This is my third, the second being Carmen's a year ago. The others were also Andover Newton graduates, the first being Janet Bush three years ago (I think.) We drove from Watertown to Framingham Massachusetts for that one. For this one we drove from Meadville Pennsylvania to Warren, Massachusetts on Friday and then to Northboro Massachusetts on Sunday afternoon.
Construction was the big story through New York. It used to puzzle me that there was so much construction going on at the same time everywhere up here. After a November to April winter, I realized that May to October is all there is for road construction and repair, with a lot of rainy days during that window. Fix roads while the sun shines! There were a lot of lane closures and being shunted over to the opposite lanes and the usual road construction hassles. People don't speed through work zones in New York, because two work zone violations get you a suspended license. But there were no stoppages or backups. Just a lot of guys standing around staring at the road. One was leaning on his elbows on the overpass railing staring at the road below. Road construction looks like a pretty easy gig.
We crossed Lake Chautauqua on Interstate 86, and Carmen was enchanted. We've heard so much about Chautauqua Institute, a mere two hours or less from Meadville, and now she's hankering to go there. The lake and environs are spectacularly beautiful. The Institute is miles away from the bridge, but it's not hard to imagine that the beauty there is even better for lack of an Interstate highway nearby.
So we ate our turkey sandwiches and drank our water and only stopped once for a fluid exchange in Bainbridge, New York. We exited Interstate 90 at the Palmer exit and let Hermione (our GPS) guide us through unfamiliar territory. She got a little confused at one point (or was it us?) but between the three of us we figured it out and made it through.
Exactly nine hours after leaving Meadville, we pulled into the driveway. The weather was warm , so the Ordinand, Misty Dawn and her spouse Jenna had the pool ready for swimming. Carmen swam. I sat in the shade.
Saturday was preparations for the Ordination and running errands. I learned the "Pages" word processing program on Misty's Mac laptop and generated twenty six signs for the pews reserved for various factions (CLERGY, FAMILY, CHOIR, etc) and after picking up a truckload of flowers, we had a late lunch at the Sturbridge Coffee Shop. Yum.
Sunday morning they went to Northboro for the morning church service and final preparations. We stayed and kept the dogs company until about 1:00, when it was time to go. The drive to Northboro took an hour through ridiculous traffic (compared to Meadville) Carmen robed with the ministers, and I explained to many people who I was and how I came to be there. It was a collaborative effort of the Northboro congregation, where Misty served her internship, and the Brookfield congregation, Misty and Jenna's home church. Each group thought I was with the other and tried to make me feel welcome.
The Ordination was very nice, including affirmations from both congregations and music by combined choirs and a collaborative quartet. Carmen did the Ordination prayer and the Laying On Of Hands, and Misty Dawn Shelly became Reverend Misty Dawn Shelly. Nice. Then we, they, Misty's mom and her partner and the Brookfield minister and her husband had a lovely dinner at Ravezzi's restaurant in Sturbridge before going home to collapse and process the day.
Monday morning we drove back. Construction still going on. Once even got exited off the interstate and back on for an overpass repair project. Still, no delays, other than the hour and a half we spent shopping in Erie, where we used to go monthly, but hadn't been to since February. After watching Jenna's 55 inch TV for a weekend, we couldn't face going home to our 19 inch. We bought a 32 inch. It's up and running.
Congratulations again, Reverend Shelly. It was a fun trip, a nice visit and a great Ordination!
Tuesday, June 14, 2011
Thursday, May 19, 2011
Flicker From The Past
As my avid readers (you both know who you are) know, I was a professional driver from early October 1977 until the beginning of February, 1998. This sounds like a short time, and it is, but in terms of miles traveled and stories accumulated, it was a very long journey.
Now that I am a professional driver again, I can't help comparing the situation now to the situation a quarter century ago. Surprisingly (to me, anyway,) there are way more similarities than differences. The vehicles haven't really changed at all, nor have the roads. There are no longer CB radios, as far as I know. I don't have a clue what the long haulers are doing for company and information these days - a cell phone and a GPS? Probably MP3 players have replaced radios and tape decks. Maybe satellite radio? Don't know.
One thing has really struck me, however. When I was on the road, and for some years since, if a truck passed me, as soon as it was clear to pull over I signalled by flashing my high beams. I learned this behavior by watching other trucks on the road. The "thank you" for this courtesy was for the passing vehicle to flicker its tail lights - off - - on - off - o n n n n - off. This was pretty consistent. There were variations, but I'd say ninety five out of a hundred trucks knew and used this code, sign and counter sign. During my trip north in June of 2005 I reprised this practice and found the number of practitioners greatly diminished. Six years later, in all the driving I've done, I've flashed my high beams to passing trucks and not one has answered the call.
It's kind of a shame, you know. This was a widespread form of communication that required no devices or distractions, a common courtesy that warmed my heart a little every time flash was answered by flicker - an acknowledgement of my worth, a handshake made of photons. I guess it's a sign of the times. Courtesy and gratitude are in short supply, and the increased demands on every still-employed driver carve an ever deeper chasm between souls in need of solace. I guess I just refuse to let go of the old ways.
Now that I am a professional driver again, I can't help comparing the situation now to the situation a quarter century ago. Surprisingly (to me, anyway,) there are way more similarities than differences. The vehicles haven't really changed at all, nor have the roads. There are no longer CB radios, as far as I know. I don't have a clue what the long haulers are doing for company and information these days - a cell phone and a GPS? Probably MP3 players have replaced radios and tape decks. Maybe satellite radio? Don't know.
One thing has really struck me, however. When I was on the road, and for some years since, if a truck passed me, as soon as it was clear to pull over I signalled by flashing my high beams. I learned this behavior by watching other trucks on the road. The "thank you" for this courtesy was for the passing vehicle to flicker its tail lights - off - - on - off - o n n n n - off. This was pretty consistent. There were variations, but I'd say ninety five out of a hundred trucks knew and used this code, sign and counter sign. During my trip north in June of 2005 I reprised this practice and found the number of practitioners greatly diminished. Six years later, in all the driving I've done, I've flashed my high beams to passing trucks and not one has answered the call.
It's kind of a shame, you know. This was a widespread form of communication that required no devices or distractions, a common courtesy that warmed my heart a little every time flash was answered by flicker - an acknowledgement of my worth, a handshake made of photons. I guess it's a sign of the times. Courtesy and gratitude are in short supply, and the increased demands on every still-employed driver carve an ever deeper chasm between souls in need of solace. I guess I just refuse to let go of the old ways.
Sunday, March 27, 2011
Book 'Em!
Well, I did it! Every now and again, Blogger reminds me that for a nominal fee, I can get my blog printed and bound into a book. It seemed like the end was far away for a long time, but now I'm in a holding pattern waiting for more adventures on the road. So a few weeks ago, I did it. For only $18.50 each, I had two copies of The Gospel printed, with photographs on the front and back covers. I was going to give one to my parents, but after reading through it, I realized that there were a few minor slightly uncomplimentary references to them. My mother rarely let a bus trip go through without warning me of the dangers of bus travel. Anyway, I thought it better if they were as ignorant of the book as they are of the blog itself. So I have an extra copy if anybody wants it. I often wonder whether anybody ever reads this, so if anybody reads this and wants a printed and bound book of my travel stories, it's free for the asking!.
Saturday, January 29, 2011
Where The Sidewalk Ends
There is a law in Meadville that sidewalks need to be shoveled in a reasonable time after a snowfall. Of course, when a snowfall goes on for weeks, the spirit of the law (making sidewalks walkable) is lost. I hear that the law was changed to recapture the spirit, but as a person who walks to work every day, I can tell you that the spirit is still lost on many sections of the Meadville footpaths.
Accentuating the positive, I'll say that the award for best sidewalk, consistently, Monday through Friday goes to the Crawford County Historical Society on Chestnut Street. There may be snow and ice on either end, but the section that is their responsibility is clear, and if possible, dry from edge to edge and end to end including the strip leading up to the front door. I don't know if it's volunteers, employees or people contracted for the sole purpose of sidewalk clearing, but whoever it is does a bang up job.
The other end of the spectrum, of course, is really bad, so bad that if I can, I jump the plow ridge into the street to walk. These are, for the most part, rental properties occupied by Allegheny College students who have no thought in their heads for the walking public. It's the owner's responsibility anyway, I suppose, but what I know is that the snow is over a foot deep in some places, and the worst sections are where high-speed plows have sloshed icy chunks over the ridge, making the footpath a dangerous obstacle course of big icy chunks across the entire width.
I have slipped and fallen twice since I started walking over the wintry walkways of Meadville. So far I've picked myself up and brushed myself off with no damage. The good news is - the snow will probably stop by June.
Accentuating the positive, I'll say that the award for best sidewalk, consistently, Monday through Friday goes to the Crawford County Historical Society on Chestnut Street. There may be snow and ice on either end, but the section that is their responsibility is clear, and if possible, dry from edge to edge and end to end including the strip leading up to the front door. I don't know if it's volunteers, employees or people contracted for the sole purpose of sidewalk clearing, but whoever it is does a bang up job.
The other end of the spectrum, of course, is really bad, so bad that if I can, I jump the plow ridge into the street to walk. These are, for the most part, rental properties occupied by Allegheny College students who have no thought in their heads for the walking public. It's the owner's responsibility anyway, I suppose, but what I know is that the snow is over a foot deep in some places, and the worst sections are where high-speed plows have sloshed icy chunks over the ridge, making the footpath a dangerous obstacle course of big icy chunks across the entire width.
I have slipped and fallen twice since I started walking over the wintry walkways of Meadville. So far I've picked myself up and brushed myself off with no damage. The good news is - the snow will probably stop by June.
Monday, January 10, 2011
Lake Effect
We've had it described to us by numerous people on numerous occasions since we first expressed interest in moving to the Lake Erie area. Moisture from the lake is absorbed into the atmosphere above, turned into snow, and dumped on the surrounding countryside. Meadville, they told us, is pretty much at the far side if the lake effect belt. Sometimes we get it, sometimes we don't. The day before yesterday we witnessed this phenomenon first hand.
The Reverend Carmen was covering for the Youngstown, Ohio minister while he was on vacation, and it happened that a Youngstown member needed a memorial service performed during that time. So Saturday, with dense snow falling all around us, we set out on snowy roads for Youngstown. Rev. Carmen kept asking if we were crazy to be doing this in such obviously awful weather, but onward we trekked.
About thirty miles south on Interstate 79, we suddenly ran out of the snow. The sky was blue, the sun was shining, the roads were dry. We got to Youngstown on the most beautiful day we'd seen in weeks.
She did the service, we ate an early supper, and then lit out back to Meadville. Right around the same part of I-79, we slammed back into snow, worse than the morning's offering, blinding almost white-out snow, and it was impossible to see the lines on the road. To make matters worse, it was getting dark. We'd been making a shopping list on the way, but it was abandoned with our effort to stay on the highway. At last we came to the Meadville exit, but alas, no-one had exited there in a while. There were no tracks to follow, nothing but a guard rail to indicate where the exit might be.
We reached 322 safely and steered for home. There would be no stops along the way. We got here and she tried to back in - to no avail. She trudged through deep snow, leaving the car at the end of the driveway while I trotted out my new snow blower. I snew blew and shoveled, backed the car in and shut the garage - SAFE!
The next morning I had to snow blow again to get out for church. There was a pretty good crowd there, even with the snow still pouring down. Here in Lake Effectville, you don't let snow stop you. If you do, you'll be pretty much stopped from the end of November until the end of April.
The Reverend Carmen was covering for the Youngstown, Ohio minister while he was on vacation, and it happened that a Youngstown member needed a memorial service performed during that time. So Saturday, with dense snow falling all around us, we set out on snowy roads for Youngstown. Rev. Carmen kept asking if we were crazy to be doing this in such obviously awful weather, but onward we trekked.
About thirty miles south on Interstate 79, we suddenly ran out of the snow. The sky was blue, the sun was shining, the roads were dry. We got to Youngstown on the most beautiful day we'd seen in weeks.
She did the service, we ate an early supper, and then lit out back to Meadville. Right around the same part of I-79, we slammed back into snow, worse than the morning's offering, blinding almost white-out snow, and it was impossible to see the lines on the road. To make matters worse, it was getting dark. We'd been making a shopping list on the way, but it was abandoned with our effort to stay on the highway. At last we came to the Meadville exit, but alas, no-one had exited there in a while. There were no tracks to follow, nothing but a guard rail to indicate where the exit might be.
We reached 322 safely and steered for home. There would be no stops along the way. We got here and she tried to back in - to no avail. She trudged through deep snow, leaving the car at the end of the driveway while I trotted out my new snow blower. I snew blew and shoveled, backed the car in and shut the garage - SAFE!
The next morning I had to snow blow again to get out for church. There was a pretty good crowd there, even with the snow still pouring down. Here in Lake Effectville, you don't let snow stop you. If you do, you'll be pretty much stopped from the end of November until the end of April.
Saturday, January 8, 2011
Re CALC Ulating!
My new job with the local Meadville PA Sherwin Williams store is titled "Part Time Sales Associate." The short term is "Delivery Boy." I did not know this when I signed on, but it became clear during my second week when the assistant manager, Vinnie, outlined a long list of things I needed to know about this job - including outfitting the delivery van with whatever personal stuff (gloves, boots, maps) might come in handy during my many deliveries. As it sunk in that this was really what the job is all about, a little spark of joy fired up for "The Gospel Of Rand McNally." I've been waiting for months for a Gospel-worthy trip to come along, and last week one did.
In addition to deliveries, I also do trips to other stores to pick up product we are short on when a customer needs it and can't wait for the next regular Wednesday delivery. I've gone to Franklin, about twenty five miles away, Erie, about thirty five miles, and last week I was told to come in early, dress comfortably, MapQuest a route, bring my GPS and whatever else I might need, and drive to Solon, Ohio, a southern suburb of Cleveland about ninety miles away. I bought road snacks the night before, packed my Rand McNally Road Atlas (of course!) and everything else into my backpack and made it to work well before 11:00.
Before starting out I programmed my destination into Hermione, our GPS. She has a British accent and thinks she knows everything. Hence the name. I had a pretty good idea how I wanted to go, but it's always interesting to hear Hermione's version of things. Sometimes she has a really good idea. Mostly, though, she is fixated on Interstate Highways and will try everything in her arsenal to steer me toward them.
Stage one of the trip: get out of Meadville. In this case, the way to go was to head west on US 322. Hermione was very much in favor of that plan. When I passed right by Interstate 79, she didn't object at all, which came as a shock to me. Then she surprised me again by telling me to turn right on State Road 98. Thinking maybe she knew something, and not having an opportunity to check my map, I turned. Almost immediately I remembered that I had been on this stretch of road before, from one delivery northwest of Meadville to another due south. Hmmm. So I found myself on the map and decided to ride with Her for a while longer. When I came to 198, she directed me to turn left, which I was planning to do anyway. She could have sent me right, to I-79 up there. She didn't. Hmmmm.
So we continued west, on into Ohio, and there she tipped her hand. At State Road 7 she told me to turn right, which would take me directly to Interstate 90 to Cleveland. Aha! So I turned left. "Re - Calc - Ulating!" she hissed. I know this side of her pretty well by now. First she tries to talk me into a U-turn to bring me back into her clutches. Then she directs me onto side roads that will soon bring me back around to her way of thinking. I was going to US 6, where I would turn west again. I knew she wouldn't like it, but I didn't care. If worse comes to worst, I can mute her snippy little self. What I can't do is change her Estimated Time of Arrival, which she adds to every time she recalculates.
As I worked my way west and south, in addition to Hermione's disappointment in me, I also had to watch out for Amish horse and buggy units. I passed three or four going my way, and a few going the other way. It's that part of the country. It wasn't pouring down snow for the first time in weeks, so it was a good day for horse and buggying around.
I turned south on State Road 11, a limited access washboard that I endured for twenty miles or so (actually it was five - it only seemed like twenty) until I exited onto US 322, the highway I started out on way back in Meadville. As I headed west again, Hermione finally got back on board with my initial plan - 322 to State Road 44 to US 422 to Solon. We got along famously for a good while, and when we got to Solon, she guided me smoothly to my destination. Five minutes to use the rest room, load the paint and do the paperwork, and we were back on the road again.
I don't know if she was tired of arguing with me or what, but she took me right back to Pennsylvania the way I wanted to go. We had a slight disagreement at State Road 7, which would have taken me around the north side of the lake. I stayed on 322 around the south side, and made it back to the store well before four.
In addition to deliveries, I also do trips to other stores to pick up product we are short on when a customer needs it and can't wait for the next regular Wednesday delivery. I've gone to Franklin, about twenty five miles away, Erie, about thirty five miles, and last week I was told to come in early, dress comfortably, MapQuest a route, bring my GPS and whatever else I might need, and drive to Solon, Ohio, a southern suburb of Cleveland about ninety miles away. I bought road snacks the night before, packed my Rand McNally Road Atlas (of course!) and everything else into my backpack and made it to work well before 11:00.
Before starting out I programmed my destination into Hermione, our GPS. She has a British accent and thinks she knows everything. Hence the name. I had a pretty good idea how I wanted to go, but it's always interesting to hear Hermione's version of things. Sometimes she has a really good idea. Mostly, though, she is fixated on Interstate Highways and will try everything in her arsenal to steer me toward them.
Stage one of the trip: get out of Meadville. In this case, the way to go was to head west on US 322. Hermione was very much in favor of that plan. When I passed right by Interstate 79, she didn't object at all, which came as a shock to me. Then she surprised me again by telling me to turn right on State Road 98. Thinking maybe she knew something, and not having an opportunity to check my map, I turned. Almost immediately I remembered that I had been on this stretch of road before, from one delivery northwest of Meadville to another due south. Hmmm. So I found myself on the map and decided to ride with Her for a while longer. When I came to 198, she directed me to turn left, which I was planning to do anyway. She could have sent me right, to I-79 up there. She didn't. Hmmmm.
So we continued west, on into Ohio, and there she tipped her hand. At State Road 7 she told me to turn right, which would take me directly to Interstate 90 to Cleveland. Aha! So I turned left. "Re - Calc - Ulating!" she hissed. I know this side of her pretty well by now. First she tries to talk me into a U-turn to bring me back into her clutches. Then she directs me onto side roads that will soon bring me back around to her way of thinking. I was going to US 6, where I would turn west again. I knew she wouldn't like it, but I didn't care. If worse comes to worst, I can mute her snippy little self. What I can't do is change her Estimated Time of Arrival, which she adds to every time she recalculates.
As I worked my way west and south, in addition to Hermione's disappointment in me, I also had to watch out for Amish horse and buggy units. I passed three or four going my way, and a few going the other way. It's that part of the country. It wasn't pouring down snow for the first time in weeks, so it was a good day for horse and buggying around.
I turned south on State Road 11, a limited access washboard that I endured for twenty miles or so (actually it was five - it only seemed like twenty) until I exited onto US 322, the highway I started out on way back in Meadville. As I headed west again, Hermione finally got back on board with my initial plan - 322 to State Road 44 to US 422 to Solon. We got along famously for a good while, and when we got to Solon, she guided me smoothly to my destination. Five minutes to use the rest room, load the paint and do the paperwork, and we were back on the road again.
I don't know if she was tired of arguing with me or what, but she took me right back to Pennsylvania the way I wanted to go. We had a slight disagreement at State Road 7, which would have taken me around the north side of the lake. I stayed on 322 around the south side, and made it back to the store well before four.
Sunday, November 7, 2010
Ducks Walking on Fish And Other Delights
So we've been to Erie I think five times now. We haven't gone to downtown Erie, just the myriad shopping opportunities on Peach Street near I 90. We've even come home in the dark once, and didn't make any wrong turns - there are a couple of tricky places.
When our little miss Yinny Yin Yin was ailing, we found the vet's office recommended to us. It is about three miles north near Saegertown. Carmen did a wedding at a hall about five miles out of town to (I think) the east. She got lost going to the rehearsal, but the wedding day went just fine. A couple of weeks ago we drove to Woodcock Dam where, it turns out, many many people from Greater Meadville go to walk - with or without dogs - in the fresh air outside the Big City.
Carmen has gone to conferences in Ohio - one in Columbus and one out beyond Cleveland almost to Toledo. If I had gone I might have stories to tell, but somebody has to feed the cat and not be a minister. Turns out I excel at both of those tasks
Two weeks ago, our friend Karen came from Orlando. This gave us the golden opportunity we've been waiting for: Pymatuning Spillway, out by Linesville twenty some miles west of here, boasts the area's biggest attraction. The fish are protected and people throw them bread. They are big and they are numerous. Where there are people casting their bread upon the waters, there are also ducks. Put "ducks walk on fish" into your search engine and you'll see pictures of Pymatuning Spillway. So on a cold, rainy day, we drove west on Conneaut Lake Road, through Conneaut Lake the town, and on to Linesville. As luck would have it, the center of town was in the throes of a road repair project, and the turnoff to Pymatuning was blocked off. But after four times through the intersection we were able to ascertain that many people were turning left a few blocks further on, so we followed them around to the road to Pymatuning.
It turned out that we were the only ones willing to stand out there in the rain throwing bread that Monday morning. Even the fish were hesitant to come to the surface. We saw some but not many. It was good weather for ducks, however, and three loaves of day old surplus bread from the day old surplus bread store went to the ducks. So now we've done it. As long as nobody around here finds out that the ducks didn't walk on any fish that day, we can get away with saying we've been there done that and check it off the list.
So that's the latest from the exploring northwestern Pennsylvania front. More later, I'm sure.
When our little miss Yinny Yin Yin was ailing, we found the vet's office recommended to us. It is about three miles north near Saegertown. Carmen did a wedding at a hall about five miles out of town to (I think) the east. She got lost going to the rehearsal, but the wedding day went just fine. A couple of weeks ago we drove to Woodcock Dam where, it turns out, many many people from Greater Meadville go to walk - with or without dogs - in the fresh air outside the Big City.
Carmen has gone to conferences in Ohio - one in Columbus and one out beyond Cleveland almost to Toledo. If I had gone I might have stories to tell, but somebody has to feed the cat and not be a minister. Turns out I excel at both of those tasks
Two weeks ago, our friend Karen came from Orlando. This gave us the golden opportunity we've been waiting for: Pymatuning Spillway, out by Linesville twenty some miles west of here, boasts the area's biggest attraction. The fish are protected and people throw them bread. They are big and they are numerous. Where there are people casting their bread upon the waters, there are also ducks. Put "ducks walk on fish" into your search engine and you'll see pictures of Pymatuning Spillway. So on a cold, rainy day, we drove west on Conneaut Lake Road, through Conneaut Lake the town, and on to Linesville. As luck would have it, the center of town was in the throes of a road repair project, and the turnoff to Pymatuning was blocked off. But after four times through the intersection we were able to ascertain that many people were turning left a few blocks further on, so we followed them around to the road to Pymatuning.
It turned out that we were the only ones willing to stand out there in the rain throwing bread that Monday morning. Even the fish were hesitant to come to the surface. We saw some but not many. It was good weather for ducks, however, and three loaves of day old surplus bread from the day old surplus bread store went to the ducks. So now we've done it. As long as nobody around here finds out that the ducks didn't walk on any fish that day, we can get away with saying we've been there done that and check it off the list.
So that's the latest from the exploring northwestern Pennsylvania front. More later, I'm sure.
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