Archive for the ‘Uncategorized’ Category

Two recently completed projects: Searching Within, by Doris Anne Bridgehouse, and The Sense of Form in Literature and Language, by Michael and Marianne Shapiro.

I finally managed to import all my other, scattered, blogs. It was fun looking at our crosscountry trip, listed under “You Drive, I’ll Shoot.”

O! mighty harbinger of treasured Spring

Which from the Olde Towne ventures bravely forth

And carries in its hold each needful thing

From winter’s icebound warehouse in the north.

We wait until the day is near half done

To see the journey start, the great door rise

And streams of light as from a midnight sun

Presage the moving giant’s glowing eyes.

At last! We hear the engine’s mighty boom.

The door goes up! Our faith, an ember small

And precious in the season of our gloom,

Is burning now. Then comes the mighty call:

“Make way! We leave for the City of Palms!”

And we are soothed by training season balms.

Okay, it’s another environmental rant. Not that I don’t feel there’s merit in keeping the planet clean. Far from it. In fact, this place would be a lot better if the overwhelming population of inconsiderate, human slobs would tidy up after themselves.

But what really gets me going is when the environags tell me we need to “save the planet.”

Save the planet?

Unless they know about a doomsday asteroid or comet that’s headed our way, I suggest they tone it down just a bit.

Because the truth is, recycling, reusing, reducing our carbon footprint won’t “save the Earth.”

What it might do is keep the Earth suitable for human habitation.

Big difference.

If we trash ourselves out of existence, the Earth will go spinning merrily along as usual. The cockroaches will get to enjoy their apartments in peace.

Thursday in Chicago – Seeing the Bean

Got into the Metro Lounge and checked our luggage. A few minutes to wash up, and then we walked to Millennium Park. Probably about a mile each way, and not at all good for my feet, but fabulous stuff to see. First, the Bean – real name, Cloud Sculpture #4 – with all its fabulous reflections, and the peoples faces on the fountain walls. We took photos from various angles andc distances, including from directly below the center. Much more to see in the park, and we decide to return to Chicago for a longer visit.

Chicago has wonderful public spaces and seems to invest in a lot of fascinating public art. Even though it is still a bit chilly, many people are outside, eating lunch, walking, shopping.

We decided on a quick lunch in the train station. One thing that was particularly noticeable was the friendliness and general good cheer of everyone we encountered.

As it happened, my shoes did my feet no favors, and I hobbled back to Union Station. In a not-too-bright move, we didn’t take the red cap service and slogged our mountain of luggage all the way to the train. Lesson learned: when you have a mountain of luggage take the red cap!

Rhode Island to Chicago

Blogging has not been as easy on this trip as I had expected. There’s been little or no wifi available on the train routes, and even less time to write! So I’m sending a few bits from Los Angeles before getting back on the train to head east.

We’re off on another journey to California, this time to our nephew Adam’s wedding in L.A. And this time we’re going by train.

We left the house after 1pm, stopped at the CVS, headed out of town and stopped at a Piccadilly Pub just before the Mass Pike. A little nonsense trying to get into the garage art Rensselaer, but are now in the station. I think our train has been made up and will be ready soon.

There’s plenty of leg room on these seats, but sleeping turns out to be a horror show. Neither of us can get really comfortable nor do more than doze occasionally. We are a bit grumpy. We try hot dogs – Hebrew Nationals – but while the dogs are fine, the rolls have suffered a terrible fate by being microwaved. In spots they are hot, in other spots it’s like chewing wood scraps.

Some of our compatriots on the train are a bit off the wall. We are sitting across from an older gent who is making inane cell calls very late at night. (You’re supposed to go to the café car if you want to gab late at night.) And some lady – I used that term with reservation – snapped a flash photo of the entire care in the middle of the night. There was one very loud little girl – thankfully she got out in Buffalo – and a crying baby who finally shut it and fell asleep.

The morning finds us a bit better as the sun rises. It gets interesting to look at. We stop at several cities and towns. We move to Central time. The train is running a bit late – actually about an hour. Then we stop at Hammond, Indiana – not a station stop, but the signal got dropped and we can’t move. I’m not sure how long we stay there, but we are a couple of hours late getting into Chicago.

I don’t have to dig through my boxes of old junk and look at my diploma from New Bedford High School. I know for a fact that I did not receive a high school degree.

Now, I do remember getting an undergraduate degree – a BFA – back in the day when dinosaurs roamed the East Side of Providence, Rhode Island. And I also remember receiving a graduate degree – an MFA – in the vastness of the Carrier Dome at Syracuse a few years later.

But I have no memory of ever being awarded a high school degree.

Simply because there is no such creature.

So, why do I hear and read about high school degrees everywhere these days?

It started out with the daytime TV commercials for those dubious correspondence schools – you know, the schools where you can get a certificate in refrigeration repair, home economics or animal husbandry. The perky spokesmodel talks through a list of subjects in which you can be certified, and then, finally, says, “You can even get your high school degree. Call now!”

I thought it was just ignorance; that, or a desire to impress the uncertified, undiplomaed, undegreed and/or unemployed folks stuck at home watching daytime TV. But now I’m seeing and hearing references to high school degrees everywhere.

News reports on television and in relatively respectable newspapers such as The Providence Journal* have included references to high school degrees. Typically, it’s a story about a poor, drug-addicted, unwed, homeless mother of three who has pulled herself up by her bootstraps, with the help of numerous local, state and federal government programs, who finally “earned her high school degree” at the urging of her parole officer.

But reports of high school degrees have cropped up in such publications as Newsweek, whose editors you would think would know better. (Okay, granted they were quoting Larry Rosenstock, CEO of High Tech High in San Diego, but he really ought to know better!)

There is even a headlined reference to high school degrees on the website of the University of Florida: “Don’t have a high school degree?” (Well, of course you don’t, you blockhead! That’s my entire point… nobody does!)

Simply put, high schools are not degree-granting institutions. That’s what colleges and universities are for. You go to a college, and work two or four or more years, pass your courses and earn a degree. An associate’s degree. A bachelor’s degree. A master’s degree. A doctorate.

At high school, you go for three or four years, pass your courses, and earn…. A DIPLOMA!

And there’s absolutely nothing wrong with that! In fact, not so very long ago, it was considered quite an accomplishment to have a high school diploma. It opened the door to a lot of jobs back in the day. It assured potential employers that the holder of the diploma was, at the very least, literate, and, perhaps, even knew a thing or two about math, history, science, civics and literature.

These days, with our muzzy-headed insistence on relevance, self-esteem, passing standardized tests and having virtually everyone prepare for college, no matter where else their talents and interests may lie, employers no longer have that assurance. Very few high schools have business tracks anymore – a real shame when so many young people could prepare for the administrative and technical positions without four years of college. Even fewer high schools have vocational programs. They leave that job to the relatively few vocational high schools, schools, which, by the way, do an overall excellent job of preparing their students for solid trade and craft jobs that society will always need.

But, I digress.

I’m not sure why anyone would look down on a high school diploma, even today. Perhaps it is no longer the golden ticket to most employment it used to be. But it still opens the door to many jobs, and to colleges and technical schools.

But remember, it’s a diploma. It’s not a degree.

It shouldn’t take a college education to understand that.
——————————————————–

*Okay, I think it’s relatively respectable. Your results may vary.

The road leads on.

Well, we are home again. After something over 6,000 miles, we are back in Chepachet.

Driving through Pennsylvania, we were struck by how truly green and forested it is here, unlike most of the west and much of the midwest. There are mountains here, but what gently mountains they seem after the wild shapes and sizes we encountered elsewhere.

The traffic is heavier, although it lightenes significantly as we pass through Hartford, Connecticut, and it takes significantly longer to get anywhere. Gas prices are higher again.

The last three days of our journey seem a bit surreal. It may be due to the very bland nature of I-70 compared to the much more interesting I-80. There is no Bob and Ray, but the Red Sox solider gallantly on.

A couple more odd thoughts on traveling, and specifically on hotels:

Price is no guarantee of quality. The fabulous MGM Grand cost about 75% of the much-scuffed Holiday Inn Express in Tusayan, Arizona. Economies of scale, perhaps. And casinos.

Brand name is no guarantee of quality, either. We stayed at two different Holiday Inn Expresses, one of which was the much-scuffed location in Tusayan. The other, I can’t remember where at the moment, was excellent and a good value. Hampton Inn varied from just okay to really good. Hilton Garden was excellent every time – the one time we found that the name guaranteed the quality, but perhaps it is just that they are almost all very newly built.

A very quick guide to quality seems to be the welcome mat outside the front door. If it’s grubby or just sad-looking, the hotel inside isn’t going to thrill with cleanliness or quality.

So, that’s about it for our coast-to-coast journey. Don’t know what I’ll do with the blog.

But as Ray Goulding said, “Write if you get work.”

And Bob Elliot replied, “Don’t hang by your thumbs.”

Excelsior!
Carol

“I choose to stay disconnected”*

From Illinois to Ohio to Pennsylvania, where things look lush and green, especially compared to the spare brown landscape out west.

Also, no billboards, for better or worse.

Listened to an entire hour of Bob and Ray on XM. I wondered if it would get too difficult for Eric to drive, as we were laughing so hard! And there was a picture in my mind of us pulling to the side of the road, laughing hysterically, and havinga state trooper pull up behind us. I could just imagine:

“What seems to be the problem here?”

“We’ve been listening to Bob and Ray.”

“Please step out of the car….”

Lunch at a Pennsylvania chain called Eat’N'Park, and it was surprisingly good. The interior is unremarkable, but a grilled chicken and strawberry salad (grilled chicken, sliced strawberries, baby spinach, toasted sliced almonds and a sesame-poppy dressing) was memorable.

We pulled in to Williamsport about 4:30 pm. Williamsport is mainly known for the Little League World Series held here each summer. There is also a Little League Museum. Correspondingly, there are carloads of Little Leaguers at our hotel, having a great time whooping it up in the lobby and the pool.

Williamsport is a bit scuffed in places, but there are dozens of handsome brick Victorian homes, some completely restored, some in progress, others in disrepair and being used as student housing for the Technical College across the street from our hotel.

Eric and I decided on dinner at the Bullfrog Brewery, just about the only thing open in downtown Williamsport on a Saturday evening.

The Bullfrog manufactures a number of its own beers and ales, including an Apricot Wheat that I tried along with my po’ boy. Almost a shame we’re not staying an extra day: there’s a jazz workshop every Sunday afternoon from noon until 4. But anyway, it’s a good, relaxed place for enjoying dinner and beer, with no plastic in sight.

Williamsport is also home to quite a few other excellent buildings, including an imposing city hall that is proudly patriotic, in that pleasantly old-fashioned way that doesn’t give me the creeps.

A few thoughts on travel:

1. No Krispy Kremes in the car.
2. No radio stations with people yelling in any language.
3. Eventually, any coffee cup will begin to leak.
4. Travel light. You never know when you’ll have to haul your bags up a flight or two of stairs.
5. The hardest working people get paid the least. The maids, waitstaff, cooks and maintenance people not only make your vacation pleasant, they just plain make it possible. They are virtually invariably polite, friendly and helpful. Acknowledge their presence. Say hello. Smile. Tip well.

As I write this, there is a fireworks show outside my window.

Home tomorrow.

Excelsior!
Carol

PS: Stats:
Miles traveled: 395
MPG: 35.25
A great vacation: priceless

*From today’s Bob and Ray

Chain, chain, chain…

I-70 is a heavily traveled route, with great caravans of semis rolling along, sometimes pairing up to block both lanes. It takes longer now to go shorter distances. A day’s mileage that may have taken 5 hours out west will consume more than 6 hours here.

There’s also not very much to look at on I-70. There are long, blank, green stretches, punctuated by the industrial ends of cities and occasional farm buildings. Billboards are about the only amusements on this road.

Mostly, the billboards advertise hotels, restaurants and RV dealers, the ubiquitous casinos and Indian trading posts having vanished a state or so ago. There are exceptions, of course. Like the 5+5 commandments.

I really wondered about the five commandmants. For about a half mile, I wondered what the lessee of the billboard had done about the other half. Would they appear next month? Had the lessee run out of money? Couldn’t figure out how to cram all ten on one board? Didn’t agree with the other five? (A closet Unitarian, perhaps.)

But, no. The other half appeared just down the road.

And, lo! there was another giant cross! I am beginning to think it’s a franchise.

Speaking of franchises, we decided to try two restaurant franchises that don’t exist back in New England: Steak and Shake and Red Robin.

Steak and Shake is everywhere out here, so we ate lunch in one that was, well, kind of in the middle of nowhere. This particular branch is about 2 miles off the interstate, and when I asked the cashier what town it was near, she really couldn’t give me an answer. “I come all the way from Muncie,” she told me. She explained that all the employees had to drive some distance to work – far more than the legendary ten-minutes-is-too-far-to-drive-without-packing-a-bag commute in Rhode Island.

The decor is a cross between 50s diner and antiseptic white operating suite; the menu is somewhere between McDonalds and Johnny Rockets. However, they do make creditable burgers and extraordinary cabinets (or frappes, to the rest of Yankeeland) although they call them milkshakes. The neatest offering is a half-and-half milkshake: one flavor on the left side of the glass, another on the right side. Good trick.

Dinner in Columbus, Ohio, gave us a choice between about a mile of chain outlets. We had never tried Red Robin, although we had seen any number of them over the past few days.

We waited about fifteen minites for a table and looked through the menu whole we waited. They, also, specialize in burgers (“We have 43 different burgers,” out waitress told us after we were seated.) although they also offer much of the usual stuff you’d find in Chelo’s. The food turned out to be quite a bit better than average – well prepared, fresh and nicely presented. Also, cheap.

The decor is a bit like Uno, with a bit of Ground Round thrown in. The mascot is, well, Red Robin, a bird character who looks unnervingly like Woody Woodpecker, but red all over. Apparently a costumed character makes the rounds several nights a week. We were fortunate enough to miss that, though.

The rest of the staff is friendly and helpful. Most restaurants, it seems, are run by teenagers, and this group does a fine job of it. We could see into the kitchen from where we were sitting, and unless there is an office hidden away somewhere, there was nobody over the age of 21 working in this fairly large establishment.

Most interestingly to me, this is a very popular place for families with little kids. And even though there is not particularly a kid theme present – except for old Red Robin – the kiddos looked like they were having a wonderful time. No crying babies, no crabby toddlers. Just smiling faces, parents and kids alike. Maybe we need to find out what they’re putting in those 43 varieties of burgers.

We atoned for our eating with some time on the treadmill and a few miles on the stationary bike, as well as a swim the the pool.

There are have been tornado watches and warnings up and the weather reporter said that he’d have to keep an eye on them all night. I’m glad he’s taking care of things so I can sleep.

On to some place in Pennsylvania, hoping for more Bob and Ray as we go along, then home on Sunday.

Stats:
Miles driven: 415
MPG: 35.75
Calories consumed: Don’t ask!

Excelsior!

Carol