Fringeville #170: Another Revolution.

Pipe down. Don’t get all excited. I’m not talking politics and I haven’t joined the anarchists.

I’m talking revolutions around the sun.

There have been untold billions of revolutions around the sun by our little rock. I recently celebrated my 60^th. Whoop-de-doo.

* * *

I’m going to work backwards here.

I woke up Sunday to banners and balloons celebrating my official over-da-hillness. The big 6-0. I haven’t been the happiest camper lately, but this stuff made me smile. When I opened the car door on my way to work… well, see the photo at the top of this page. (My daughter loves celebrating birthdays, and she always gets a smile from me despite my crotchety old-man-ness.)

* * *

Saturday was interesting. I put in my morning shift at work then drove to Tunkhannock to get my driver’s license picture taken. My sister recommended going to Tunkhannock because there is never a line. That wasn’t what sealed the deal for me. I decided I’d do a little foliage tour while I was up there.

From Wilkes-Barre to Tunkhannock, the logical route would be up Route 309 to Route 29 and straight into town. This would be especially sensible as I was leaving from Wilkes-Barre Township after making a bank deposit. A normal person would hop onto I-81, drive north one exit and take the Cross-Valley Expressway, which morphs into Route 309, for the jaunt to Tunkhannock.

I am not normal. I suspect you all know that already.

Instead I took 81 south a few miles and exited onto the southern end of Route 29. I followed it across the river and up into the mountains. I passed through the Pinchot State Forest, whizzed by Pikes Creek Reservoir, then Lake Silkworth, and out into the official boonies.

It was a calming ride.

There was almost zero traffic.

There was a slight children-of-the-corn moment when I had to swerve around a large carcass of something laying in my lane. No fur or appendages …just a giant slab of something festering on the asphalt.

Could have been butchered deer meat that fell off a pickup truck.

Maybe bear.

Possibly Jimmy Hoffa.

Except for the mystery cadaver, it was a hauntingly beautiful ride. The only regret is that I was alone. I spend most of my time with just me. I suppose I’m not bad company, and I’m getting used to it. It’s my lot in life, so I make the best of it.

Once in Tunkhannock, I quickly found the Photo ID center at the far end of a building that also houses a Weis Market. Across the parking lot is Sky Haven Airport, and the runway lies over a rise and runs behind the supermarket. You could probably leave the engine running on your Cessna, dart in for groceries, and take right off again. I suppose one could do even better than that:

“Honey, parachute out to the Weis parking lot and get the groceries. I’ll land and pick you up in twenty minutes. There’s a slab of meat on the road a little south of here with some kids hiding nearby in the corn. I want to buzz’em a few times before I land.”

As my sister promised, there was virtually no wait for my photo. The red “Take a Number” dispenser by the seating area was empty and dust-covered. I suspect that is its usual state. No matter. It was prime time on Saturday and there were a handful of people there for photos. The only other day the Photo ID center is open is Friday, so I missed the end-of-week-harvest-happy-hour rush.

I was in and out in a jiffy. I will never go anyplace else for a license. The two folks on duty were courteous, kind and cheerful. A quarter of the Boy Scout Oath. That's a rarity at such facilities. If Harrisburg finds out, they’ll surely get shit-canned. 

After I got the new license, I paused in the parking lot to take a picture of the mountain across the river, which was wearing fall colors. I also got some type of utility pole, a windsock, and the roofs of some trailers.

I never said I was Steve McCurry.

Oh, and when I was getting my license, this happened:

It wasn’t a rash decision.

People will draw all kinds of conclusions, but in the end I decided I no longer belong in a party. Across the course of my life both national parties have left me, or perhaps I’ve left them. It was no one thing in either case.

Perhaps I’m just getting old and, as I mentioned earlier, crotchety.

Maybe I just want to be left alone.

Maybe I fear I’ve done enough damage.

In any case, this fits a pattern for me. I mull major decisions for a long, long, time. I ponder them quietly. Then, when I make a decision, I move swiftly and irrevocably. More often than not, I make final decisions near familiar calendar landmarks: changes in season, years, or birthdays. If you know me well, you know when I am quiet near a calendar landmark then something is in the wind.

Anyway, it’s done now.

A page is turned and I have moved on. I will still vote, of course. But I am tied to no party.

U-N-A-F-F-I-L-I-A-T-E-D.

I am no longer a part of the great, vast circus of American politics. I’ve been a very good soldier for a long time, but the war is over for me, kids.

I suppose I could write about it. Trust me, I have the material.

But that would, again, pull me back in. I don’t want a Michael Corleone moment. I prefer having it all in the rearview.

In closing: be good to each other. We’re all we’ve got.

* * *

Fringeville #169: Fixing Stuff

...winter is coming...

We get hopelessly lost in the politics of blame.

A young lady, crazy enough to work for me and one of the smartest people I will ever know, wasn’t much on blame. Her attitude was: “I don’t care whose fault it is, let’s just fix it.”

And she did. Every time.

Regarding the latest terror attack in New York City, I boil things down to the simplest element: If Sayfullo Saipov wasn’t in America eight people would still be alive.

I don’t care whose fault it is. Just fix this.

* * *

I have no fear of immigration. None, zip zero. I believe the long-term success of America is tied to the success of those who emigrate here. We build a young, competitive workforce through responsible and intelligent immigration.

The answer is not xenophobia.

Just fix this.

* * *

For reasons I won’t delve into, I feel like a giant, gaping hole has been torn into my heart. This needs to be fixed, and I can’t fix it.

* * *

I want to write fiction right now. The only decent things I have written were done when I was struggling with some demon or another. I’m afraid to start writing, because if I do I may never stop and I don’t know what will flow from my brain to the page. It may be easier to remain a coward.

* * *

Part of me really just wants to get in a rental car and go north alone for the weekend. South would work, too. Perhaps stick my toes in the Chesapeake. Neither will happen, but truth be told I’d rather be in New England.

Until last week, I managed the full run-up to my imminent 60^th birthday without any personal angst. I have made up for it in the past week. Again, something is broken that I can’t fix.

Fix it is the theme today, in case that somehow got by you.

* * *

It is dark when I wake; it is dark when I get home. I cannot overstate how much I hate living in darkness. On its heels comes winter, just a smidge over the horizon.

Unlike past journeys into Pennsylvania’s grayworld, this one is harder. My legs don’t work the way they used to. My balance in the dark is way off, and if I’m outdoors after sunset I find the footing is treacherous and navigation difficult. It’s a little better indoors, but when my balance is off at least I can see where a friendly wall or piece of furniture is.

At some point this winter, I’m hitting the ground. My advice in advance to the orthopedist: “Just fix this.”

C’mon, you had to see that coming.

* * *

I saw the PA at my doctor’s office. She is a remarkable, compassionate young woman. It was a routine visit just to check and see if my blood pressure medication is doing its job. (It is.)

At some point in our conversation, I shared with her that I’ve come to realize I am perhaps one of the last generalists. It would have been more accurate to precede that with the words “self-taught.”

I’ve managed to become competent in a wide variety of roles. I am expert in none; I can’t stress that enough. But I know a lot about an awful lot, learned most of it myself, and managed to make my living at it. Someday I’ll jot down all the things I’ve done. The list will probably be incomplete.

At some point I’ll have to fix it.

* * *

Tuesday’s Election will be the first one in many, many years where I haven’t been working a poll and caught up in “Election Fever.” (I don’t count the Primary Election in 2014 where I was knocked out of action involuntarily by surgery, a failed attempt to murder my prostate cancer.)

I plan to under-vote heavily on Tuesday. I will leave vast, gaping holes on my ballot.

I will share the Plains candidates I plan to vote for:

Lynn Evans, Tax Collector. She is, quite simply, awesome and perfect for the office.

Barry Kresge, Commissioner: I’ve watched Barry grow over the last several Elections as a candidate. He deserves a shot.

Peter Biscontini, Commissioner. I’ve found him to be remarkably well-suited for the role. I wish him success.

I am also encouraging my friends in the Pittston Area School District to vote for John Lombardo, a young man going places who will do all the right things on the way.

I am also casting my vote for my great friend Harry Haas for County Council. I haven’t decided who else will get my vote, but there will be others.

In Lackawanna County, I hope Charles Kokinda wins his race for Recorder of Deeds. Another excellent young person going places and doing it the right way.

That’s it for politics, in a great many ways.

***

Yes, I rambled. I can’t fix that. Nor would I want to.

Be good to each other.

* * *

Fringeville #168: Weekend Blues

...maybe I can mail myself to New England...

On a scale of 1-10, the highest number being joy and the lowest misery, this weekend never broke into positive integers.

And I didn’t watch a lick of the PSU-OSU game and could’ve cared less.

With the Big 60 coming up fast, I spent the weekend reevaluating myself. ‘Nuff said ‘bout that.

* * *

Despite the fact that I have no lower body strength and intermittent balance issues, I managed to pull apart and store the toys in the yard for the coming winter.

I also replaced the guts of a bathroom ceiling fan/light combination. I had no ladder, so mister balance stood on a chair.

I managed to do both of these without breaking any bones, or electrocuting myself.

Church on Sunday and accomplishing the above took my mood almost to zero, but it wasn’t enough.

But like I said, ‘nuff ‘bout that.

* * *

I’m giving myself a birthday present on November 8^th. I can’t give it any earlier. ‘Nuff said ‘bout that too.

* * *

I’d love to be in New England right about now. The foliage would surely slay the blues. I simply can’t make it happen, and before I know it we’ll be living in grayworld until spring.

* * *

My dog loves me. He greets me with nearly unconditional joy whenever I walk through the door.

Nearly unconditional.

He demands I take him out to pee, even if he was out just before I got home. I haven’t decided whether I’ve Pavloved him or he me.

* * *

That’s it for now.

Be good to each other.

* * *

Fringeville #167: Here’s A Motto For Ya...

There is only one species of human. We come in a grab bag of sizes, colors and shapes but there is only just us.

Just us.

We can continue on the way we are or we can be good to each other. Let's choose to be good to each other. It all starts there. If that seems overly simplistic, just try it for a couple of days.

* * *

It is requiring less and less effort to avoid piping in on political stuff. It is also becoming more and more apparent to me that drastically reducing my presence on social media has been very, very good for me.

* * *

On a sort of similar note, back in 2010 I had the opportunity to meet Karen Feather, the one-time Chief of Staff for Congressman Paul Kanjorski. Somehow our brief conversation drifted to social media. She told me that she didn’t use it and had no plans to. I can’t recall the exact conversation (I am an old fart and have trouble these days remembering where I took my shoes off) but the thrust was that it was a platform that was potentially dangerous for folks in politics. Damned smart woman.

* * *

On my computer, I used to save my Fringeville posts by date and post number before copying the contents to the blog.

These days I save them by post number only. It’s a self-motivating technique, because when I look at the list of old posts, I don’t feel intimated by the gaps of time between them.

Yes, there is some self-deception here …I could simply move my eyes to the file’s date fields …but I am a master of self-deception.

By the way, here is my favorite health food (protein, veggies-n-dairy* all in one):

* With optional celery and bleu cheese

* * *

Yesterday was National Taco Day. We did Taco Bell. I really don’t want to know the specifics of what is in the damned things, but I went to bed full and my backside played the trumpet most of the night.

* * *

I am deeply, deeply hopeful this gorgeous weather holds until April. (It’s that self-deception thing again.)

* * *

Be good to each other.

* * *