Groundhogs...Weekend

I realized that if I do not write something about this tonight, that I don't think I will ever do it. I was mightily under-slept and over-committed before during and after the weekend and I kept thinking it would get better. It won't.

It starts like this...

A month ago we started making for real plans. I got out of work early and met up with 7 of my local-to-Rochester friends to make the trek to my dad's where other Jn was waiting for us. Somewhere along the journey we found a traffic ticket, a blizzard, some milkshakes and nasty fries. No one in particular slept and we rotated cars enough that everyone got to have a conversation with everyone else. Also no one (not even me!) had to drive the whole way.

We planned to leave at 6 and get in at 10...we left at almost 7 and got in just after midnight. That left us half an hour to get situated and calmed down and 2 hours to sleep before we had to add too many layers and head to Punxy.

The drive was uneventful except for a GPS inspired detour on some crazy dirt road loop. We procured bathrooms, light up hula-hoops and bubbles at the Walmart and made our way to the buses. By the time we had boarded the fireworks were going off so we mostly missed them...although the ones we did see were seen from a warm bus. Since it was only single digits it seemed like a good trade. Unfortunately our late arrival also meant we were in the back of the crowd where it was hard to see and hear. I still don't really know what the inner circle said about the glorious day.

Most (cold) people cleared out almost immediately or at least tried too. We chose to stay long enough to get our pictures taken with the fluffy rodent and though we were at the back of the stack there was still a bus boarding backlog until around the time we hit the stage with cameras in hand. Our wait featured nasty groundhog cookies that were strangely addictive, some line dancing, my friends looking like homeless persons, and some interesting drunks who acquired one of our hoops providing us all with at least half an hour of entertainment.

Pictures taken and bus located we ended up back at Walmart where we met IL the professor who put us up to the Twinkie thing so long ago. We settled on hunkering down in the camping section of Walmart on big coolers to eat our not-so-tasty cakes because really there is no GOOD place to eat a 9 year old Twinkie and we were very cold. Numerous pictures of the proceedings and two videos were taken. I can't figure out how to get the video off of my phone (yet!) and I don't have all of the pictures but they will end up here if ever I can figure it out. We shared our last halves of awful and old "yellow" cake and then each had a fresh one to chase the original. Fresh Twinkies are still gross and they did very little to get the old Twinkie "film" off of our teeth. One of my friends begged a bite and his take was that "It tasted like basement." Everyone in the party got a fresh Twinkie actually because we had enough for sharing thanks to IL who bought a box in a hurry after the company announced it was going belly-up.

Once we had accomplished what we came for IL headed to see his grand kids and we wandered back to Dad's via back roads. Most people snagged naps on the way home but other Jn kept me company while I drove. She had to leave shortly after we got back which was unfortunate as far as I am concerned but the weather was getting nasty and she had a long way to go. The rest of the group variously took naps or learned to shoot a pellet rifle and a shotgun under the tutelage of my father. We shared lunch and half the pack returned to ROC. The remainder spent a long time playing Bang!, pool and ping-pong mostly including Dad. We had a fabulous dinner tucked in there somewhere and most people actually got at least 6 hours of sleep before we piled in my car and turned towards Lake Ontario. I got to spend the better part of the drive curled in the back seat because my car happens to be fun to drive even in snow and a pair of friends know the ins and outs of driving stick.

It was a whirlwind trip but truly spectacular. And thus ends the ten years of the Twinkie.

-Jn

PS- Below you will find pretty much the only pictures of the event I actually own.

The Ghost - A character sketch and a lipogram

The Ghost

A ghost. A phantom. A shadow. A short study in poor planning too long ago. A man who has no particular spot to stand. So his form waits at a junction of highways. Cardboard his cot. Rocks for a pillow. Rags his clothing, his only guard against cold. An odor of bad gin and rotting human about him. Today no goal past food...and soon. So this apparition walks on towards trashcans known at this turn. Slipping into a crowd, a mass, a group of so many at a mall. Many who discard scraps amply, no thought to what want could do to a stomach. This is a gift actually, not a criticism. Also it is not raining. Tonight may bring a chill but for now all is copa...copa...satisfactory. And this too shall pass.

-Jn

(Based on a found name “The Ghost” scrawled in white spray paint cursive on a corduroy concrete noise barrier along I-390 and written for a Write Club prompt.)

Cigarettes

(For those of you waiting for the groundhog report, be disappointed  This is my offering for the write club prompt due last week.)

Enveloping all things is the smell of stale cigarette smoke. From the time the door swung open until it slammed shut with a metallic crunch, the scent was in stark contrast to the cold clear morning air. Now, however, “outside” has been locked out where it should be. The temperature has been raised to almost-too-warm and the smell is as comfortable and constant as it is sad. It has become the backdrop against which all other experiences are defined. Each look, thought, spoken word is mingled with the aged gray odor and retouched to become a dingier hue. It would be easy enough to blame the tray filled with once straight sticks that are now hopelessly bent fragments, but this is only a consequence not a cause. The color, the smell, the memory of too many things that cannot be unseen has saturated everything. The window slides open and the pensive silence is broken by a cascade of cold and a garbled exchange. A paper sack is shoved between the seats and until the heater wins the battle against the chill, the air is clean enough for the heavy smell of ham, egg and cheese biscuits to circulate. And for a time the blessed aroma of cheap coffee stands strong and bright against the background but this too begins to blend in until it is forgotten. The window again slips open, but this time only a crack. There is a rush of fresh, freezing air followed by a spark. Most of the spent nicotine is hurried out the window but unseen wisps of smoke spiral in on the current, noted only by the acrid overtones they bring. These little bits of invisible ash will swirl and mingle with the others until they come to rest on the discarded jacket, the binder overflowing with papers, the empty cans of Red Bull, that one dirty sock. They will become old air. They will fill in the gaps. And every time the speedometer and gear shift start to disappear out of sight, each time the cadence of fire and the smell of spent powder creep out of dark corners but before... before the vision of a helmet pierced front to back by a well-placed round and suddenly unable to hold its former owner in, before that there will be a rush of cold, a spark, and some long deep breaths. The present will reclaim a foothold in the confines of the 5-speed import, and the smoke will redefine the scenery, strengthening the smell of no-longer-enlisted until the day the memories stop their siege.

-Jn (Union Hill, 1/25/13)

The big day

Pending 5 minutes to write...

Soon and very soon

Tonight a dear friend came over and helped me make groundhog cookies. That means it is time...

Tomorrow a few carloads of people who I love will drive with me to my dad's house where we will get not quite enough sleep and head to a town that is impossible to spell to see about a groundhog.

I am going to be joined by my original partner in crime and the professor who unknowingly put us up to this a very long time ago.

We started this in 2004. I remember thinking before and after I ate the fresh (although not tasty) yellow cake that there was no way we would actually see this through to the end. Hoping, desperately hoping that we would make it through 3 years which would take us to the end of school. My thoughts were not about what might happen to the Twinkie but on how long 10 years really was. At that point 10 years was roughly half of my life so of course the number seemed enormous. And more wonderful and awful things than I can count happened in those 10 years. But everywhere I went I carried a little box of Twinkies with me and at least once a year Jn and I caught up. And everyone who met us eventually heard this story...some people knew the story way before they met us actually. If I recall correctly, Jn tended to be swamped with people wanting to watch her eat the thing whereas most of the people I knew commanded me to eat it somewhere else. We locked ourselves in closets for different reasons :)

And in a few days Jn and I are really going to do this. We are really going to complete what we set out to complete a decade ago. This does not seem real.

-Jn

Befores

I wrote this a few weeks ago. I am on the other side now but I couldn't find the document in between then and tonight...

I am in the air marveling at the beauty beneath me, Also desperately wishing that the windows were cleaner. I love traveling. I really do. All parts of it all the time? Of course not. No one loves all parts of anything all of the time. But even though I can remember some pretty bad travel experiences, they are still interesting stories and I learned things. And it is something that I have done, conquered, survived. Something real. And obviously temporary so was it actually that bad. Not from this side of time.

I am starting to wonder if traveling is in my genetics. It’s possible. In some species the desire to move around is genetic but I know of no human studies to that effect.

If you know that my father lives about 10 minutes away from the site of the house he was born in and has lived that close for most of his life you might wonder at the genetic component of wanderlust. But if you consider the trip to Japan, the safari in Africa, the pilgrimage to Israel, the cruise around Europe, owning property in Honduras and maintaining homes in at least two homes simultaneously since before I was born…you get a clearer picture. My mother for her part was no less mobile and in fact was a part of much of the above in addition to moving hither and thither with her family as a child. And this really goes back several generations at least. At around the great-great-grandparent branches of my familial tree all of my individual family members picked up and moved to a new place with a hope of better things and no particularly discernible plan. Somewhere along the way my grandparents and then my parents showed up and then there was me. Born into the body of a vagabond. The apple does not fall far from the tree…except that this cliche gets all confused in this case.

I took my first plane trip when I was 4 months old. I don’t remember it but my mother’s curly script tells me that I was the perfect baby. All smiles and well complimented by the stewardesses. I recall a time when smoking WAS permitted on the aircraft and in the lavatories and it was not a federal offense to tamper with smoke detectors because they hadn’t considered that yet. I remember when all airlines offered meals. Getting bumped to first class and getting real silverware and a free pack of playing cards. My first time meeting a pilot and looking into the cockpit full of dials and switches and buttons and magic. I remember the thrill every time the plane took off and the rush at touchdown when the brakes kicked in. I remember pointing out planes flying near us to my father and asking how fast they were traveling, getting lessons in aeronautical physics from someone who would know while simultaneously experiencing the forces acting on me. I remember lightning storms and rainbows, sun devils and deicing processes. I remember losing baggage and sleeping overnight in airports and getting sick at cruising elevation while in between countries. I remember finding out via voicemail on a layover that my father’s passport was denied and he would be meeting me in Honduras the following day and having to call 5L in a panic to get some details figured out. That 2 year span where every flight meant being selected for a “random” screening likely based on my name and connection to Boston. . I remember seeing a shark off the coast of an island when I landed in the Bahamas and dolphins playing in the water when I took off from Boston. The Pittsburgh skyline on a perfectly clear night and seeing my neighborhood from a commercial flight for the first time. What I remember is enjoying adventure every step of the way.

Now I am flying to Denver with plans for the first time to actually leave the airport after I get there. Denver is quite possibly my favorite airport but I can’t wait to see what lies beyond the TSA checkpoint. Is there bitter sweetness in this trip? No more than in any other trip I suppose. Each journey is a door opened and another shut. You cannot be in two places at the same time. Trust me that if it were possible I would do it on any occasion possible. In many ways this is my last big hurrah before I start an 8-5 schedule. In my first year I can look forward to earning just almost 5 days of vacation. When you compare this to the past two years of spending perhaps only a third of the time in the place I call home this is a drastic difference. An abrupt stop. No more flagrant gallivanting. But I have been eagerly waiting for this trip for nearly a year and hoping to visit some of my friends for many more than that. How can this not be joy and adventure. And when I return and “force my wandering to subside”, I am returning to a home that a treasure. I place I genuinely want to be. This is a blessing. So too is the 8-5 I begin in a few short days.

You see the reason I started writing this in the first place was the unimaginable beauty of the earth from the air. Pure and simple overwhelming awe. Clouds like no other clouds have ever been dappled across a view of roads and fields and ice and humans and everything. At this moment the sun is piercing through a thing filmy cloud layer and reflecting violently off of an irrigation canal. You will never see exactly what I have just seen and I cannot capture it for you in words or on film or some other creative media. I am sorry for your loss. Truly. Through the clouds I can see a world cast in black and white. Is it ironic that I think we might be over Kansas? Snow covers everything that is not necessary for man to move from place to place and these all happen to be dark in contrast. Here is the exception, a lake until recently frozen over but now thawing and cracking from the center outwards. You can almost imagine the world exploding in to pieces from that very spot.

In a few days I will begin a challenging job where I will have to learn fundamentally new techniques in a hurry and I will never be able to stop learning and changing and evolving. I have been promised that I will never be able to coast. But I have also been promised that I will spend my days seeing the wide world in a view from the sky. While I scan for bad pixels and other tasks that would be mundane if considered in isolation, I will see birds in flight, motocross bikes caught mid-stunt, the myriad colors of fall and myriad other wonders captured from a fleet of planes criss-crossing the globe. And I already recognize that the individuals who I will be learning from are likeminded because they saw fit to mention these things in a simple interview. I can look forward to a folder filled with thousands upon thousands of images of note collected by my coworkers who are also captivated by the beauty of the world from the sky. 

Counting down the days

Things you can expect to see if you choose to join us. I know that some of my followers are naysayers but I will choose to love them anyway.

Twas the night before... a day I like more than Christmas

Twas the night before whitetail deer, antlered with rifle
And beside me was stirring the mouse in my wall
My camo laid out in a pile in my room
To prepare for the morning which would come all too soon

My father was nestled all snug in his bed
While visions of twelve points danced in his head.
And I ‘neath thick blankets and in fleece PJ’s
Was too excited to sleep because of opening day.

Cause a friend of my brother has seen a monster buck
And I’m crossing fingers and toes for good luck
An 8 point he says with 13 inch tines
And a 23 inch spread hangs out in the swamp pines

I guess that I’ll shoot the first buck that I see
But I’m hoping it’s him, that he’s destined for me
And when the clock inches past six fifty-five
He’ll be in my sites and I’ll let the lead fly

I’ll be perched on a cable spool on a bench on the hill
With wide views all around for making my kill
Above me a large field and a deer trail by my side
Beneath me a swamp where deer like to hide

I’ll wait near the edge of our private ground
For locals in the game lands to push deer around
They’ll be funneled down into my ravine
Where I will see them without being seen.

And elsewhere on other parts of our range
People I love will be doing the same
Beside cable spools or on the tower will stand
My brother, my father, and our friend Sam.

We can’t see everywhere but we can sure try
We’re well spread out with views wide and high
They get a chance at the deer I don’t see
And the deer that they miss should filter through me

For now I’m in bed and fighting for dreams
But when you’ve got the fever it’s harder than it seems
So if you’re also too excited to sleep tonight…
Good luck and straight shooting and a deer at first light.






1. I don't think this is the first time I have abused this poem. If it were a better poem or harder to do I probably would leave it alone.
2. WHY AM I NOT SLEEPING?!?!?!?