.

At some point, we decided that I should take my blood pressure. The blood pressure was an alarming 220/120….or something like that. I asked Sultan to bring me a Lisinopril pill….my blood pressure medicine. Probably at least an hour had passed by…. But, the high blood pressure was the turning point. I agreed with Sultan that the best choice would be to go to the Emergency Room. Sultan was relieved, to say the least. While still stuffing tissue into my nose….and continuing to pinch it shut, I somehow changed my clothing….and we prepared to leave for Topeka. Before we left, we grabbed a new box of tissue.

I discovered that I was also feeling quite weak. Walking was difficult. I doubt if this was related to the nosebleed…..but it surely did not help matters. Without breaking any speed laws….seriously breaking them, at least….Sultan headed toward Topeka. I knew Sultan was scared and nervous. He had never encountered anything like this before. Well, neither had I, for that matter. But, he remained calm….and always reassuring. Always in control of himself….and always offering comforting words.

As we drove along….Stormont-Vail is probably 30 miles from our house….I kept hoping….in vain, it turned out….that the bleeding would stop….that we could turn around and head back home. But, contrary to my wishes, the bleeding did not stop. In fact, it seemed to get progressively worse the closer we got to the hospital. It was difficult to even switch the tissues to absorb the blood.

We finally pulled into the parking lot of the emergency room. When I got out of the car, I was lightheaded and exhausted. I could walk only a few feet before I had to stop, hold on to Sultan….and rest. Fortunately, a security guard spotted us….and came hurrying out with a wheelchair. I was still clutching the box of tissues….still trying to control the bleeding. By this time, of course, the front of my shirt was covered with blood….as well as my face.

I found out one thing about the Emergency Room….well, probably universally….: Blood attracts attention! Fortunately, the receptionist was able to quickly pull up my records….and I was immediately rolled back to a holding area where nurses took over. I felt rather badly about getting blood over everything….but, I suppose this is a hazard they have dealt with before. I was nervous; Sultan was nervous. But, throughout the entire ordeal, he stayed calm, helpful….and more or less in control of the situation.

By now, it was well after midnight. For the next four hours, they attempted to stop the bleeding. My blood pressure was still sky high, so they gave me a pill to help reduce it. They put some sort of uncomfortable clamp on my nose….something that looked like a prop from a horror movie. It was intended to clamp the blood vessels in my nose closed, and probably help the blood clot.

For the next three or four hours, they worked to stop the bleeding. It would be far more accurate to say that Sultan and I worked to stop the bleeding. Most of the time, Sultan and I were left alone in the room while the nurses and the doctor attended to other patient…or victims….who were in the Emergency ward….or whatever. I kept the monstrous horror-device clamp on my nose….and kept inserting…and removing….the bloody tissues.

Early in the game, Sultan requested…and received….a new box of tissues. It was a good move on Sultan’s part. The bleeding showed little, if any, inclination to stop. As nurses…or the doctor….would periodically make an appearance in the room, either Sultan or I would ask, “What is causing this?” or “Isn’t there anything you can do about it?” “Can’t you do some sort of surgery to close the blood vessels?”

Just in case they might have thought I was a poor homeless, indigent person, I pointed out on at least a couple occasions that I have excellent insurance…..and it would fully pay for anything they needed….or wanted….to do. This all fell on deaf ears. The most common response was, “Well, we will be back later to check on you.”…..and then they disappeared into the labyrinth of cubicles.

Sultan sat and talked to me. I am not sure not exactly what we talked about. But, during the entire ordeal, he was calm…and reassuring….and encouraging. And, also just a bit exasperated that nobody seemed willing….or able…to give any answers about what was happening….or what measures they were taking….or going to take….to solve the bleeding problem.

The recurring question seemed to be, “Are you taking Plavix?” Of course, already having a complete list of my medications, they knew the answer. And, it was obvious that the Plavix was one of the main reasons the bleeding would not stop. Plavix is a drug that prevents the blood from adhering to the stents that had been inserted into two or three of my heart arteries eight years or so earlier. I had been taking it faithfully since my cardiologist had prescribed it. Now….it seemed to be the major culprit in the uncontrollably bleeding.

The good news seemed to be that my blood pressure had returned to near-normal limits.

Sultan was getting sleepy. And, he had good reason to be sleepy. He had been sitting patiently in the room with me since our arrival at around midnight or so. Poor Sultan. I felt sorry for him….and for the inconvenience I had caused him. But, he did not complain….ever. In fact, I think he was finding the experience to be much more interesting and fascinating than I did! As a future doctor, I can imagine that he was gaining some valuable insight of what lay ahead of him. It was definitely a new experience for him. After he was more or less assured that I probably has not going to die, I think it started to become a semi-educational experience.

Around 4:30 A.M…..this would be Monday morning….the doctor came into the room and took a look at the bleeding situation. The bleeding had slowed considerably…although it was still bleeding a little. The said that he was going to insert an absorbent device…..he called it a Tampon….into my nose. It was a long, cylinder shaped device made of tightly packed gauze. He warned me that it was not going to be pleasant….but to bear with him. When I know that something is going to help me, I can withstand a great amount of discomfort….even a little bit of pain. He put the cylinder in my nose….and kept saying, “Hold on. This is not going feel good.” as he proceeded to shove it further and further into my nose.

“OK… Let’s leave this here for a little while and see what happens.” And…then he left again….leaving me still lying in the bed….but now with a white gauze cylinder sticking out my nose.

It has been a long, miserable night….for both Sultan and me. Finally around 6:00 or so, the doctor reappeared. He took a look at the cylinder….and said I could go home now. That was it. “Go home.”

By the time Sultan I arrived back home, the sun had already risen. We were both beyond exhausted. Sultan went to sleep in his bed. And, I went to sleep in my recliner….the recliner which would become my bed for the next several weeks.

They had scheduled an appointment with the ear/nose/throat doctor for Wednesday. We arrived at the doctor’s office at the appointed time. When I attempted to walk to the doctor’s office, I knew immediately that I would not be able to make it. I was lightheaded, dizzy and disoriented. Sultan helped me back to the car. I had only walked a few feet…but it seemed like a mile back to the car. After sitting in the car for a few minutes, I got out to make another attempt.

“I don’t think I can make it,” I told Sultan….again.

“Let me go and see if I can find a wheelchair.”

While I was trying to make up my mind….a mixture of stubbornness and pride, I suppose…..the entire world just sort of disappeared….and I sank slowly….and unceremoniously…..to the to the ground. I don’t think I was unconscious for more than a second. But, long enough to send Sultan scrambling for help. Fortunately, there was an employee of the doctor’s office in the parking lot. She immediately went running to find a wheel chair… In the meantime, a First Responder happened to also be in the parking lot. He was at my side in a flash. Fortunately, he was a big, strong guy! I rested against his knee until a nurse came hurrying out with a wheelchair. Somehow, they lifted me up and into the wheelchair…..and wheeled me into the doctor’s office.

I am really not sure why I was even there. Basically, he did nothing….told me nothing of value….had no answers to my questions. They did give me something to eat, however…..and no doubt billed my insurance for a five-course gourmet meal.

I wish this was the end of the story….

Two weeks later….on a Sunday night….at approximately 10:30 P.M…..I was sitting in my office….. Sultan was preparing to go to bed…… We repeated basically the same scenario…. My nose was bleeding steadily, and with no sign of stopping.

Sultan was in enrolled in class by this time….and he had to go to school the next morning….Monday. This time we elected to call 9-1-1. It was probably a wise decision. My nose was bleeding even more profusely that the last time….even though I was lying down in the back of the ambulance. The attendant worked valiantly to stop the bleeding. But, by the time we reached the Emergency Room, it was a major bleeding event.

I was by myself this time, however. But, just like a broken record….or a movie that is being played again and again….the procedure was the same. Sort of like, “Been there….Done that.”

After the bleeding was more or less under control….again somewhere around 6:00 A.M. or so, I called Beryl and asked him to come pick me up. I spent the morning at my brother’s house….waiting until Sultan was out of class and could come get me and take me home.

Needless to say, I was not at all pleased with either experience at the Emergency Room. They managed to stop the bleeding. That I give them credit for. But, there were no answers as to the WHY. No attempt to do anything beyond stopping the bleeding. Again, I told them a couple times that I have excellent insurance (something they already knew by looking at my records) and anything then needed to do was fully covered. They chose to do nothing, however.

Upon reflection, I suppose I was expecting too much, perhaps. In the Emergency Room they look upon their job as treating the immediate symptoms….and then making space for somebody else. I still firmly believe they should have admitted me to the hospital….and treated the cause….not just the symptoms. They never did this…..and neither did any of the doctors I saw subsequently.

Well…. Around 2:00 or so, Sultan showed up, smiling, but concerned….and we made the trip back to the Ranch once again…..

This is only a small part of the story…..but, hopefully, it is enough to explain why my health problems were a factor….and more specifically, an adverse factor….in all the activities we engaged in during the summer.

And…. Indeed, the Plavix seemed to play a major role in the uncontrolled bleeding. My cardiologist took me off Plavix completely, saying that after one year, Plavix is no longer necessary or needed to protect the stents. He also reduced my aspirin dose from 385 mg a day to 82 mg….a baby aspirin, in other words. Thankfully, these measures seem to have helped….maybe even solved the problem. It is October now, and….knock on wood….the nosebleeds have ceased to be a problem.

I would be less than honest if I did not emphasize again how important Sultan was to me during this period of time. I honestly do not know what I would have done….or how I would have managed….if he had not been here. I am sure I would have….but I do not even want to contemplate how different and how difficult it would have been.

There were two other notable events that we celebrated….or at least, observed….while Sultan was here. One was the Fourth of July. Before Sultan arrived in June, I was planning for a gala celebration of our own. Plans were still vague and being developed, but I envisioned an outdoor feast…at our house….spending part of the day in Topeka at their 4th of July gala (something I had never done

before)…..perhaps breaking one of my own long-standing rules and buying a few fireworks…..and, then attending a major fireworks display somewhere in the area. And, who knows? Maybe I may have even made a couple political speeches along the way….

But, as fate and fortune would have it, I was in rather bad shape….unable to walk in a stable manner, short of breath, light-headed and slightly disoriented. Looking back on those terrible days, I have no idea what the problem was. And, for sure….the doctors didn’t know, either. If they did, they kept it a deep, dark secret. They certainly did not tell me.

In the afternoon, we drove to Topeka to check out the celebration which had been advertised heavily on TV. We expected to see Kansas Avenue blocked off….and swarms of people crowding the street. When we arrived…. There was nothing. Kansas Avenue was virtually deserted. We checked Washburn University, a former venue for the celebration. Nothing going on there. It appeared to be locked down tight.

“OK,” I thought. “I know there are a bunch of things going on at Lake Shawnee.”

A vintage car show had been billed as one of the top attractions of the day. This was an event that I was sure Sultan would find to be interesting….and enjoy. We arrived at Lake Shawnee. Where is the celebration? The craft booths? The food vendors? Where was the much publicized old car show? The only thing going on was

apparently an outdoor concert. We had no problem finding a parking spot. Why should we? There were very few people there! Sultan and I slowly walked toward the sound of the music….or noise would be a more appropriate description of the sound….and found a stage had been erected….and some sort of local wanna-be band was playing….or attempting to play. A few people were seated in lawn chairs in front of the stage. And, basically, that was it!

By this time, I was so exhausted that I waited while Sultan went to get the car. I did not have the energy or the strength to walk back to the car. I felt miserable….not only for myself, but also for Sultan. He couldn’t possibly be having any fun. But, there was never a complaint. We drove back home….and then we did something that I

have never done in the 48 years I have lived in the Valley Falls area. I did it reluctantly…and under the cover of darkness. I did not want to ruin my reputation….or provide any speculation or gossip opportunities for the local-yokels.

Sultan and I went to the fireworks display in Valley Falls! It was dark, of course, and we parked on the cemetery road and waited for the fireworks to begin. Oh…I don’t know. They tried. It was probably a display that is typical of many small communities with limited resources and expertise.

Yes…. We rather enjoyed it. At least, we were doing something to celebrate the holiday. Let me qualify that statement. We enjoyed it up to a point….and then it seemed to become redundant. Exactly how many fireworks of exactly the same kind can a person

watch…..and not get just a little bored. I was expecting the display to last around 15 minutes…..20 at the maximum. But, bless their little hearts, they had obviously decided that this was going to be a genuine spectacle. The display continued….on and on….for more than 30 minutes. We waited…and waited….for the big finale. Perhaps a flag of the USA….or one last powerful display where the sky would virtually light up. That would be the signal that it was over. But….as we sat and waited, the only way we knew that the display was over was then cars began to leave.

(I might add that Sultan was ready to drive away on a couple occasions. And, he would have, if I had not stopped him.)

So…. That was a First for me….and, I can imagine, also a Last.

The other “big event” that transpired was my birthday. Yes…. Let’s call it a celebration! For at my age, every additional birthday is a cause for celebration. We had invited a friend of ours for dinner on that day….although we took great care not to mention that it was my birthday. As it happened, he called and said he was not feeling well, and he would not be able to come up. We were disappointed, but we went ahead with our plans for the meal that Sultan had begun to prepare.

Actually, we spent a pleasant day by ourselves. Sultan presented me with a t-shirt. (There is a picture of me wearing it somewhere in this blog.)….and he had also bought a birthday cake. I was very pleased with the day. What better way to spend it than with Sultan.

The real reason….the “legal” reason….Sultan was able to spend the summer at my house was the fact that he was enrolled in an English course at Washburn University. Since he possesses an an education visa, it was mandatory that he be enrolled in a college course. On the days that I did not need the car, he drove it to Topeka and back. On the days when I needed the car for something, he drove the pickup. This arrangement seemed to work well….although I am beyond certain that Sultan was happy that most days he was able to drive the car! The pickup runs fine….but it has no air-conditioning, no power steering, no power brakes….no power anything. And, even a boy who spent his life living on the hot, sandy desert learns to appreciate comfort and the other amenities of modern transportation.

Sultan enrolled in a writing class. He took the class seriously and spent a great deal of time in his room researching and writing the various essays that were assigned to him. On occasions, I proofread his writing, and throughout the duration of the course, I could see a constant and steady improvement in the quality of his writing and of the content. His fluency improved; his vocabulary expanded; his writing became more cohesive and comprehensible. Certainly, he became more confident in expressing his opinions and thoughts on paper.

 

 

 

 

All the other problems aside, there is no doubt that the four weeks he spent in the English composition class were definitely beneficial and definitely were not a waste of time. There is no doubt in my mind that Sultan had made substantial gains in his English language ability and that he returned to his home with a stronger and more durable grasp of the English language. Sultan approaches whatever task he faces with determination, optimism, and self-confidence. In this case….and in other endeavors that I am aware of….it has paid off. He finished first in his class. Now he is enrolled in medical school, and there is no doubt in my mind that he will graduate first in his class….and go ahead to become my personal physician.

Although there really is not a lot to say about it…. Almost every day this summer, Sultan faithfully and willingly participated in some form of exercise. For the first few weeks, he went running consistently….only taking off a couple days to let his body rest. At first he ran on the Ferguson Road. The Ferguson Road, which was transformed from a muddy, often almost impassable, road into the most heavily traveled road in Jefferson County, aside from the state highways, is not an ideal place to run. The traffic is still constant and the threat of danger is always present.

Sultan began running at Paradise Point, an abandoned state park a few miles south of our house. Not only is there far less traffic….actually, little, if any traffic….but the terrain is more varied, and if offers a variety of changing landscapes and elevations. We measured and marked a four-mile course. This made it possible for him to adjust his distance to fit time and energy conditions.

Later in the summer, Sultan discovered my old bicycle hanging in the garage. When he asked if he could ride it, I should have said a resounding NO! But, after making this discovery, I don’t recall that he ever ran again. The bicycle became the love of his life…at least, the love of his leisure time life. Poor “Running”…. Forsaken for something more glamorous and perhaps something more appealing! But…. It actually was a good thing. Sultan was able to ride the bike more independently….and on days when I absolutely did not feel well, he was able to take the bike and go riding by himself. I constantly worried about his safety. But, all things worked out well…. Sultan returned home every time he left for a ride.

Yes…. The summer was an interesting summer. I experienced the joy and satisfaction of Sultan’s presence. I also experience his caring manner and his devotion to me during the health problems that I encountered. As I have recounted, we did an abundance of interesting things and made some delightful trips to visit some of our favorite people. In other words….. We just had some good…and memorable…times together. It was a summer that will linger in my memory for years to come.

On the other hand…. I think I can say with little hesitation or with no exaggeration….insofar was my health is concerned….and considering the misery and anxiety I experienced, July and August were probably the worst two months of my life. But, if that is the worst it will ever get, I will survive. Especially if Sultan is around to help and offer encouragement.

Now the time had come to get ready for our kick-ass trip through the Western USA.

Ahhhh….. Spring Break. The time that most students take off for

South Padre Island or Miami or the Bahamas…..to rest and relax and frolic on the sun-drenched pristine sandy beaches. A time to leave the burdens of school behind….to free the mind….to drink round the clock…..to go without bathing or changing clothing for a week…..

Yeah….. Fayez and I also went on Spring Break. But, we didn’t head for the beach. We headed for the Four-Corners….the point where Arizona, New Mexico, Utah and Colorado all meet. It is only place in the USA where this phenomenon occurs. No….It probably isn’t as exciting or glamorous as spending a week on a semi-tropical beach. But, on the other hand, it is not as expensive, either. And, it didn’t wreck our health or our wallets. And…. Yes, we did take a bath each morning….we did change our clothes every day…..we did get a reasonable amount of sleep. And…NO, we did not drink around the clock. In fact, now that I think about it, not a drop of alcohol was consumed.

So….. Maybe you are asking: Why choose the Four Corners? It is part of our continuing quest to visit all fifty states. And, what better way to kill a bunch of birds with one stone than to go to a place where four of them meet. A place where a person can actually BE in four states at one time….albeit with one hand and one foot in each state. But…. Still!

I had already been to the Four Corners four or five times, so it was nothing new to me. However, it afforded Fayez an opportunity to add to the number of states he has visited. Truthfully…. He added only two new states…..New Mexico and Arizona. He had already been in Utah and Colorado….and Kansas and Oklahoma and Texas. But, this was new territory, so it was all a new experience for him.

As is normal for me, I started planning the trip about six weeks before we actually started on the trip. Either fortunately….or unfortunately….all the campgrounds were still closed for the winter. And, there were no campgrounds to be found on the desert near the Four Corners. Fayez decided later that this was probably a fortunate thing… Me, too, as far as that is concerned. Booking motels during the middle of March is not much of a challenge. This is not part of the peak tourist season. I booked what I hoped would be comfortable hotels…..not the cheapest, but also, not the most expensive.

The unexpected surprise arose when I attempted to reserve rental car. OK…. Let me ask you a question. When would you expect the peak rental car seasons to be? Thanksgiving? Probably…. Christmas? Well…. Maybe. Summer vacation? For sure…. Graduation? Well…. Believe me, it is. I found that the hard way. But, what about Spring Break? It you said “Yes”, then you are more perceptive than I was. Spring Break never entered my mind as a possibility. But, when I tried to rent a car for our trip about a month before we left….back in February….I was surprised when there was was not a single rental car to be found in either Topeka or Lawrence. In fact, when I checked the Topeka rental agencies, I thought the web sites were not working properly…..maybe they were offline…. Yeah! All of them! So, I started checking the rental agencies in Lawrence. Then it began to dawn on me…. There were simply no cars for rent that week. Ah, ha! Spring Break….. I was sort of in a mild panic. What if there were NO cars at any rental agency?

I certainly was not about to start out in my Suzuki. I am

adventurous….but I am not stupid! (Yes…. Everybody has their own opinion!) Fayez had wanted me to drive to Wichita the day before we left, so he would not have to drive to Valley Falls. So, I checked on the rental car companies in Wichita. Good Luck…. There were cars available. Maybe none of the WSU students go home during Spring Break….or maybe they all live in Wichita…..or maybe they all own cars…..or maybe they never learned to drive. But, I didn’t waste any time. I reserved a car. OK…. The arrangements for the trip were complete. Thanks to me…..

Early Monday morning, March 20, we drove out of the parking lot of Fayez’s apartment and headed west in our 2017 bright blue Hyundai Elantra. The weather was beautiful….sunny and warm….temperatures destined to read the middle 80’s by mid afternoon. Our goal for the day was to drive to Clayton, New Mexico. I knew….but I am not sure Fayez knew….that the elevation for the next eight hours probably would not vary more than one foot. We people who live here know it is a complete myth concocted by “foreigners”…. But the trip from Wichita to Clayton would surely have convinced anybody that Kansas is for sure “as flat as a pancake”.

The first stop of the day was in Greensburg, Kansas. Greensburg, as many of you Kansas residents will recall, was virtually wiped off the map in a devastating tornado the night of May 4, 2007. The tornado, which swept through the town in just a matter of minutes, was possibly the most devastating physical event in recent Kansas history. The tornado destroyed…..literally leveled…..95% of the town and killed eleven people…..all in the matter of just a few short minutes.

My interest in Greensburg lies in the fact that my brother was principal of the grade school and junior high school back in the late 1950’s and the 1960’s……a position he held until he moved to Junction

City in 1969. I remember making at least at couple trips to Greensburg on the train to spend a couple days with him. I also recall taking Mother to Greensburg to visit. So, the town has a place in my memory.

Shortly after the rebuilding process began, one of the satellite television channels began airing a multi-part series on the rebuilding planning and progress. I thought it was a fascinating series, and I never missed a program as the show chronicled the slow rebirth of the town.

The town was rebuilt as a “Green” town….meeting certain standards set by some organization. In order to receive a building permit, builders…..both private and business….had to meet certain “Green” building codes. There seemed to be a great deal of controversy surrounding this decision…..and as I recall, there was some local political turmoil.

After the series finished, I never followed up on subsequent ordinances and building codes. I am not going to make any sort of judgment on the correctness or the wisdom of this decision. I am rather certain that because of these restrictions and additional requirements, building costs were considerably higher than normal. The population of Greensburg in 2000 was 1574 people. Of course, for a time, the population was technically next to Zero. According to the estimated 2015 census, the population was 798…..or just about

half the population when the tornado hit.

Anyway, be that as it is…..I wanted to take some pictures to show to my brother….especially of the school. So, we took a brief tour of the town, paused to take some pictures…..and then moved on. One things for sure…..Greensburg once again looks like a “town”…..with no visible signs of the terrible destruction caused by the storm ten years ago.

 

 

 

 

 

Our ultimate destination for the day, as I said earlier, was Clayton, New Mexico. Why Clayton? That is the question my sister-in-law asked when I told her where we would be staying that first night. “There is nothing in Clayton. It is just a dirty little town out in the desert.”

Yes…. There is not much tourist allure to draw a person to Clayton. But, the town is where a couple of my friends live….a former colleague of mine. And, it is also almost exactly one day’s drive from

where I live in Ozawkie Township.

Probably about a day’s drive from my house…..but a couple hours closer from Wichita. And….I hadn’t taken into account the time change…..a time change to our advantage. Instead of driving into Clayton at around 5:00, as I had originally envisioned, we drifted into into town around 2:30 local time….easily found our motel….and were looking forward to a little rest from the day’s trip. Check-in time was 3:00….and apparently when they say 3:00, that is precisely what they mean. Anyway, our room was not ready. “Come back at 3:00,” the receptionist told us.

So…. We had thirty minutes to kill…or fill. As luck….and the

distrustful GPS….would have it., we did not take the normal route….the route that most sane people would have chosen. I am telling you, people: Take charge of your trip. Do not trust the GPS! More times that not, it will steer you wrong. To put it simply, it did not route us through Texas, as I had expected. Thus, we were left without  pictures in front of the Texas state sign. Fortunately, the Texas border is only 10 miles east of Clayton. With nothing better to do, we climbed back into the car and headed east to Texas. After taking photos of each of us posing in front of the Texas sign, we walked around the sign a couple times….just to honestly say we had been in Texas. I am particular about these things….even though Fayez could have cared less. I did not want to go back home and show pictures of us standing in front of the Texas sign, when we had not actually been in Texas. Both of have been in Texas previously. I have been there many times, but there is nothing like being honest….at least, technically

honest….when bragging…I mean talking…. about the trip.

We met Tom and Sherry Lambert at the Eklund Hotel for dinner. Sherry is a former colleague of mine. She taught the business classes and the computer classes in the same school district where I worked. Among some other titles I possessed, one of them was Technology Coordinator. How I got that job has always mystified me. Me? Beryl Darrah? Technology Coordinator? Maybe it was because I was one of the few people in the school district who owned a computer….or maybe I was the only one. But, believe me….the bar was set at its lowest point…whatever the criteria were.

 

 

 

 

 

Anyway, Sherry bailed me out of so many situations. She should have been receiving my salary. No doubt about it. At any rate, she and Tom and I became friends….and the friendship endured. The last time I saw her and Tom was in 2006. I stopped to see them in Clayton….first on my way to my job in Big Bend National Park….and again on the way back home three months later. Prior to that I stopped at their house when I took my foreign exchange students to the Four Corners.

It was Sherry and Tom who introduced me to a rather remarkable place that I had previously never heard of….Palo Duro Canyon. This spectacular canyon….located south of Amarillo, Texas, is the second largest canyon in the USA…..and obviously does not get the fame or attention that the larger Grand Canyon receives. However, Sebastian and I were on our way to the Four Corners….must have been back in 2000. As usual, we stopped at the Lamberts on our way. They informed us that blizzard warnings had been posted for that area….and driving through the mountains probably was not the best idea. We began searching for other alternatives….and this was long before I had worked in Big Bend National Park. They suggested Palo Duro Canyon. I was dubious at first. I had ever heard of the place. But faced with the other alternatives….like driving back home!…..we set out to explore something new.

Let me say…. The trip was well worth the time. The roads leading down into the canyon are beautiful and dramatic; the scenery is awesome and often breathtaking. But….that is another story.

We met at the Eklund Hotel for supper. The Eklund Hotel is one of Clayton’s historical landmarks….much of it has been preserved in its original architecture. We enjoyed a pleasant and leisurely meal among what I am going to assume were some Clayton’s elite citizens. While Tom took Fayez on a tour of the hotel, Sherry and I sat and caught up on the past few years.

After the meal was finished, we followed them to their home where we spent the evening in pleasant conversation. Although I have been to their house at least three or four times, almost nothing was familiar. None of it seemed to ring a bell. Actually the last time I was there with one of my exchange students….in 2000 with Sebastian….they were both still working and were not at home when we arrived. But they had left the house unlocked for us and had told us to go in and make ourselves at home. Almost immediately after arrived, there was a severe thunderstorm…..and we sat in the dark waiting for them to return.

Over the past years, they have made many modifications and improvements. We lingered longer than we had planned, and as we returned to our motel room, it was almost time to call it a day…..and look forward to the adventures of Tuesday.

For some weeks, I had been telling Fayez about “Indian Bread”…..or, at least, that is what I call it….extolling its virtues, not to mention its good taste. I assured him that this would indeed be one of the highlights of our trip. Authentic bread made by authentic Indians….or, we should correctly refer to them as Native Americans. Fayez was looking forward to it….at lot, I think. We mentioned this to Tom while were were visiting with them, and he told us of a little town where there would be several

roadside stands or kiosks where this would be available.

As we woke up on Tuesday morning and continued our journey toward Taos, New Mexico, this was destined to be a major event of the day. As is his usual habit, Fayez typed Taos into the GPS….and off we went. We made it out of Clayton successfully, but that proved to be only thing that went right. We drove and drove. Fayez kept asking, “How far is it until we find the Indian bread?”

“It shouldn’t be very far,” I kept telling him. But…I kept thinking, “Where are all the mountains and the winding roads?” After an hour or so of not-so-familiar territory, I began to suspect what I should have known all the while: The GPS had taken us the wrong way. In fact, we were actually heading AWAY from the little town. And, of course, we had driven much too far to even consider turning around and retracing our route. The GPS had done it….again. Fayez tends to put more faith in the GPS than I do. I have had too many experiences of bad advice from that little brainless object. Reading and following a map takes more effort, but it is far more accurate. When using a map, we are seizing control of our destiny…..instead surrendering it to device that couldn’t care less.

“Well,” I told Fayez, “All is not lost. We will still be able to get some Indian bread at the Four Corners.” Actually, this is where I had eaten it in previous years, anyway. So, with a degree of hope restored, we continued on to Taos.

Taos is a quaint, picturesque little town….cleverly disguised as a little Native American enclave, with faux Spanish architecture, with a touch of the old Southwest and Native American culture mixed in for good measure. I think that back in the “old days”, Taos was actually an authentic, poor little community with actual roadside stands where Native Americans sold the good they had actually produced with their own hands….pottery, blankets, art objects….as well as authentic food. I can still recall my fifth grade teacher telling us about bargaining with the Native Americans before she bought anything….trying to whittle the price down….and how clever and slick the Indians could be in holding out for the top price they could coax out of the tourists. I wish we had checked….and I will on my next trip…..but I can well imagine that a vast majority of the

“genuine” merchandise was produced in Taiwan or Sri Lanka or China. Maybe I am wrong….and if I am I will certainly report it in the blog of any subsequent trips.

 

 

 

 

 

Taos is a pleasant and interesting diversion from desert driving…with lots of shops to check out, a few art galleries, a tiny museum, bustling cafes and coffee shops….and, most important of all….restrooms. The only purchase we made in Taos was at a chocolate shop. The chocolate…or toffee, in our case….was delicious, without a doubt. But, who knows where it was really made! And…..really. Who cares?

We spent Tuesday night in Farmington, New Mexico, in the northwest corner of the state. This city seems to be one of the gateway cities to the Four Corners area. I found this out the hard way….and these are usually lasting lessons. The first time I made the trip to the Four Corners….with Frank Schreiber, I think….I did not bother to make any advance plans. Don’t ask me why? I knew better. We went in May of 2003. I was probably thinking, “Most schools aren’t even out for the summer. How busy can it be down in the desert?” And, that no doubt was true. The flaw in my reasoning was not in the number of people seeking motel rooms. The error was not even checking to see if a motel even existed!” My plan was to stay in Shiprock, New Mexico, our second night. I mean….on the map, Shiprock is written in bold print. Any town with bold print should have a motel…..Right? Wrong! We ended up driving back to Farmington. The distance between Shiprock and Farmington is not an insurmountable distance….but it certainly was not convenient, either. Especially

since we were driving after dark.

Bright and early on Wednesday morning, we were in the car and headed toward our grand destination: The Four Corners. The single attraction along the way was….Yep…Shiprock! Shiprock is a large….and very large…more than 7000 feet tall….bolder jutting up into the sky literally in the middle of nowhere. It is difficult to miss. In fact, unless a person is legally blind, there is no way to miss it. It dominates the landscape for miles around….just sitting there looking a little bit like a ship sailing across the desert….if you use your imagination.

We arrived at the Four Corners Monument with a minimum of trouble. Our trouble began after we had arrived. The Four Corners Monument is located literally out in the middle of nowhere…..just sitting there in the desert. It is only place in the USA where four states all join together and touch each other. Believe me…..that is only thing that makes it unique. No motels, no restaurants, no cute little boutiques, no amusement parks…..really, no parks at all. There are no trees, no flowers, no lush lawns….and probably no running water. No…. It is just a spot in the middle of the desert where four states….Arizona New Mexico, Utah and Colorado….happen to touch each other.

Normally, it is a place where people come….take a couple pictures….maybe look at the merchandise that several Native American vendors are selling….and then leave. It is not a place for picnicking, for fine dining…..or for anything really. Except for the day we were there. There were perhaps a dozen young people…..teenagers…. That’s OK…. Maybe these were smart teenagers who decided that it would be interesting to take a look at this unusual phenomenon of four states joining together…..probably studying it in their geography class….. maybe honor students? Right? Wrong!! Very wrong.

I strongly suspect these kids were escapees from some juvenile detention facility….or more than likely from a juvenile psychiatric ward. No….. Now that I think about it, they had probably escaped from a drug treatment center….and were hiding out in the desert……and in the process, making life miserable for the other visitors.

It was fairly obvious that these idiots were either drunk or high. My vote is with High. Their behavior was out of control….and they were apparently completely oblivious to the fact they were making fools of themselves. They were completely un-selfconcious. They were lying down on the monuments, doing handstands, holding each other, giving each other piggy-back rides over the monument (I suppose into and out of each state.), sitting down on the monument…..

Not only were they oblivious to the fact they were acting like morons…..they also seemed oblivious to the fact the were preventing other tourists from taking their share of pictures. There was a sign posted….probably more than one….that clearly stated there was a limit of 3 pictures by each person. Really, the only way to get them to move aside for even a minute was to simply walk out in the middle of them….and disperse them, temporarily. Fayez and I managed to grab our few pictures by almost running onto the monument as soon as one of the other “legitimate” tourists had finished.

The visit was not a leisurely fun time, like it should have been. I think it safe to say that all the tourists were tense and unhappy…..having to take their few hurried photos before being displaced by the unruly group of delinquents again. While Fayez and I were there, nobody…..including us….had the nerve…..or perhaps the courage….to tell them to Buzz Off. But, I strongly suspect that sometime….and hopefully not very long after we left….a couple of strong red-neck Trump supporters came along and did the job for us. At least, I hope so….. That is one service to the country that I can truly commend and support. The Four Corners Monument seems to be privately operated by Native Americans in the area. Had this been a national park or a national monument, there would have been park rangers or park police who would have dealt quickly and decisively with the situation. But there wasn’t…..so Come on Trump Supporters….. Do Your Thing.

Behavior such as this is unacceptable and inexcusable. Monuments such as this one were constructed as a public service…..for the public to appreciate and enjoy. Our citizens….as well as travelers from around the world….go there with the expectation that they are going to not only perhaps learn something from their visit….but also enjoy and remember the experience. It is with their support monuments like this continue to exist.

Being deprived of an interesting, leisurely and memorable visit to the Monument….well, I guess it was memorable in its own bizarre way….we turned our attention to finding some Indian bread to eat. I asked a woman who was operating a jewelry stand where we could buy some of the bread. She glanced around and said normally there were vendors who had sold it….but apparently they had not arrived

to set up their little kiosks. I turned my attention to finding Fayez. He was engaged talking to another vendor….asking him the same question. His reaction and response was similar. He looked around, rather puzzled, and said, “They are usually here by now. I don’t know what happened to them.” And, he was unwilling….or unable….to give us any estimate of when they might be expected. Instead he asked us which direction were were headed, and then briefly disappeared into his little booth and emerged with a map. He proceeded to to give us direction to a place where we could find the bread….in a little town up the highway.

 

 

 

 

 

All of the Native Americans with whom we came into contact were very helpful and polite to us….always with a smile on their face….and always willing to offer assistance when they could. Even though we were not able to sample any of this coveted Indian bread, we left feeling very impressed with the helpfulness and thoughtfulness of the Native American who worked there….and the manner in which they made us feel welcome. Maybe this….in a small part, at least….compensated for the idiocy displayed by the juvenile delinquent teenagers.

We on toward Mesa Verde National Park….the Cliff Dwellings. As we drove through the little town where we supposed to find the Indian bread, we…or at least, I….made a cursory inspection of the little town to recognize the landmarks the Native American guy had described to us. And, I suppose it did not come as much of a surprise that I did not see any of them….. I think that by this time Fayez had already forgotten how terribly important the Indian bread once was.

There should be lot to say about Mesa Verde National Park. It is a hugely interesting place to visit. And, I suppose that somebody with a greater interest and a greater knowledge of Native American culture would and could go into lengthy and probably even interesting discussion of all the sites that can be seen there. But,

unfortunately, I am not one of those people..

My interest in this sort of stuff is minimal…..whether it is Indian ruins….or any sort of ruins. Many people are amazed by this fact, since my undergraduate major was in history. My interest, however, lies more in the history of the development of our government and our political systems. I will leave the “ruins” to somebody who has a greater interest in it.

Nevertheless, a few hours spent in Mesa Verde National Park is an experience that will fascinate almost everybody…..no matter their interests. I had visited the Park long ago….back in the 1980’s, and I remember it as being much more hands-on and interactive. Then again….I am starting to get rather old and senile (!) (in some people’s opinion, at least), and maybe I have forgotten how it was….or that I am remembering it the way I want to remember it….and the way I wish it was.

To get on with the story, however….. Mesa Verde National Park is the long-abandoned remains of an ancient Indian civilization. Dwellings….entire villages….have been built into the sides of cliffs….and fairly sheer cliffs, at that. These seem to be fairly self-contained units. The villages were reachable only by ladders which the people who lived there had constructed. As they stand today, they would be almost impossible to access had not been that more modern….and more durable….ladders had been constructed. Until I read the educational material explaining the villages, I marveled how the workers were able to come and go. Of course, there was always the possibility these were the people who invented rappelling….but that likelihood of that was rather slim. I was going to say it was rather

“remote”….but actually, these villages are “remote”.

The people who lived here lived primarily, if not solely, by agriculture and hunting. All the WalMart stores were apparently too far away. This being the case, it is obvious they had to leave the villages and return on a frequent basis. It was interesting to observe that these ancient people had a rather highly sophisticated system of storing and preserving their food…..by digging holes into the ground. They also devised rather ingenious systems of ventilation, especially clever in the underground houses.

Fayez remarked that he would have liked to have lived back in those days. My reaction was: “WHY?” Yeah….a person can stand there and look at all that stuff and imagine: It’s fascinating; it’s intriguing; maybe even glamorous in an imaginary, dream world sort of way. But live there….and then? Not on your life! Those people, no matter how intelligent and inventive they were, had a hard life. There was nothing glamorous or even attractive or alluring about it.

Yes, of course, you argue: If you didn’t know anything else, you would probably be living in an “advanced” society. But, it would have been a one-dimensional life: Get up in the morning and go to work! Hard work. Planting, harvesting, hunting, building, gathering….. Not to mention probably having to defend their territory from other tribes.

 

 

 

 

 

When they got home at night….assuming they got home….what was there to look forward to? Nothing! Eat and go to sleep. No… they didn’t kick back in their favorite recliner, pop open a beer and turn on the TV and watch their favorite team play. They did not take their sons to their Little League games or take their little girls to ballet lessons. They did not go to a neighborhood bar to hang out and discuss what an idiot Trump is. There were no books or newspapers to read….

No running water, no electricity, no means of communication…. No….None of these things we take for granted existed. Of course, I didn’t live back them, but I can imagine that life was pretty boring….and maybe even somewhat hopeless….. I can imagine their diet did not have a lot of variety….just whatever they could catch…or whatever they could manage to grow in the arid soil. No…..I can imagine they came home home exhausted after a long day’s work, almost totally exhausted…. Came home to darkness….except for a fire built in the middle of the room….

But, Who knows? Maybe we simply haven’t uncovered all their luxuries. But, I doubt it. And…. Also consider that entire families….probably extended families….all lived in the same small house….slept in the same room….. Think of those implications for a minute.

No…. As for me. There was not one minute that I felt urge or desire to transport myself back to those days. In fact, I think it would have been a perfectly miserable life.

But….I digress.  As I mentioned earlier, I remember being Mesa Verde being much more accessible than we found it this time. When Dusty Davis and I were there back in the early 1980’s, I seem to remember being able to park our car….and climb among the ruins. This may simply be an illusion that has formed because of the passage of time. However, there was one loop of the park that was still closed for the winter months. I suppose it is possible that this could have been the place where Dusty and I went. Probably not…. But, who knows? Today, all the view points are quite far from the actual ruins. The old villages….old “cliff dwellings”…. can only be viewed from parking lots on the far side of the canyon…..looking across and down up on them. As a matter of fact, without a zoom lens on my camera, it would not have been possible to take very good pictures. But, the distant view does afford a better perspective, I suppose.

Only the houses which were built down into the earth were available for closeup inspection. These excavated ruins are sheltered in large building….covered to protect the excavations from exposure to the elements of nature….and to protect them from the eventual fate of being swallowed up by the earth again.

These villages are separated from each other, and seeing them all requires from driving. We easily were able to see two of the three loops in a matter of a couple hours or so. We stopped to look at most of the exhibits and gave each of them a fairly thorough inspection, although we did not linger unnecessarily.

As we drove along from exhibit to exhibit….from village to village….I wondered if the people of each of the villages socialized with each other….if, indeed, they ever knew each other. Maybe they climbed the ladders every Saturday night and met at their local buffalo barbeque pit….drank beer…gossiped….and danced the night away to the sound of drums beating and women dancing. But….. No. I can imagine their lives were difficult, boring…..perhaps somewhat hopeless….and without much intellectual stimulation.

But, as the old saying goes: If you do not know something…. You cannot miss it.

After spending a pleasant evening in Durango, Colorado, in yet another disappointing motel, we left Mesa Verde National Park behind, left the semi-arid land of Indian Territory and headed up into the Rocky Mountains. We drove north toward Montrose, passing through some spectacular snow covered mountains. We stopped occasionally to take in the breathtaking vistas….and to take pictures. It was only the first days of spring, little of the snow had melted, and the mountains were white, gleaming with deep layers of snow.

Traffic was light, the day was sunny and calm…. There were plenty of well-placed pull-overs, making it easy and convenient to stop the car, get out and enjoy the awesome surroundings. The air was clean and crisp. Our senses were invigorated and alive. “You fill up my senses…..like the mountains in springtime….” (John Denver) Around every curve were more snow covered mountain vistas….almost begging to be photographed….to be enjoyed….to be savored. But…. Like I have always said: “If you have seen one mountain…. You have seen them all…” Yeah….I know. Not a very sympathetic or sentimental attitude….but, certainly a realistic one.

In contrast with some previous trips we have taken, this time we actually did stop a few times…several times, in fact….to take pictures….and not just keep driving. What point is there in taking a trip….especially a trip with such dramatic and dazzling scenery….if you come home with nothing to remember it by? Of course, a person cannot take a pictures of every mountain….no should he. In that case, he will find himself looking back on the pictures at a later time asking, “I wonder why I took so many pictures of the mountains?” Or “I wonder why I took that picture?” But, I always want to take enough pictures…representative pictures….of all that I have seen and experienced. Pictures help bring back memories and remind us of adventures and the joy we experienced during the trip.

We made brief stops in Silverton and in Ouray….both historic old mining towns….both of which have morphed into tourist towns over the years. Both of these town, especially Ouray, has become home to many of the rich and famous of the music and film world. Needless to say, neither of these two town is inexpensive. So, if you go there, expect to spend some money. You are probably paying not so much for the merchandise or service that you buy….but you are paying for the name. You know….Location…location…location. Ouray is home to several destination ski resorts in the winter time, and like many other little mountain towns, it works hard to maintain its quaint appearance and old mining town ambiance. Fortunately for Fayez and me….but not so fortunately for them….we managed to hold on to most of our money during our brief stay in both of those little towns.

After turning east on US 50 in Montrose, we made steady progress toward Colorado Springs, where, just as suddenly as we entered the mountain near Durango….we left them again….and headed toward Limon, Colorado, where we spent the final night of our trip. There really is not much to say about the territory between Colorado Spring and Limon, except that it is best to cover it as quickly as possible. It is, in fact….and if it is possible….more boring than Western Kansas. And, slower, since the entire seventy or so miles is all two-lane highway dotted only with sparsely small, forgettable little towns.

From the time we arrived in Clayton, New Mexico four days earlier, we had heard rumors and predictions of a major winter storm which was bearing down on central Colorado….if not the entire state. Out of caution, I had watched the weather forecasts rather closely. I wanted to be ready to change our route, if that became necessary….and take a

highway that would avoid any risk of danger….or possible delay.

When we checked into our motel room in Limon, I asked the desk clerk about the latest weather predictions. He did not seem at all worried. “Yes… They have been talking about it, but I think the storm is only going to affect mountain driving.” OK… That sounded good.

That night we watched the local weather forecast. They, too, more or less echoed what the desk clerk had told us: The storm was going to primarily be confined to the mountains. So, we drifted off to slumber land without any premonition that a blizzard might be imminent.

Sometime in the middle of the night….the very early hours of Friday morning…..I was awakened by noise originating from somewhere. I lay in my bed for a couple minutes and listened. Finally I got out of bed, went to the window and looked out. The wind was blowing with great fury…..and rain was pouring down in torrents….being blasted against the cars in the parking lot with all the force of a power washer….and was rebounding off the pavement like small marbles.

My immediate thought was, “Wow! I am getting a much needed free car wash.” I stood at the window and peered out for a couple minutes. Traffic was sparse…. I-70 was just beyond our motel. Other than the pounding rain and the driving wind, there was not much to

look at. So, I went back to bed….and slept rather peacefully.

When I rolled over and looked at the clock beside my bed, it read 6:30. Time to get up, take a shower, wake up Fayez, eat breakfast….and head the rental car in the direction of home. The sound of the wind was still clearly audible. Again, I pulled back the drapes and looked out into the parking lot. The scene outside our motel window sent ripples of apprehension down my spine. It was not what I had expected….certainly not what I had wanted to see. It was a scene that would strike fear into the heart of any traveler.

The cars in the parking lot were covered with a layer of ice. Not only the world outside the window coated with ice…. But, it was still falling from the sky….and falling at a steady pace. It was not a scene that inspired confidence or emboldened the spirit. I have lived through a great many ice storms. There is nothing about an ice storm that I find to be admirable. Ice storms are synonymous with danger and destruction….with inconvenience and disruption.

But, I knew nothing about the road conditions….or the current weather forecast…. I only knew what I saw. I chose not to disturb Fayez, who still snoozing away, unaware of anything beyond his own dreamworld. I proceeded to take a shower and get dressed. By this time, Fayez had awakened into a mild form of consciousness….enough so that I was able to give him a description of the weather taking place outside our window. Fayez, who in reality has had very few real-life experiences, tended to dismiss the situation.

While Fayez was taking a shower, I walked to the front desk of the motel to see if I could get more information on the weather conditions….and what to expect. The woman behind the counter…. She was the owner of the motel, I think…..said that I-70 was closed….both the west lanes as well as the east-bound lanes….the lanes we needed to travel on our trip back home.

No sooner had she told me this….and the power went off, leaving us….figuratively speaking….in the dark. No electricity meant no TV….which meant no access to weather information….which meant we were suspended in a state of uncertainty. The woman…the owner of the motel…was trying valiantly to contact a friend or relative of hers in another town. Her cell phone was losing battery power….and communication was becoming difficult.

For the time being, there was little we could do….except sit and wait. The absence of electric power meant no coffee maker, no waffle iron, no refrigeration….no microwave oven…. So, we sat in the relative gloom of the morning, the lobby lighted only by the cloudy skies outside, and drank rapidly cooling coffee….and ate food that did not require any preparation…. Thankfully, we were the first of the motel guests to reach the lobby, so at least we got what coffee had already been brewed. So…. We sat and talked nervously and looked out the window of the lobby and observed the almost complete absence of traffic on the street outside the motel.

 

 

 

 

 

It was well after 7:00 by now…. Fayez was about to go insane. He wanted to leave….he wanted to get back to his college work, to his research….but was tempered by the reality that the highway was closed to all traffic….and this was not one of our options. As for me: I really didn’t care all that much. Being trapped in Limon, Colorado, for a day and another night, was not going to permanently ruin my life. All I really had to do was call the rental car agency and explain the situation….and tell them I would be returning the car one day late. But, this was not an encouraging or even a humane thing to bring up at the time.

The woman assured us that we would be able to stay in the room for as long as the highway was closed. I appreciated that gesture made out of kindness. It was meant to be….and it actually was….reassuring and somewhat comforting. But, I also considered the gloomy facts: We would be assured of a place to sleep. But, with no electricity, there would be no TV…no Internet….no computer….no light in the room…no heat….and, probably, no hot water. So….the score at that point was Positive: 1 Negative: 7. Oh, oh…. I just thought of another negative: There was not even one comfortable chair in the entire motel room….unless you want to call a straight back desk chair as being comfortable. You can…..but not me!

So…. There we sat….trying to manufacture some sort of semi-optimistic conversation.   For the most part, Fayez’s brand of optimistic conversation was mainly, “We have to get out of here.” and “I have to get back to Wichita.” or “I have to work on my project.” Sitting there staring mournfully out the window, there did seem to be one bright spot…a small cause for hope. The freezing rain had stopped….at least, temporarily. We spotted a few snow plows driving past. But, were they clearing the highway…or were they clearing the city streets? The owner of the motel continued to gain more information on the

weather….and more importantly, on the road conditions.

As we sat, descending further into hopelessness, the electricity flickered back on. This brightened the mood of the room immediately….for by this time, other motel guests had entered the lobby/breakfast area. At least, there would be hot coffee….and waffles…. This also meant that they owner could begin to recharge her cell phone….which meant she could make more telephone calls….which she did. But, mostly, she was calling her employees to ask if they would be able to make to work that day.

It was around 9:00 when she cheerfully announced that the east-bound lanes of I-70 had been re-opened, at least temporarily. The west-bound lanes were still barricaded. But, that wasn’t our problem! Poor people stranded heading toward Denver or the mountains. We mentally wished them luck….and our sympathy.

That was all we needed to hear. We raced back to our room hurriedly packed our belongings and prepared to leave. Leaving was not quite so easy, however. The car was completely covered with ice. Luckily, it was not a solid ice….and by opening and closing the windows, using the defroster, and our bare hands….we removed enough of the ice and slush to take off.

Sure enough, the barricades to the east-bound lanes had been removed. The highway was not in good shape. Even though they had been treated….and even though snow plows had been over them recently….they were still in a dangerous state. I cautioned Fayez to drive carefully….and slowly. He was in a hurry to get back to Wichita….and for the first couple minutes largely ignored my warning. But….after a couple times of the rear end of the car fish-tailing, he was subdued enough to drive with more caution.

For about 50 miles, we were the only car on the highway. It was almost surreal. We had I-70 completely and entirely to ourselves. We began to question if we were even supposed to be driving on the highway. Maybe the highway had not opened yet. Maybe the woman at the motel has not understood. Maybe she had misinformed us. But…. We kept driving…. Actually, we didn’t have any choice at this point. Still….no cars. We looked into the rear-view mirror…. Nothing. We passed on-coming ramps. No cars…. Not even

a snow plow…. Not ever a highway patrol man…..

We knew that the west-bound lanes were closed… We could see the barricades that were blocking the entry ramps. Intellectually we understood why there were no cars in the opposite late….although that did little to alleviate the spookiness of the situation. We were alone on one of the busiest highways in Colorado.

The further east we drove, the condition of the highway began to improve. We were driving away from the storm….and apparently keeping well ahead of its progress. I kept checking my cell phone. We were still deep inside the area of the winter storm warning. We were not out of the wood yet, as the old saying goes….although in eastern Colorado, there are certainly no woods!

Finally, about 50 miles east of Limon, we saw an 18-wheeler driving down the on-ramp. As for me…. I had never been or relieved to see an 18-wheeler in my entire life. Life did exist! We were not alone! As we got closer to Burlington, Colorado, a few more vehicles began to appear. Traffic….east-bound traffic….was starting to return to normal. And, we felt, we were starting to return to the real world.

We were indeed fortunate. I kept checking the weather conditions in Limon. The blizzard did indeed hit Limon. The highway into and out of Limon closed again…. But, we really didn’t care. We were safely on our way back to Kansas

Yes…. It was “springtime in the Rockies” ….well, almost. But…. Give me springtime in good old Kansas. And…. Yes. We made it back to Wichita. Fayez went back to college. I came home. And, that, my friends….is how Fayez and I spent his spring break.

People often ask me, “Why do you keep going to Berlin? Why don’t you go somewhere else, for a change?”

First of all…..I have been a lot of other places. Paris….Vienna….Amsterdam…. Brussels…..Copenhagen….Tokyo….Manila….Saigon….Hong Kong….New York City….Chicago….San Francisco…..not to mention Topeka….Kansas City…..

Second…..I like Berlin. If I didn’t like it. If I didn’t find it to be fascinating. If I didn’t enjoy being there….. then I probably would not go back.

Actually, there are only two other cities that have held my fascination…..that had the magnetic pull…..of Berlin. Those two cities are Hong Kong and Saigon. And….under the right circumstances, I may have found myself drawn back to one of those cities over and over. But, if you are reading this….and if you have ever read a newspaper, you probably already know why those two are largely out of the picture now. How does a war and communism strike you as good reasons?

The first time I went to Berlin was in 1995. I went to Germany to visit my first exchange student, Sebastian Holzhausen. We had planned an automobile trip through much of Europe. Berlin was the first stop on our tour. So, I suppose one might say that my first trip to Berlin was sort of a lucky coincidence. I had very little to say about planning the itinerary of the trip. In fact, now that I think about it…..I had absolutely no input whatsoever. Sebastian never asked for my advice…..I just got into the car and went wherever he drove. And, from Sebastian’s viewpoint…. Why should he consult me? I had never been to Europe before. I knew nothing about it. On the other hand, I have a feeling that we more or less simply retraced the route of some of his former summer vacations with his parents.

My first recollection of Berlin….. my introduction to the city…..was the long drive down Kurfurstendamm…..the long, fashionable avenue that traverses most of the western part of Berlin from west to east….. At the time, I had no idea I was driving down probably the most famous avenue in Berlin, if not all of Germany. In fact, I sat wordlessly….nervously….hoping that Sebastian knew where he was going….and didn’t get us hopelessly lost. Sebastian was nervous, too. I could sense it. I wasn’t about to ask him any questions…..about anything. I simply kept quiet….and let him drive.

He did a masterful job of locating the place that would be our home for the next three night…..a youth hostel. This was a long shot from staying at the Kempinski….or the Berlin Hilton….but it was cheap. And, at the time, that is what was important. It was clean, too…. We were sharing the room with probably eight or ten other guys. But, the only time we spent at the hostel was at night when it was time to go to bed.

During that first time I spent in Berlin….those three days….I never had a clue where we were. It seemed to me that we were in one of the eastern suburbs….far removed from any action that might be taking place. I was not able to establish any “bookmarks”….or any reference points….or landmarks. We traveled by subway everywhere we went…and I mean everywhere. The only “landmark” that I truly recognized was the subway station where we got on the subway each morning…..and got off again at night. I had no idea where the subway station was located….not a clue where it was located in Berlin….no chance of ever finding it by myself.

Riding on the subway is a truly disorienting experience. After a person enters the tunnel, life just sort of ends. We sat there, often sandwiched between myriad other riders, staring out the window into darkness as the train lurched to a start….sped along its route….and lurched to a stop. I am not even sure we were speeding along. It is difficult to know such a thing while staring at darkness….. What direction are we going? Who knows? It could be any direction….. It all looks the same. No landmarks, no street signs…..

For me….that was a major problem. I was born and raised in Kansas. Everything is laid out in grids….one mile square. The sun comes up in the east….and it sets in the west. In order to find a location…. I must go one mile east, two miles north….etc. Or three blocks south, two blocks west…… That is just how we do it. That is what we have learned since we were born. It is the only logical method. In Berlin….probably in all of Germany…..maybe all of Europe…..nobody knows where north…south…east….west are. And….nobody really cares. They give me blank stares when I ask which direction is north. Why would anybody want to know that? What difference does it make?

I was rather fortunate, though. The sun shone almost the entire time I was there. I was able to establish my bearing by using the sun…..the same good old sun that shines in Kansas. Yeah….I am a real astronomer! A real Boy Scout.

During the first three days I spent in Berlin…..I had no idea where I was….at any hour of the day or night. I was very similar to a little puppy….just following somebody around. And, because of my disorientation from riding on the subway….going down into a tunnel….and coming out of another tunnel somewhere else….I never gained any sense of where I was. Did we go north? Or South? Or East? Or West? It was rather like going into a time-tunnel…..and always coming out in a strange…but often exotic….place. It was like little individual pieces of a puzzle…..a puzzle that had not been put together yet. Random paragraphs waiting to be re-arranged into a coherent story.

Very clear in my memory is the Kaiser Wilhelm Memorial Church. Somehow I knew this must be a central point in Berlin. We walked down Potsdamer Str….the street just one block from the hostel we were staying in. In my mind, I had pictured this as being in an extreme eastern suburb of Berlin. We walked through the Tiergarden and then up the Avenue of the 17th of June…..viewing the Victory Tower in the distance. I again realized that we were back in the “civilized” part of Berlin.

As we walked along the Avenue of the 17th of June, I told Sebastian that there was a definite “Berlin Look”…..or “German Look”. He looked at me like I had perhaps lost my marbles….. I saw it then. I swear I did. It was in their eyes….. Today, for some peculiar reason, I no longer see it. I don’t know….. Maybe on that particular day, all the people we met were of some foreign origin. I doubt it. I am sure it was all part of my imagination. Maybe a slight sense of paranoia…. And, I can only imagine what they must have thought when they saw me…..if they even noticed me…..which they probably didn’t.

The only permanent damage which was caused by the constant riding in the subway was at Checkpoint Charlie. We visited Checkpoint Charlie late one afternoon. It was raining….so the sky was heavily overcast. Of course, there was no sun. No sun to help me adjust my directions…..to activate my mental compass. We stepped out of the subway tunnel somewhere…..and I did not have a clue where…..to a rainy, cloudy sky. And, as fortune would have it…..I was disoriented. My directions were messed up. In fact, they were 90 degrees off. This, I would find out later.

My brain works strangely. Well, I think it does. I have never really conducted an exhaustive study of other people’s brains….. But, once directions are implanted and stamped on my brain, they stay that way forever…..regardless of the sun…or the moon…or the stars….or anything else. This was, I am pretty sure, the only case of serious directional disorientation I have in Berlin

I lived in Phan Rang, South Vietnam, for almost a year. The sun came up in the west….and it set in the east! Every day. For one year. The South China Sea borders Vietnam on the east…..and Phan Rang is basically a coastal town. Every time I went to the beach…which was fairly often….I drove to the west. But, the day I arrived in Phan Rang, it was raining; the skies were overcast….just like the day we visited Checkpoint Charlie. The direction were burned into my mind….permanently. They ever changed.

The trip to Europe…..to Germany, specifically….and even more specifically, to Berlin….was a good introduction. Sort of Berlin 101. And, I think I passed the class with high honors. I went from having almost Zero control to having almost 90 percent control in all the subsequent visits.

One factor I changed immediately….and permanently….was to stop riding in subways and to start taking a bus to almost everywhere we went. I go to Berlin to see and experience the city. I like to constantly play “tourist” and gaze wide-eyed at the buildings, at the people, at the traffic, at the signs, at the monuments, at the parks…at the history of the city. I do not go to Berlin to stare into the darkness….into nothingness….into a state of suspended animation. I want to feel oriented. I watch the landmarks, the street signs. I become familiar with the flow of the city….pay attention to the directions….the relationships…..

After disembarking from a subway, I climb the stairs (or hopefully take an elevator or escalator) into a strange world of unfamiliar sights…..not knowing where I came from….or where I am….nothing to orient myself to a location or a neighborhood….nothing to tell me we have traveled north…or south….or east….or west.
Yeah…..I am fully aware that most German don’t care. They do not have a clue about directions….and it probably never occurred to them to be curious about it. Since most of them live in cities….cities that are never….never….laid out in “blocks”….little things like directions just are not important to them. But….I come from Kansas….a part of the Louisiana Purchase where the land was….and still is….laid out in block. Square miles; square blocks. And…..for the most part, Berliners are scurrying around too much to take the time to look up at the sky.

One of the few factors that I usually do not…and have not….had much control over is where we have stayed while I was in Berlin…..our living quarters…..where we slept at night….

Living spaces must be rented in advance of the time I arrive in Berlin. In some case, a few weeks. And…..in some cases…..especially in recent times, it has often been a rather stressful undertaking. Many landlords do not want to rent an apartment for only one month….IF they can rent it for….let’s say…..three months or six months. They will often wait until the last minute to make a decision….and tell me of their decision. And, all of this is done remotely……by e-mail…..a very impersonal….an easy way for a landlord to say, “No.”

More than likely, however, I ask one of my former German students to help with the arrangements. None of them live in Berlin. So, they, too, are more or less dealing remotely with the landlord….or more likely….a rental agency. Although, they are in the same boat as I am in when it comes to knowing exactly what the apartment is like, at least they can communicate by telephone…..in German…..and ask a lot of necessary questions. Questions like…. Where IS the apartment? Is it close to a bus route that ends at the Zoo Station? Is there an elevator in the apartment building? Is there really a couch that converts into a bed? Is there Internet access? ALL of these are nonnegotiable requirements. The lack of just ONE of them can ruin the deal.

Usually rental agencies are fairly honest in answering these questions. If they don’t rent the apartment to me…..they will soon rent it to somebody else, with fewer demands. In return, they usually have concerns of their own. The first among these concerns is their fee! That is paid up front…..before any names or definite addresses are given out. And, that is something that my German students have always been kind enough….considerate enough….to pay. Then, there are other obvious questions: (1) Any pets? “Yes, I am bringing my pet pig with me.” I have always found this to be a curious question to ask a foreigner. Pets must be quarantined for a period of time before they are released to infect the public with dreaded diseases. (2) Does anybody smoke? Well, I can understand this questions. I wouldn’t want anybody to smoke in my house, either. (3) Any small children? Well… only if I bring my three wives with me.

The BIG question, however, is money. This is usually a matter to be taken up with the person who owns the apartment, however. After the agency receives their commission, they are not very concerned with what happens after that. Here, again…..my wonderful German students have come to my rescue. They fork over the rent money….and I pay them back when I arrive. Fortunately, they trust me. At least, a little bit.

There has been only one time that paying for the rent was a problem. I do not remember why it was not dealt with in the usual manner….being paid by one of the Germans….and then ME paying them. But, I DO remember all the problems it caused. After inquiring if I could transfer the money electronically to the landlord’s account in Germany…..and finding out my bank did not have a clue how to do it, they suggested that they raise the daily limit on my debit card so I could simply withdraw the money from my account when I reached Berlin. The people at my bank had assured me they had changed the daily limit on my debit card to “unlimited” for the three weeks I would be in Berlin. “No problem,” they said.

You may be getting ahead of me at this point….. But, Yes! There was a problem. The first ATM that I tried refused to let me withdraw the money. “Oh, well,” I concluded, “This ATM perhaps does not accept foreign debit cards.” So, we found another ATM. Same thing. But….it would let me withdraw a much lesser amount. “Oh, so they didn’t change the amount,” I surmised. It was 10:00 in the morning…..3:00 A. M. back in Kansas. I felt a mild sense of panic. I had to pay the landlord in less than an hour. All I could do was hope for his understanding……and mercy.

Fortunately, he accepted the “down payment”, and said that I could pay the remainder of the rent when I was able to get the money from the ATM. There was no point worrying about it. My German student graciously agreed to loan me some money until I could call my bank and get the situation straightened out. That wouldn’t happen for at least seven hours, though….. 5:00 P.M. German time. We were very frugal in our spending that day. At 5:00 P.M. I called the bank on Skype. “Oh,” they insisted, “we changed your limit. You should be able to withdraw as much money as you want.”

“OK….Can you please change it again?” I asked.

The bottom line is…..I was never able to withdraw more than my normal daily limit. I gave up trying. I simply paid the guy in three payments, instead of one payment….like it should have been….like they told me it would be. The landlord was very nice and patient….very much like many Germans. Maybe it is my honest face. Or maybe he had secret agents watching my every move….ready to snatch me up if I tried to escape without paying.

I learned a lesson. Use Western Union. Take enough cash to pay the bill. Prevail on one of my Germans to pay the rent until I can reimburse them. Or….change banks.

On my early trips to Berlin, I was at the complete mercy of my German students. I still am, to some extent. On the first several trips I made to Berlin, I had no clue where we would be staying until we pulled up in front of it in a taxi. And, even then, I wasn’t sure which building it was….or which door to enter….until somebody told me.

For the first ten years we stayed in hotels…..or in one case, a hostel. For the first several years most of the trips I took to Berlin were “quickies”…..a trip over spring break or for a few days during parent-teacher conferences….or whenever I could get a few days away from school. Somebody…..usually Sebastian or Frank….arranged for a hotel room. As I look back on those days, I chuckle when I think of some of the places they chose….sight unseen, I am sure.

On two different occasions we stayed in a hotel on Kaiser Fredrick Str., about a block south of Kantstr and a block north of the Charlottenburg Train Station. It was a nondescript building. The hotel was on the second floor….no elevator, of course. It had two beds, a shower, a couple chairs. The maids came in each day and made the bed, tidied up the place….so when we returned to the room at night, it was in relatively good shape. It certainly was not a 5-Star hotel. It wasn’t even a 1-Star hotel. In fact, I doubt if it was even a 0-Star hotel. But, it was an inexpensive….no, let’s make that cheap….place to live, and we were basically satisfied.

In order to get to the bus that would take us to the Zoo Station, we had to walk a block north to KantStr., a major east-west thoroughfare in the western part of Berlin. We recognized immediately that it was an annoying walk. The block was lined with all sorts and descriptions of sex shops, strip shows, and girlie bars. That, in itself, was not so unusual. Berlin is infinitely more liberal and tolerant that the USA….let alone Kansas…..ever could be, even in one’s wildest fantasy. The thing that was so irritating was that there were people….mostly men….stationed outside each of these establishments…..employees…..who would zealously attempt to entice passers-by into their little place of business….especially males. This was aggravating, but nothing I could not deal with. Actually, I am rather adept at ignoring people and things. They crossed the line…big time….when they started to reach out and grab my arm or shoulder. That is when my anger kicked in….again, big time.

This seems to be a common “sales” technique along that street. If they can’t persuade you by their sales pitch…..they will attempt to “guide” you into their place of business. I tried to be polite the first couple time…..and simply said, “No….” and jerked by arm away from them. But, being polite did not get the job done! I reverted to the role of the “Ugly American”…..and slapped their hand and said rather forcefully, “Take your hands off me.” Well….I may have used a couple extra adjectives to describe their hands….but, at least, they quickly released their grip…..

In those early days, I admit it: I was naive and innocent. In fact, we….actually I am talking about Sebastian….booked us into that hotel on two different occasions….in two different years. Like I said, the hotel was far from being luxurious…..but it was inexpensive…..and it had everything we needed. It wasn’t until a few years later, while I was reading through a couple of the Berlin guidebooks, that I discovered, much to my astonishment…..although I don’t know why I should have been astonished…..that this hotel was located in the heart of one of Berlin’s several “red light” districts.

Somehow I simply never put the pieces of the puzzle together. To begin with…..this was back in the days when I was still working. My visit were pretty short. I let Sebastian or Frank have complete control over where we stayed. Also…..I think we were so busy that I just didn’t worry about where we were staying…..just as long as we had a place to stay.

On the bright side….at least, I suppose it may be the bright side…. None of the sidewalk hustlers ever succeeded in dragging us inside one of their apparently thriving establishments. Some years later, as I was looking through a Berlin guide, a description of this exact street sort of jumped out at me. Kaiser Fredrerich Str…..Kant Str…..Charlottenburg Station….. Wow….that was the exact spot where our hotel was located. That was one of those “Ah-Ha” moments….when a light suddenly comes on in the brain….when the fuzzy becomes focused…… We were encamped in the very center of a Red Light District…. I think this became one of those “What you don’t know won’t hurt you” sort of realizations. We never stayed there again. And, now I also know why there were so many sleezy “hotels” located on that block!

Equally interesting was the apartment where we stayed in 2008-2009. This again demonstrates the danger….maybe uncertainty is a better word…..of renting an apartment over the Internet….sight unseen. If it met the basic criteria….bus line, elevator, two sleeping spaces, price….no other information was considered. Because no other information was available. When we searched the online web sites advertising short term apartments, this particularly apartment appeared to be imminently acceptable from my viewpoint. One of my Germans called the company to complete the arrangements for renting it for four weeks. Beryl is happy. Job done….case closed.

A few days later, I was doing some research on the area of Berlin where the apartment was located…..trying to get an idea of what was available in the immediate area. Things like restaurants, bars, grocery stores….. All of these amenities are important because they make our stay easier and less stressful. I was pleased to find that all of these conveniences were readily available. But….I was not very pleased when my eye caught another interesting fact: Our apartment was located in the center of one of Berlin’s most important Gay Districts!

Needless to say, I was not pleased with this bit of information. I began to read the names of some the bars in the area….within a two block radius. If I had paid attention to the names in the first place, I probably would not have been so surprised. I do not remember the names of them now…but they were descriptive enough….and suggestive enough….that a light in my brain should have clicked on immediately. Sometimes something has to hit me in the head like a hammer before I wake up, though.

Of course, by this time, it was too late to make any changes….to “un-rent” the apartment and start the search again. I called Frank and told him….warned him….of the situation. He found the situation to be quite amusing….much more amusing than I did. In fact, I thought he would never stop laughing. At least, he wasn’t upset….which was good, because he was in charge of making the arrangement to pay the rental fee, get the key, and set up a time to meet the owners so we could move in.

That was a year that a lot of things did not work out well….. The airplane I was on arrived late in Amsterdam. Too late to catch my scheduled flight to Berlin at 9:00 A.M.   The next available flight did not leave until late in the afternoon. Frank was already in Berlin when I reached him. Fortunately his parents’ home is less than an hour from Berlin, so he was able to go there for the day. The day I arrived….December 27….found Berlin in the coldest winter in about 50 or 60 years. That certainly was not very pleasant…..

Nevertheless, two men met us at the apartment at the appointed time….each of them wearing a wedding ring. But, the transaction was very professional and impersonal….as I settled into my new home for the next four weeks. Oh yes….one more bad thing. As a surprise, Frank had obtained two tickets to attend the Berlin Symphony Orchestra that night so we could enjoy a performance of Beethoven’s Symphony Number 9. Fortunately, he was able to exchange them for tickets the following night.

Normally we like to patronize bars and restaurants in the neighborhood where we live. At night, it just makes sense to patronize a bar or restaurant that is close to our apartment because we do not have to be concerned with finding transportation in the late night or early morning hours. After a certain hour, only select buses and trams operate….and even they are on a severely curtailed schedule. A couple times found ourselves standing at a bus stop for over an hour in the early hours of the morning waiting….and hoping….a bus will show up as scheduled. Finding a bar within close walking distance takes the uncertainty out of late night transportation and makes the evenings much more pleasant and stress free.

We have found that Berlin’s bars are no different from most bars almost anywhere in the USA. They like it when customers return night after night. Not only do they look at this as a dependable source of business….but, I suppose in a way, it is also flattering to them. It tells them that they must be doing something right. Usually after going to the same bar for two consecutive nights….and ordering the same drink….the waiter will automatically nod at us when we enter on the third night…..and almost immediately our drinks will magically appear. So….not only are the waiters pleased and flattered….so are we at being recognized and receiving good service.

However, during this particular visit, I think that we were not only hesitant to go into the neighborhood bars….but we also may have been just a little scared. After looking at some of the graphic pictures on the doors and windows of the bars….and after reading some of the admittance requirements….we were pretty much intimidated. Besides, we would have never met the “dress code” most of them imposed! We were also put off after observing the people who did enter the bars. Somehow, they just did not appear to be “our type of people”. We were not snobs…..just cautiously discriminating.

It was a result of this situation that forced as to look elsewhere for our nightly spot of rest and relaxation. We found it in the form of a neat little jazz club down in the Kruetzburg section of Berlin. It was a small, cozy club with not much interior seating, especially during the hours of the live performances. But, we were just as happy to be tucked away in the “back room” where the music wasn’t so deafeningly loud.

What it lacked in professional talent, it made up for in charm. There was a main room where a small stage was located….and where the entertainers performed. On the nights when there were no live performances, it was relatively empty in the early evening hours, and it was easy to find a table. But, on nights when musicians were performing, it was packed….and unless a person got there very early….maybe late-afternoon….it was impossible to find a place to sit. We never showed up in the afternoon, so I really don’t know. On those nights, however, we sat in the back room. Actually, this was probably the most desirable place to sit. As I said, the music was deafening…..but the Germans didn’t mind. They were an enthusiastic audience….cheering wildly at the end of each song. Who knows…. Maybe they were already drunk when they arrived.

Jazz…and Blues….simply are not German music. And, it was no doubt for the best! Actually, the music was terrible….far below the quality we would expect as an American audience, especially an audience of jazz lovers or blues aficionados Otherwise these musicians would probably have been performing somewhere in the USA. But, never mind all that. The Germans didn’t know any better; they loved it…..and I think I can safely say that the entire audience was German…..and the music and the raucous noise created an exciting and vibrant ambiance for the evening…..especially from the toned-down decibels which reached the back room.

This became a nightly destination of choice for that trip….and also for subsequent trips….especially when there were no neighborhood bars where we could hang out. The only two drawback to this night club were the distance from Central Berlin….and the need to leave relatively early in order to make sure we could catch the last bus back to the main bus station. Well….there was one more disadvantage. The rest rooms were located in the main room…..and in order to reach them, it was necessary to strong arm a path through the crowd to reach them.

Stumbling on this jazz cafe was no doubt the highlight on this trip. My German students probably found the location of our apartment somewhat more amusing than I did. In fact, even though they had no desire to go into any of the clubs or bars, they took great delight in my discomfort and us-ease. Frank, especially, couldn’t resist taking pictures of the entryways which listed the dress codes….and the windows with all the bizarre graphics that were displayed. That is…. He took pictures until I demanded that he stop. Being unfamiliar with this sort of situation, I was not at all sure this was an acceptable thing to do. Yeah…. It was “interesting”….and even funny in its own peculiar way. But the last things I wanted was a public confrontation with a bunch of gay guys who may have been insulted by our curiosity.

As for Sebastian: Well, I think the most amusing part for him was the name of the street where our apartment building was located. It was called Fugger Strasse (Street). I have no idea what that means in German. But…..I suppose in English it does sound vaguely suspicious! Especially since it sounds suspiciously similar to a word in English that we usually do not use in polite conversation.

The other apartments we stayed in over the years were not located in such exotic neighborhoods. One things I can say for sure: We never stayed in an apartment or in a hotel room that was truly comfortable. And, we never stayed in an apartment or in a hotel where the lighting even approached being adequate. If my vision had not been bad before I went there, I would certainly be justified in blaming my poor eyesight on the amount of light….the lack of light….in our rooms.

The first apartment where we actually lived in somebody else’s house was located in a northern neighborhood on Tschaikowski Str.….in a section called Pankow….one of those neighborhoods that is predominantly residential. It was also the only apartment that we had to actually walk through the owner’s living quarters to get to our rooms….and it was the only apartment where we shared the bathroom with the owners. It was also the only apartment where we had to walk up three or four flights of stairs. Needless to say, we did not do a lot of coming and going! It was the only apartment that did not have access of a city bus line. Instead, we had to ride a tram to Alexanderplatz….and then catch a bus downtown.

There was one neighborhood bar…..and a pizza place a couple blocks away, around a corner. The nightlife was not very lively, to say the least. And the trams stopped running at 10 or 11:00 at night. We spent a lot of time in the neighborhood bar. The easy accessibility was important. Here at home I can sit and watch TV….or mess around with the computer…..or listen to some music…..or read a book…. In Berlin all of the TV is in a foreign language for some reason! I think the language is German! Imagine that. As I said the light was too dim to even consider reading. Internet access is slow and restricted, in some cases. So, going out at night….sitting in a bar….is virtually the only means of entertainment.

Fortunately, every apartment we have stayed in has been in widely different locations and different environments. Each of them had its own unique attractions. The main attraction near the apartment in Pankow was the former home of the President of East Germany. It was a large mansion….a mansion by German standards, at least….set in the middle of a large plot of park-like land…..maybe occupying two square city blocks. It was surrounded by a rather high iron railing fence….attractive, but nevertheless intimidating. It is a public place today where people are free to wander around freely. But, I can imagine that during the years the Communists occupied East Germany, it was not quite so friendly.

The entire area where the apartment is located consists of older upscale homes. This neighborhood was the enclave where many of the top officials of the East Germany government lived during the Communist era. In fact….or so we were told…..several square blocks were closed off….restricted to the public…..during this period of time. The Communist government did not want the “common people” to see or even suspect the grand scale that these Communist officials were living. For the decades that the Communists were in control, the general population lived in poverty and were subjected to almost subsistence living. The contrast must have been quite striking….and it was important that government conceal their lavish standard of living for fear of a possible revolt of the people.

This was the one and only time that our apartment was located in a family home. We realized that our presence there was probably an inconvenience and maybe even a distraction, even though we went to great lengths to be as quiet and invisible as possible.

Another notable locale where we lived was in an apartment on Kaiserdamm in the near western suburbs of Berlin. Upon our arrival at the apartment, we were met by an elegantly dressed gentleman who owned the apartment. His attire would have easily gained him some pages in a men’s fashion magazine! The two or three times that we met him, he was dressed in a dinner jacket with an ascot or a kind of silk scarf around his neck….perfectly groomed. The first time, we merely assumed that we had interrupted an important business meeting….or perhaps a fancy social occasion. But, this seemed to to be his normal way of dressing…..his normal “uniform”. Of course, both Sebastian and I were too polite….or too chicken….to ask him about his stylish wardrobe. We also met his son on a couple occasions….and he was dressed in normal attire…..just like the rest of the world. And, he seemed like a perfectly normal young man. We never did figure out why his dad dressed to elegantly. Probably just because he wanted to.

The location of this apartment was memorable because this is perhaps one of the areas we had slighted during many of my visits to Berlin. It is also memorable because during our stay there, I became quite sick….sick enough that Frank called a doctor to our apartment. It was obvious that I had contacted a rather severe kidney problem…..and Frank and I were both starting to become quite concerned. A young doctor….a young female doctor…a young English-speaking doctor….arrived at our apartment….riding a bicycle…..quite soon after Frank placed the call. She quickly confirmed what I already suspected: I had a bad kidney infection. She have me some rather powerful…and potent….antibiotics.

She then engaged Frank in a rather serious…if not intense….conversation. Of course, I do not speak German, so I had no idea what they were talking about…..although I was pretty sure it was not about the weather. Actually, I was feeling badly….and I really didn’t care much what they were talking about. After a few minutes, Frank turned to me and said (and of course, since she spoke rather flawless English, she understood everything he was saying….), “She is worried about whether you are going to pay her or not.”

The thought of NOT paying her had never crossed my mind! Of course, I was going to pay her. She seemed quite relieved and happy when Frank counted out the money and handed it to her. Frank later told me that she said it was not at all uncommon for people….both foreigners and Germans…..to simply refuse to pay….or say they could not afford to pay. Either way, she was obligated to treat them. So….I like to think that she left our apartment with a rather positive attitude toward Americans. I had paid her willingly…..and had not been a “welfare case”. And, Yes…..I did recover!

The main attractions near this apartment were the close proximity of the Berlin Radio Tower, the German Broadcasting Corporation, the sprawling International Trade Center, the German Opera and Charlottenburg Palace. It seems that our exploration in Berlin usually centers around the locales in central and eastern Berlin. Maybe because they are all rather closely grouped together…..from back in the days when Berlin was actually a fairly small city.

Most people stand in line to ride the elevator to the top of the TV Tower….but not to ascend to the top of the shorter and much older radio tower. Or they prefer to spend time hanging out at the Riechstag Building….not a huge trade center. Bellvue Palace is much more convenient than Charlottenburg Palace….but not nearly as historic. The Berlin Opera House is older and is located on “history lane”, while the German Opera is a sleek modern building, but performs equally important works by equally famous composers.

These attractions, located within walking distance of our apartment, became important to me on those few days when I was left alone between visits from my former German students. I could easily wile away the hours by walking to one…or more….of these buildings….and not have to be bothered by taking the subway into central Berlin. As I have explained above, I avoided riding the subway…..and it was probably on the subway that I picked up the germs that led to the ill-fated….and very uncomfortable….and semi-expensive…..kidney infection.

Most of the apartments we rented were simply rented at random….because they were available and because the cost lay within our budget….and not because they were located close to a tourist attraction. In our good fortune, all of them have lay in substantially different neighborhoods of Berlin. While I do not pretend to be an expert on city living…..I mean! Look at me….I live in rural Ozawkie, Kansas!….I can well imagine that most cities are composed of a collection of neighborhoods which have their own feel and their own unique little “sub-cultures”. If this happens to be true….then Berlin certainly shares this characteristic.

Probably the only other apartment which had its own little set of tourist attractions was the apartment we rented in one of the near-north neighborhoods right off DanzigerStr. on LychenerStr. The apartment itself was probably one of the most miserable apartments we have ever stayed in. In the first place, we stepped into a pit of darkness….so dark that I doubt if an owl or a bat could have seen its way around. One of my camping lanterns provided more light than the feeble 15 watt bulbs gave out. But, in keeping with the traditional German spirit of thrift….or as I call it, penny-pinching….only the barest of essentials were provided. There literally was not a comfortable chair in the entire apartment…certainly not a chair with any form of padding…on the arms, the back or the seat! I am guessing they bought the furniture at a garage sale from some torture chamber that was going out of business. The sofa….if it could indeed be called a sofa….may have been an old castoff from a Victorian-style brothel somewhere in the city.

However, discounting how distressing the comfort of the apartment was, it was actually located in an active part of the city near a wide variety of restaurants and bars. One of our objectives on that visit was to eat our evening meal in a restaurant of a different nationality or ethnicity each night. Many nights we did not have to leave our neighborhood to accomplish this purpose. There were also a variety of late night and all-night bars where we could sit and talk and escape the misery of the dingy apartment. Actually, there were sufficient bars on our block to keep us occupied almost every night of my stay there. For me, it is comforting to have a place to go and sit at night and know that we are in a safe environment…..and not have to be concerned with bus schedules or waiting at deserted bus stops in the early hours of the morning. I would have to double check the statistics, but I would not at all be surprised to find that the city of Berlin, with a population of almost 4 million people, has fewer murders and assaults each year that Topeka, whose population is somewhere about one-fortieth that size. Having become accustomed to the crime rate in even rural Kansas, I am still uncomfortable standing outside in strange places in the middle of the night.

Within walking distance of our apartment was a major entertainment area and shopping center which had been formed from an old, sprawling, abandoned brewery. It was its own little protected venue, into which the only means of entry was accessed only through tall gateway arches in the walls that surrounded it. But…Alas. It was too expensive for our budget….except for the grocery store….so all we could do was look.

Also in the general vicinity….although a little longer walk….was the Berlin Wall Memorial. During the period we were there, it was in its early days of development and perhaps not quite so interesting as is may be today. Probably the major disappointment for me was the knowledge that this monument was not actually authentic. It was all reconstructed….a facsimile of the real thing. While I am sure this is true of a lot of the monuments, we had the misfortune of actually seeing it being reconstructed. Knowing the Germans, after the rebuilding process was complete, I am sure they went to great lengths to make it look “authentic”….to artificially “age” it….give it the mood, the appearance and flavor of the past. The Germans are good at this…. But, for me. If I see it again, it will probably look much different….and if I had not seen it in its formative stages, I would probably never question its authenticity. But now…. Beryl knows!

A lesser known, but yet well attended by tourists, is the Max Schmelling Hall….part of a huge sports park in the Prenzlauer Berg section of Berlin. The arena is named after a famous German boxer…..who was probably one of Germany’s most famous athletes. The arena was originally built as a boxing arena….What else?…. But, today it is used not only for sporting events….mainly basketball, I suppose…. but also for concerts and trade and industry expositions. When used for sporting events, the seating capacity is about 8,500, but when it is the venue for a concert, it will hold around 12,000 people. And, apparently is has hosted such artists as Madonna and Bob Dylan, but I suspect is used these days for more obscure German acts.

Another rather unhappy event that I associate with this apartment relates to a basketball game. The Kansas University Jayhawks had qualified to play in the Final Four that year. In fact, they had advanced to the championship game…. K. U. would be playing against Kentucky….the game that would determine the national champion. Sebastian and I both wanted to see the game in the worst possible way. After searching the Internet to find what sports bars were located in our general area, Sebastian started calling them to find out if they would be showing the game on a TV in their bar. Actually, it was not as difficult as we thought it might be to find a bar what said Yes, it would be playing on one of their TV sets. Great! The only problem: The game would begin at 8:00 Kansas time…..which was 3:00 A.M. in Germany. We had to ask ourselves the question: Is it worth staying up until 3:00 A.M. so we could see the game. Of course, the answer was a resounding YES!

I do not remember exactly what we did to occupy our time until that early hour of the morning…. We probably went bar hopping. But, shortly before 3 A.M. we took a taxi to the appointed bar. Sure enough…..they had ONE TV tuned to the big game. And….sure enough….Sebastian and I were the only ones watching the game. Somehow, I had expected more excitement….a more electric atmosphere. But, then I realized: Nobody in Germany cares about college basketball in the U.S.A…..no more than Americans care about their soccer leagues! And, that, I am sure you know….is Zero.

Sebastian and I sat huddled in our own little corner of the bar full of hope and anticipation. The game remained close for much of the first half. We clung to our faith in the Jayhawks. As the second half went forward, it became increasingly apparent that K. U. was not going to close the gap. They just did not have what it took to defeat Kentucky. In the end, Kentucky began to pull ahead by an even greater margin. Hope faded…. K. U. was dealt a decisive loss.

It was after 5:00 in the morning. We were several blocks from our apartment. We were tired….and somewhat disheartened. (That was back in the days when I actually cared!) All we wanted was to return to the apartment….and sleep. We began to ask ourselves….WHY had we done such a foolish thing? But, it all depends on the perception. IF K.U. had won the game, we would have been rejoicing. We probably would have gone to another bar to celebrate the victory. But, as it turned out….we took a taxi back to our apartment….fell into our beds…..and tired to forget it even happened.

A hotel that Frank arranged on one of my summer visits also holds some not-so-pleasant memories in the recesses of my mind. Located on a pleasant side street between Kurfurstendamm and Kant Str. was another of those hotels that at first glance looked wholly adequate….a small sitting area with a couple chair, a little kitchenette with the basic equipment, a small bedroom with a couple beds and a bathroom with a shower. Perfect! ……right? It was great for about 5 minutes….and then reality set in. We were startled by a deafening noise! Right outside the windows was the above ground portion of a subway line. The tracks were located about ten feet from our window…..and just like clockwork a train passed by about every ten or twelve minutes….rattling the windows, rattling the furniture…..and definitely rattling us! Traffic on that particular line started about 6:30 in the morning and continued on schedule….never ceasing….until around midnight. For the sake of our sanity, we had no alternative but to get up early in the morning…..and come home late at night.

Fortunately, there were a couple bars located within a few feet from the entrance to the apartment. It was summertime, and most, if not all, of our evenings were spent sitting at the sidewalk tables of one of these bars. Frank had mentioned that one of the bars was owned by a famous German athlete….somebody whom I didn’t know, of course….or had never heard of. He said he had heard that it was sometimes a hangout for the owner-athlete and some of his big time professional buddies. It was sort of exciting to be sitting in a bar which was perhaps owned by the German equivalent of Michael Jordan or Eli Manning. At any rate, it got us away from the brain-numbing sound of the subway train. Berlin summers are usually quite agreeable, so it was a good place to be.

One night as we were sitting there talking and drinking beer, Frank suddenly gasp! I was rather startled. What was the problem? Had he suddenly become ill? Had he just remembered something important that he had forgotten to do?

“What’s the problem?” I asked.

Frank was gesturing toward a nearby table….almost too excited to talk. I discreetly glanced in that direction….but all I saw were some people sitting there drinking beer and talking…..just like Frank I were doing. “See who it is,” Frank said excitedly.

Well…. It was definitely nobody that I recognized…. “It’s John Doe,” Frank said with utter disbelief. “Don’t you know him? Everybody knows him.” Well….probably everybody in German….but not me! (And, by the way, John Doe is not his real name. I have long since forgotten who the guy is.)

“He’s one of the most famous actors in Germany,” Frank explained. “Everybody knows him.” I looked him up on the Internet, and sure enough…. He is a very famous German actor.

It was probably like me looking up and seeing Cary Grant….or Clark Gable….or Humphrey Bogart….sitting next to me at the Golden Corral. Yeah…You probably don’t know those actors either…. But remember, I am old!

I urged Frank to go ask for his autograph….but I guess they don’t do stuff like that in Germany. It certainly was not because Frank is too shy. Frank didn’t go ask for an autograph…..but he could hardly keep his eyes off the guy for the rest of the evening. And me? I would not have recognized the guy again, even if my life depended on it. But, I can honestly say….. I have seen one of Germany’s most famous actors.

Yep…. I have seen a famous German actor…even though I don’t know his name. And, I have also seen much of the wide array of Berlin life as it is reflected through the diversity of its assortment of discrete neighborhoods. Berlin is much like a patchwork quilt with its separate little enclaves loosely stitched together into a harmonious and colorful pattern. In a way it is also similar to a tasty soup in which all the ingredients form an exotic and engaging mixture that blend together….and leave a delightful and pleasing taste that leaves me going back for more.