Rural Life in the UP of Michigan Some stories about life on 160 rural acres in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan

Doing the math the other day, I determined I’ve been using a chainsaw for about 50 years. Over those years, saws have gotten lighter and have more safety features, but I have to say that whenever I have a running saw in my hands, I’m paying close attention to things. Other tools I own make an effort to cover up the cutting surface with guards, but not a chainsaw. High speed razor sharp teeth are spinning a few inches from my body, fast enough that any misdirection of the blade could cause serious injury or worse. Yes, I appreciate what the tool does for me and respect it by staying alert.

The other day while watching some You Tubes, I came across a picture of Elon Musk with a chainsaw in his hands. It didn’t appear to be running, which made me happy and sad at the same time. (Life can be filled with conflicting emotions). The purpose of his stage presentation was to show how he was pruning the federal bureaucracy. People on stage with him were smiling and laughing as he held the saw in the air and mimicking how he was planning to remove the livelihoods of folks with the misfortune of thinking their talents would be appreciated in the federal government. Why hasn’t anyone thought of this before? Just whack people as though they are saplings in the way of progress.

There are those among us that think it is funny to hold a dangerous but effective tool in the air, and joke about the casualties about to inflict with it. I did not find it funny. It made me angry. And I realized as I thought about it some more, I played right into Elon’s hands. Ted is a chump.

Elon the chain-sawyer was playing to two audiences that day. The folks in the audience that liked the thought they were inflicting pain and harm on federal workers, and people like me who deserve to be punished for being on the wrong side. I guess I always known that human mean-spiritedness existed, but had no clue how prevalent it was. And I think the analogy is pretty much spot on. No one in their right mind would start a chainsaw and begin to use it without some measure of training. My guess is Elon has never used a chainsaw to cut wood, just like he has no clue how the federal workforce operates. Yet he has been given the power to wield his weapon by a weakling congress that is afraid to stand up to a president aspiring to be a dictator.

In a way, my anger is the fault of my friends and family. They are mostly good-hearted people that would not want to hurt anyone. In fact, most people I know would roll up their sleeves and offer assistance to someone in need. The mistake I seem to have made is I assume my friends are a reasonable cross section of humanity. I now know I’ve been wrong. In fact, there appears to be a large swath of humanity that takes pleasure in making others feel discomfort. There is even a word for goading the gullible… gaslighting.

This will all eventually come out in the wash as it always does. Meanwhile, I’ll continue to plant gardens and chainsaw cull trees for firewood; and lend a helping hand when one is needed.

I am old enough to have had a resource called the encyclopedia in the home of my youth. A multi volume piece that was printed on fine paper with elegant pictures, and text running up and down the pages. When we had a question about something, we were fortunate enough to be able to grab a volume and look it up. I do remember struggling to write papers for school assignments without just copying what was written down (way before copy/paste). I feel fortunate to have grown up having a middle class life life that allowed me this luxury.

For the past few days, during supper, I’ve been bringing my plate of food in front of my desktop computer in my upstairs office and watching a piece on an interesting YouTube channel called StarTalk. This channel is hosted by Neil deGrasse Tyson, whose guest this time was Brian Cox. What an opportunity it was for me to sit down and interact with two of the great minds in science. All for free, and out there for anyone with access to the internet that is interested.

During Neil and Brian’s discussion, a paper by Richard Feynman called “The Value of Science” was mentioned. I found myself pausing the video, spending about 30 seconds searching for the paper, then the next several minutes reading enough of it so that I understood the context of their discussion. Some more minutes on, Sibelius’ Fifth Symphony, Third Movement was mentioned. Again I paused the video, easily found a performance of the piece by the London Symphony Orchestra on YouTube, and was able to watch and listen to the entire movement before continuing with the video.

None of this was possible during the encyclopedia days, of course. The barrier to jumping from one topic to another made it easy to get lost. Flipping through the pages of the volume you were reading made the possibility of losing your place almost inevitable. And that was if you were lucky enough to have to look up what you needed in the volume at hand. If not, another volume had to be fetched, the correct passage found, read, and understood, then your way had to be made back to the original thread.

Two guys talking about science are clearly interacting in several dimensions. They say words to each other, respond, and move from topic to topic. None of us can interact with their discussions they way they do, because we lack the context their thoughts are based on. I think of these ideas as shafts of light shooting out at right angles from the talking. Some of these shafts have enough basis in reality that we can get the drift, and some don’t. What a luxury it is to be able to explore these light beams before the discussion gets way over our heads. We can hit the pause, learn enough to get the gist, and then restart the talk where we left off.

It is important to listen to your house. I’m thinking about the cowboys from the wild west thinking something might be coming, and putting their ear to the ground. Those folks knew what the world should sound like, and when something changed… something that could shoot or eat them, they tuned themselves into that change, and made sure they understood what had changed, and what it meant to them. I am pretty good at this. I’m not aware I do it, but when sounds come and go in the house, I accept the data and categorize it. And I share this household with someone that is far better at this than I am. I’d compare our abilities to that of a human’s sense of smell vs a German Shepherd’s. Today was a case in point.

I was in my recliner winding down for an afternoon nap when Alice walked in and asked why the house suddenly smells like dirt. The only answer I could come up with was, maybe I carried in some earthy smelling firewood. Having solved that problem, I renewed my concentration to the game of spider solitaire I was playing. (Alice has been known to have a few false alarms).

A few minutes later, she yelled, “You need to come down to the basement; bring boots”. Knowing me as she does, a practitioner of ADHD, she almost never yells out for me. I have a difficult time untangling my attention from a task I’m involved with, and surfacing to deal with the interruption. Our rule being, yell out for me if the house is on fire. It is a gray area I agree, since the house was technically not burning, but in this case, she did just the right thing.

We have 2 basements in our house; a “Michigan basement” under the old part of the house, and a full basement under the addition we built 30 years ago. Our Michigan basement has a 44″ crawl space with a dirt floor. This was the place Alice was looking, and she was right… I needed boots. Water was shooting into the air, soaking the insulation in the ceiling of the basement, and puddling on the floor. We live in clay country, so the water was not soaking in, but instead creeping and pooling up in all the low spots in the basement.

I ran to the full basement and turned off the main water valve. The fountain slowed to a trickle. This was a good start on solving the problem. My thoughts turned to the situation last week when our sewer backed up, and, being the positive thinker I seem to be, thought to myself, “At least this isn’t sewage.”

Being 6’2″ tall, makes it harder than most when it comes to navigating a Michigan basement with a muddy clay floor. I had to make my way to where I figured the leak would be, and asked Alice to stand by on the main water valve in case I needed to have the water turned back on to find the leak. Once I made my way to the source of the shower, I was able to find the culprit without the assistance of the water being on.

A check valve that was attached to the hot water heater had ruptured, and had been joyously spraying water all over the basement for as many minutes as it took for Alice to notice it. I do pride myself in the tools and materials I’ve accumulated over the years. Living 18 miles from the nearest hardware store means we need to be somewhat self sufficient for tools and materials. One thing I did not have sitting around the house, however, was a 3/4″ brass check valve.

With the water turned off, I slogged through the snow to the outbuilding where I store the garden hose, and grabbed a 50′ section of the hose. This I connected to the drain on the hot water heater, and opened the drain valve. I knew I’d need to drain the system in order to make this repair. Crawling to the other end of the hose exposed the truth… some water must have been left in the hose when I put it away, and due to a clog of ice in the hose, no water was moving out of the system and into the drain.

Thinking that there was nothing more I could do about this, I left the hose connected and the valve open, and jumped in the pickup and headed into town. This being Saturday afternoon, my options were limited to the one hardware that was open. As I was driving to town, I figured if they didn’t have what I needed, I’d have to drive to Menards in Marquette, about 90 miles one way.

The hardware was open, I walked inside (still pretty caked with mud) and looked for a replacement check valve. Like most guys I know, I didn’t ask for help. I spent about 20 minutes looking for check valves in all the places (except one) they were likely to be. I finally asked the young clerk if he could help me. I could tell that check valves had not firmly entered his lexicon, but he gamely looked for them in many of the same places I’d already looked. Then he went around the corner and located the check valves used in sump pumps. This kind of check valve was too large and not robust enough for my application, but as he walked away, I noticed some boxes one shelf down that contained just what I needed. Armed with the part, I drove home and rested a bit.

For some reason, I was not enthused about going back into the muck pit to fix the leak. After I was unable to stall any longer, I donned my boots, grabbed the tools and the new valve, and went into battle. All sorts of things could have gone wrong in this repair, but this time, the old part came out with a minimum of hassle, the new one (see the shiny part just above the ball valve in the picture) threaded in just like it was supposed to. Check valves only work correctly in one direction, and I even got the direction right. When Alice turned the water back on, I stationed myself next to the repair to look for leaks. None appeared. Then the work of heating the water back up transpired. And, since the water was back on, we could flush the toilet again.

We all have our skills, and, if we’re lucky, skill sets complement each other. Who knows how much water would have intruded into the Michigan basement if Alice hadn’t noticed? Thanks to her German Shepherd nose, the problem was discovered, and eventually repaired. I still think I’m owed a nap, however.

Most of us don’t give much thought to our machines, what they do for us, and how much we depend on them; myself included. If they just do their jobs and don’t fail, we assume they are a force of nature; a predictable resource always there to serve us. That is, we don’t think about our machines until they fail.

Hoo Boy, did we have a machine fail us the other day. This one is fairly simple… a pipe that goes through the wall of our basement, and then underground to a 1,000 gallon concrete septic tank. Just a pipe that delivers some gross contents from the pristine environment of our home to the big underground tank, and from there to a drain field. The outside part of this system is all underground, out of sight, silently and capably doing its job. We garden and cut the grass over it, and don’t give it a second thought.

When the toilet refused to flush, and plunging only caused terrible sludge to percolate out of the shower drain, we knew we had an issue. I brought a 5 gallon pail and big channel lock pliers into the basement to remove the threaded plug on the 4” sewer pipe. After several turns of the wrench, the plug loosened, and water started to pour out from between the threads and (mostly) into the pail. When the pail filled up, I closed the plug and emptied the contents into the basement sump, which was still working. After several trips with the pail from the clean out to the sump, I got a little braver with the plug. Yes, the liquid did fill the pail faster if I loosened the plug just a bit more. But, I learned there are limits.

On my 5th or 6th trip, the plug was loosened enough that it came out in my hand. One hand held the plug, the other held the bucket, while a 4” stream of sewage shot out at me. A second or two went by until I collected my wits, dropped the (now useless) pail, and, while ignoring the fact that I was being showered by pressurized sewage, I worked to get the plug back into the pipe. I’m grateful to report it went in, threaded correctly the first time, and after several more seconds, I stemmed the flow of sewage onto me, the floor, and much of the rest of the contents of the basement.

The upside was that most of the rest of the pipe was now empty, and it only took a few more trips to the basement sump to finish emptying the pipe. I could then take out the plug and look down the sewer pipe. There was still water in there, but it wasn’t enough to shoot all over the place (progress!). I own a small plumber’s snake, which I located in my workshop, and deployed into the clean out. It went out its entire length without having any effect on the situation. I made several more attempts with this tool with the same results. Next I called my neighbor and good friend to see if I could borrow his much larger snake. By now it was late in the day, and he agreed to let me pick it up the next morning.

I had a bit of a dilemma. Everything that was on my body when I got my sewage bath was now polluted. The solution to the pollution was the washing machine, but the dirty water output from that machine had no where to go. A shower would have been nice, but where would the water go? I put my work jacket out in the entryway, changed my clothes and stacked the dirty ones where they’d do no harm, took a sponge bath, and called it a day.

In the morning, my jacket in the entryway had frozen. My pickup (fortunately) started and I made the trip to my neighbor’s place to pick up the snake. After several more hours with the snake, I determined that what I was doing was not fixing the problem. Since I had installed and have maintained this sewer system over the years, I wanted to do my best to fix the issue, but I reluctantly came to the conclusion that this problem was beyond my capabilities. So I called my friends at the plumbing shop in town, and, bless their hearts for all eternity, they sent an expert out in less than 2 hours. He and I worked at digging out and opening the inspection plug of the septic tank, using his handy probe camera to see what we could see, and then deploying his industrial strength plumber’s snake with a cutting end the likes of which you’ve only seen in medieval torture museums.

It took several passes of the snake and many trips for an observer to go through the snow to the septic tank to watch the snake emerge with (hopefully) a gush of liquid. After a lot of work, things started to flow again. And it was determined that a chunk of the sewer pipe had sagged over the years, which likely contributed to the clog. Now one more project has been added to next summer’s chores… digging up that pipe and correcting the sag.

Events like this one are good for making one think about how dependent we are on the equipment all around us. The failure of this fundamental system had consequences far beyond the system itself. And once one shuts down, the tools needed to fix it become extremely important. If the necessary tools also fail, the problem can magnify and can quickly get out of control. The fact that we live in the north where winter temperatures can routinely dip below zero makes one realize that certain failures could be life threatening. The main lesson I learned from all this is, tools and friends can have huge importance in times of trouble. Both tools and friends need to be maintained in case they might be needed in an emergency. On the friend side of the equation, being a good friend who is willing to help out when others are in need can pay you back with interest if you find yourself in a crisis.

I didn’t think much about my choice of music while I was going about the baking process. However, I found myself getting emotional for just about every song. And I knew all the words and the tunes to just about every song. What was going on here?

Fortunately, the music that touched me so thoroughly didn’t seem to affect my baking, because the cookies (Russian Tea Cakes; recipe available on request) came out just fine. I still have to taste one or two, because I can’t be shipping inferior product all the way to Florida 🙂 I was able to bake and think, which led me to a theory about my feelings.

This album came out in a difficult time in my life. I had a bi-polar Mom whose philosophy of child rearing was to out-mean any rebellion. My Dad cared mostly about his own issues, and spent the majority of his time at work. His philosophy of child rearing was to leave it to his wife, and to bow out of any controversy whenever possible.

We children were forced to go to church on Sundays (to this day getting up early and getting dressed up are no fun for me), and were forced to give up our Saturday mornings for some years during our teens to attend a class at church called catechism. This required us to memorize some items from the little book, to recite them to the adult in charge, and to get their initials placed in the little booklet if we recited correctly. Once all this was completed, we went through a ceremony at the church that then entitled us to be able to attend communion with the adults.

Honestly, being a fairly sincere young person who didn’t want any trouble, I did my best to try to understand what all this religion thing was all about. I remember debates with my high school friends, but that they didn’t seem to go well. I found I was not armed with the necessary tools to defend my beliefs against logical arguments. The armor that all this indoctrination was designed to protect me had chinks that were not self-healing.

Then Jesus Christ Superstar came out. Great music telling a story very different than the one I’d been fed. Listening to the music all over again this afternoon touched me, I think, because it brought back such a difficult time in my life. My adult role models had no interest in my questioning of all this. I doubt they’d given any of it much thought in their own lives, and felt they were doing the right thing to expose us to the same process that seemed to give them such comfort. In my bedroom in the basement, I listened to the album over and over, mostly with my headphones to avoid controversy. The armor that was supposed to protect me and has worked out for so many past generations, and will probably do the same for many future ones, was disintegrating.

All that happened more than 50 years ago. I thought it was all behind me, but today as I was relaxing to some enjoyable music, I found the old emotions come flooding back. Reaching puberty was the most difficult time in my life, and being surrounded by adults that had no patience for any difficult questions did not make that time any easier for me. But I made it through, found a soul-mate to share my life, raise a family, and share the decades with probably more joy than I deserve.

If you are a young person going through all the difficult part of your life transitioning from child to adult, I feel for you. My hope for you is it won’t be hard on you. My hope is you’ll locate a mentor that will take the time to listen to your concerns and encourage you to keep searching until you find what you need to make sense out of life. It is a tough job, but you are doing the same job that all your ancestors have also done mostly successfully. If times get tough, know that things will get better. They sure have for me, even though I have flashbacks now and then.

In the Fall of 2024, Alice and I embarked on a 25-day vacation trip.  Like last year, we decided to do our traveling via Amtrak.  While last year’s trip was to the Western US, this year we went East.  We drove our car to Milwaukee and booked a hotel that offered to store our car for $8/night.  After a nice supper with my sister Patty, we headed back to the hotel and went to sleep.  We had to be up early to catch our Amtrak train to Chicago, where we were staying for 2 nights.  We got up at 6:00 and I did my exercises in the hotel room.  We were packed and ready early enough to have some room for relaxing.  We headed to the lobby about 10 minutes before the shuttle was due to leave, but only waited a few minutes until our driver came to get us.  She was the same person as last year at this hotel.  A small slightly built woman; very introverted and said only the bare minimum to us.  We had the van to ourselves on the way to the train station.  The radio was on loud and our driver interacted with us zero on the way.  I gave her a couple of bucks mostly because I felt sorry for her, not because of good service.  

The train station by the airport is being renovated.  On last year’s train trip, we observed they were doing mostly concrete work, but by this year there was a lot of iron up in the air.  Still a long way to go, but you can see how it will all work.  There will be a loading/unloading station on both tracks now, with a walkway high over the tracks.  They have several large cranes devoted to the project, which were sitting idle today (Sunday).  The poster in the station said it was due to open in summer 2025.  I’m looking forward to seeing it all come together.  Iron work continues to interest me.  I’m learning how to weld and otherwise shape steel, but still have a lot of learning to do.  

A few minutes before the train was due to arrive, the folks inside the station started moving outside to the loading platform beside the tracks.  A chatty young lady struck up a conversation with us, and it turned out she lives in Mason, Michigan.  I grew up in Holt, Michigan, a few miles away, which was Mason’s sports rival.  I watched many football and basketball games between the two teams.

We boarded and stowed our luggage, then found 2 seats next to each other.  I spent my time between playing spider solitaire on my tablet and looking out the window.  There were lots of interesting things to see, and the train was quiet and smooth.  It was only about 1 ½ hours from our Milwaukee station to Union station in Chicago.  We still had some moments of confusion when we exited the train station, but this time we made it out to the sidewalk and figured out the correct path to the hotel quickly.

I put my smaller suitcase on the handle of Alice’s massive (shipping container) suitcase, backpack on my back, and we started off.  We were looking for Wabash where we knew a restaurant we both liked was located.  It was around a mile.  I kept switching the handle of the roller suitcase between my hands to relieve the weight.  I was interested to note that for several blocks on our walk, they had installed heavy posts between the road and sidewalk.  These posts were about 3′ tall and were spaced so people could easily walk between them.  They were there presumably to keep cars from driving on the sidewalks.  It seemed to be mostly around the newer buildings on our way.  The older structures were built closer to the road, and looked like they didn’t have room for a car.  I’m interested to learn more about these posts.  

We finally made it to our destination, the Pittsfield Cafe.  This place has smallish revolving doors.  Alice navigated the revolver like a pro, but when I tried to get in with the suitcases and backpack, I was squashed in there.  I had to kind of hobble as the door revolved because there was no room to move my legs.  I heaved a sigh of relief when I made it inside.  As the decades have piled up, my agility has piled down.  We found a seat right away and had excellent service.  The portions were a bit small in my opinion, and they were stingy with their hash browns, but the food was hot and good and we left feeling ready for more adventures.   I decided to see if I could figure out another way out of the building after breakfast was done.  After some searching, we did find some conventional doors that were a bit out of our way, but made the exit much easier than the entrance.

Next up was the last few blocks’ walk to the hotel, where we were greeted like long lost friends.  We made it up to the front desk, and even though we were hours ahead of check in time, found that they had a room ready for us.  We gratefully rode the elevator up to our floor and got settled in.

I planned this trip nearly 6 months ago, and hoped I hadn’t made any errors.  I imagined the train conductor scanning our ticket, scowling, and tossing us and our luggage off the train, or the hotel clerk telling us our reservation was for November 28^th, not October 28^th.  This trip has many such segments to it, and as the segments came into play and actually worked, I heaved multiple sighs of relief.  Traveling is a complicated thing.  You’re removed from familiar surroundings into the world of the unknown.  You do your planning and hope for the best.  That is one of the things that makes travel interesting.  

Once we were checked in, we walked across the street to the Chicago Art Institute, where we are members.   We breezed through security and were ready for some art.  Our first stop was the Paula Modersohn-Becker installation.  This was in the same room as the Camille Claudell sculptures installation was last year.  There is a lot of art in the institute, and hers was certainly interesting, especially because we were fresh.  What I find most interesting however is the artist’s work coupled with their life.  She was an artist well ahead of her time that tragically died at age 31 after the birth of her daughter.  But man, did she cram a lot of art into her 31 years.  

After seeing that section, Alice asked “where to,” and I told her I’d hoped to see my favorite piece, “The Seated Ruler.”  With few mistakes, we made our way to the Native American section of the museum, and I got some uninterrupted quality time with the statue.  I can’t explain the attraction I have to that piece, but attracted I am.  I try not to miss an opportunity to see it.  I very much enjoy that section of the institute.  It contains meso-American and African art.  I never know what will grab me, and always come away with ideas.

Another favorite place of mine is the chapel in the Asian art section.  There is usually a bench inside where one can sit and contemplate the art on display.  It is quite dark and usually quiet in there, but today there were hordes of people.  They were mostly interested in a painting called “The Great Wave” by Hokusia.  People were lined up in front of it and as they left, more and more took their place.  The chapel was less contemplative than I’d hoped for, but people interacting with the art is art in itself.  

We also spent time at the Tiffany stained glass installation on the mezzanine at the main hall.  I studied it more closely this time and was able to see several layers of glass by looking closely.  There sure are some talented people in the world.  This massive window spent the first part of its life in a church in Rhode Island.  According to the poster, the church contacted the institute and asked if they’d like to have it donated.  The church folks were concerned they would not be able to take proper care of it.  So the institute experts studied the piece, figured out how to safely dismantle and ship it back to Chicago, and reinstall it for all to see.  It is one of the pieces I’d want to see if I only had a short time at the institute.

After that we looked at each other and saw a couple of tired puppies.  We made our way slowly to the front and out into the street, where a half-dozen guys were beating on plastic pails.  Yes they were talented, but gosh they were loud.  Good-hearted Alice put a couple of bucks in their tip jar while I covered my ears and walked away as soon as I could.

The next day after an early start and a good breakfast, we made our way to the art institute. One of the perks of having a membership at the Chicago Art Institute is you get in an hour early.  The museum opens at 11:00 for the general public, but at 10:00 for members.  Alice and I have been members for some years now, and try to use this perk when possible, because we avoid the larger crowds and have some quality time with the exhibits.  Yesterday, by the time we got off the train, hauled our luggage to the restaurant where we had breakfast, then to the hotel where we checked in, it was past 11:00 by the time we made it inside the institute.  But today was different.  We were at the front doors around 10:00 and were waved inside.  We’d both decided to head for the Jeremy Frey basket installation first, and were among the handful of people there.  It is hard to describe his work.  I have a lot of respect for baskets, and had thought I’d like to learn how to make baskets someday.  Jeremy has developed his skills into an art form.  His baskets are beautiful and have an almost mathematical quality about them.  There was a short movie that showed him working, and a book of his work available.  My approach to making baskets would be more utilitarian I think, but I had tremendous respect for what he accomplishes with dexterous hands and natural materials.

Following the baskets we just wandered around and looked at whatever seemed interesting.  We had a nice lunch in the cafeteria around midday.  There is outside seating in a courtyard in the cafeteria, and, believe it or not, in late October it was warm enough outside for people to enjoy their food outside.  We stayed in to eat.  

I’d noticed there was a tour that was assembling at 1:00, so we headed over and got in with the group.  The leader of the tour was a staff person who did a good job.  Even though we were a large group, he was pretty good at drawing folks out.  There were a few lively discussions, and I think we felt like we’d gained from his lecture.  At the end of his talk, our guide offered to stay behind and answer any questions.  I did not wait, but would have asked a couple of things.  For one, I’m interested in the behind the scenes of the facility.  How many employees are there, and what do they all do?  My second question would have been about the signs of civil war I see in our country.  The institute has some of the finest examples of art that humanity has produced.  Should things deteriorate, does the institute have a plan to secure their work?   

After so much input over the past few days, I think we were both getting a bit overwhelmed.  We went up to the impressionist section on the second floor and enjoyed work by some well known artists.  Around 2:45 we decided we’d had enough and headed back to the hotel to decompress.

I’d hoped to be able to figure out how to ride the “L” train, which runs pretty close to our hotel room.  That thing is LOUD, especially when you’re walking under the tracks.  We’d been hearing it going by our hotel window, but quickly got used to it.  We had to check out of our hotel room the next morning after breakfast, but our train to DC didn’t leave until 6:30 PM.  We thought we’d visit the Field Museum, which is a mile or so away.  I figured it would be a good opportunity to figure out the train.  The hotel stored our luggage until we returned and headed down to the train station later in the afternoon. 

After checking out and stowing our gear at the hotel, we decided to do battle with the Chicago L.  I’d gotten a brochure the day before and thought I understood it.  The information necessary to navigate the city all seems there, but missing one tiny arrow can cause an error that costs.  Granted, the costs aren’t high, and the lessons learned are big.  I was struck over and over by watching the people around us bounding up the steps to the train stations, passing their cards over the turnstiles, and moving over to the waiting area for their train, all without looking up from their phones.  The lessons we were trying to learn had been picked up by these folks years ago, so what was an adventure for us was a yawn for them.

Our goal was to visit the Field Natural History Museum for a few hours.  We bought day passes ($5 each) and attempted to board the correct train.  Getting on the right side of the train station is crucial to going the right direction on your train.  One would think that a 50/50 chance meant you’d be right now and then, and that since we are reasonably smart worldly adults, we could up those odds significantly.  Our first attempt got us going the wrong direction, which we figured out soon enough.  We got off at the next stop, moved to the other side of the platform, and were on our way.  Getting off at the right station also went well.  Unfortunately, once off the train and onto the street, a whole new set of challenges emerged.  Everyone else seemed to know where they were going.  We stepped confidently into the street, walked in what seemed to be a reasonable direction, and got the map app on the phone going just in case.  

The default on the map app is driving mode, which makes sense.  If you are walking, however, the app freaks out and requests numerous U turns.  The day was warm and we were fairly fresh from a good night’s sleep and a satisfying breakfast.  So we did our best to follow the directions, and soon figured out we’d made the wrong turn.  A few words were exchanged, such as “I told you to go the other way.”  The weather was fine and we turned around to go back the way we’d come.  Soon things started making sense, and we saw the museum in the distance.  Seeing it and getting there are two different things, however.  The entrance close to us was closed.  The only one that appeared to be open was on the other side of the building.  My friends, this museum is a BIG building.  Make it we did, got inside, and made it to the great hall.  

The great hall was impressive, and I’m sure we looked like every other tourist in history… craning our necks and attempting to take it all in.  As we looked around, I caught the eye of a gentleman carrying a sign that said 11:30 in big letters.  This man wore a permanent smile and was happy to talk to us.  He was a volunteer docent that was starting a tour at 11:30, which was a few minutes from then.  So we waited for him to start, and followed him on his “highlights” tour.  It was one of the best moves we’ve made so far on this trip.  Tom walked us through some of his favorite exhibits and filled us with stories.  His enthusiasm was infectious, and before we knew it, we were at the end of the tour.  We saw an authentic Archaeopteryx fossil; one of only a few in the world. Our final exhibit was “Sue the T-Rex.”  What a way to finish!  This T-Rex was awesome, and the story behind the find and eventual move to the museum was just so cool.  

We had limited time because our train to Washington DC left later that afternoon.  We could have pushed it, but decided to get back on the L and return to our hotel to retrieve our luggage, then back to the L to get us as close to the Amtrak Station as possible.  This trip went better but not flawlessly.  We did make it, checked in in the Metropolitan Lounge, located some food, and settled in for the wait.

The lounge was very nice and wasn’t too crowded.  In our section of the waiting room there was just us and a solo young woman.  Things went smoothly until this woman got to a song on her playlist that she really liked.  As her headphones were playing the song, her voice could not be silenced.  Her duet was loud and long.  I think she understood she was disturbing us because I caught her eye a couple of times.  If she was concerned about it, she didn’t show it.  I’m thinking alcohol may have played a part in this concert.  Before long we moved to a quieter part of the lounge.

Pretty soon our train was called, and we made our way to the tracks.  We found our car without much difficulty, met our steward, and climbed aboard.  This was not our steward, JB’s, first trip around the block.  He knew his job cold, was personable and capable.  We struck up several conversations with him, and enjoyed traveling with him.  The food was acceptable, the bed was hard but sleepable, and before we knew it, we’d pulled into Washington DC’s Union Station.

I’d chosen our Washington DC hotel based on its proximity to the train station.  It was a short walk, and the GPS on the phone did help once we figured out how to tell it we were walking instead of driving.  Checking in went off without a hitch.  Compared to the beds on the train, this hotel bed was massive!  We got our gear a little bit organized and then headed back to Union Station where we learned a Chipotle was located.  We had supper at the station, with its massive ceiling to give us something to gawk at.  Besides doing some rudimentary planning, that was all the energy we had for this day.  We both slept well that night.

The next morning, it was simplest to have breakfast in the hotel restaurant, which was modeled after an Irish Pub.  There was no noticeable Irish theme to the coffee, eggs, and potatoes I had.  After our nice breakfast, we headed back to the station where we booked a tour bus.  We decided to grab the top front seats; the best in the house, and enjoyed the approximately 2 hour tour in the unseasonable warm morning.  We wanted to get a comprehensive look at what DC had to offer, and boy did we.  I’d describe the tour as overwhelming.  At the end of the tour, we put our heads together and decided to make the Native American Museum our first stop.  So we hopped back on and got off a short distance from the museum.  It was suggested we start on the top (4^th) floor, so we rode the elevator up and started looking at the exhibits.  There were some glass cases lining the hallway, which we spent quite a bit of time at, thinking we were “doing” the 4^th floor.  We’d missed the gallery just behind the elevators, however.  It was huge, comprehensive, and moving.  

A big chunk of the gallery was devoted to the treaty violations, and other mistreatment of the inhabitants of this continent when the Europeans arrived.  It was complicated for me, and after a couple of hours of looking at the exhibits, I had to leave for a while to decompress.  Yes, the Native Americans were mistreated by some terrible people.  Shame on them.  But in my opinion, people are people.  There are terrible people among us, no matter which group we belong to.  Some ooze with empathy, and some with little.  I do believe there can be cultural differences between groups, and that those differences are based largely on the upbringing of the children.  There are also genetic differences among people, but I don’t know that they are significant between groups.  Perhaps there are data that refute my beliefs, and I’d be glad to learn more.  As I said, it’s complicated.

We’re in this hotel in DC for 6 nights.  Back home in our other life, we have necessities like food, laundry, entertainment, etc. pretty well figured out.  Our hotel does a lot for us, but we still had to work out a few details.  That is one reason I like to “park” for several days during vacations.  Food is an important issue for us both, since we have dietary needs that require some help.  The Chipotle at the train station was an important find, because there we can both find food we like to eat.  Alice found a place called The Corner Bakery Cafe, which was less than a block from our hotel.  Between those two, we seemed to be getting the food we needed, which is important.  If you’re fighting your food, you aren’t having fun. 

Next morning, we made a couple of decisions.  We’d try to learn the Metro train system, and to visit the Holocaust Museum… a pair of good decisions.  Our hotel was within a mile or two of all the Smithsonian museums we would be able to visit on the days we planned to be here.  10 years ago, we would have walked, but times have changed for us, and we like to look around for options that shave some walking off from our outings.  DC has an excellent subway system called the Metro.  When we were in DC with our son some decades ago, the same system was in place, and we used it extensively.  I’m happy to announce the system seems to have been maintained, because during our use it worked well for us.  Perhaps as a result of what we learned riding the L in Chicago, our learning curve was lower this time.  We still made mistakes, but with fewer consequences and with us learning all the way.  We decided to buy 3-day unlimited passes.  We might have gotten by cheaper, but we didn’t mind supporting this system.  It is a very nice system.

Around 30 years ago, I was one of the adults who volunteered to take the Boy Scouts from our council to the National Jamboree at Fort AP Hill.  We rented 2 large passenger vans and one of the adults brought his Suburban with a trailer for our gear.  We managed to stay at churches along the way to keep expenses down.  It was a challenging but rewarding trip for all concerned.  We stopped for a couple of nights in Washington DC on our way there.  I unfortunately got one of my debilitating migraine headaches one of the days we were in DC.  The other day I was able to connect with a buddy of mine that was the volcanologist at the Museum of Natural History.  He took me on an amazing behind-the-scenes tour of the facility that sticks with me to this day.

Several of the scouts said they visited the Holocaust Museum (HM), and that it was a great experience for them.  Their comments stuck with me, and so today when asked what I’d like to do first, I chose the HM.  Armed with our wits, 3-day Metro passes, and our maps, we rode the train to the station nearest the HM and walked the rest of the way.  The first thing that strikes one walking on the sidewalk in front of the HM is the amount of security.  The numerous guards all wore white shirts which made them stand out.  We went through a fairly rigorous screening on the way inside, then we were on our own.

It took us a while to figure out where to get tickets and how to enter the exhibits.  Once we got on the right track, our group was ushered into an elevator, given a short talk, and sent up to the 4^th floor.  This facility discourages wandering.  It is set up so everyone goes from exhibit to exhibit.  My hat is off to the folks that designed this place.  The exhibits were powerful as you might expect, but there were also benches where one could decompress, and along one hallway, some artwork on one wall with benches facing it.  The artwork was soothing and we were grateful to have the opportunity to sit for a while.

I’m sure everyone that visits and works to understand what is being shown comes away with several things that moved them.  For me, seeing the piles of shoes, combs, bales of hair shorn from these people prior to gassing, all stuck in my mind.  The scale of the operations coupled with the indifference of the civilian population tugged at my heart.  I really don’t have the words to describe more than that.  My hope for you as you read these words is that you’ll someday visit that place for yourself and walk through the train cars that hauled these unfortunates, the horse barns converted to barracks, the tables where bodies were stripped of gold teeth to be melted down to sustain the German war effort, and others.  

The tour ended for us in a multi sided tall atrium of a room with benches all around and an eternal flame on one end.  As crowded as the exhibits were upstairs, this place was almost deserted.  When I walked in and sat down, I could no longer hold back the tears.  I remember sobbing as quietly as I could until I was able to recover my composure.  Something inside me changed that day… something important yet scary about the human race that I’ve suspected but not confronted.  This tour came a few days before the 2024 election that could effectively seal a similar fate for the people of Ukraine.  In order to maintain my own sanity, I’m more and more inclined to watch the doings of the humans all around me more like a movie than as a participant, because sometimes, becoming too involved is just too hard.  We’re all given a slug of qualities to get us through our daily lives.  Some of us have more empathy, some less.  May our concern for our fellow man become a lighthouse beacon for us.

Once back outside from that deep experience, we decided to walk to the Natural History Museum before heading back to the hotel.  First stop was the cafeteria where we had a light lunch and drank a lot of water.  We did an hour or two of the exhibits, but when we looked at each other, we decided we were just plain out of steam, and decided to take the Metro back to the hotel.   

Alice and I have been trading “your days” this trip.  On my day, I can decide where we’ll go for the day.  Today was her day, and she decided we’d go to the botanical garden’s conservatory.  So after breakfast, that is what we did.  As usual, we took the Metro as close as it would take us, and then used the phone GPS to direct us the rest of the way.  There were still a few mistakes made, but we did much better at getting around.  The conservatory was really nice.  It was divided into several sections, such as desert, tropics, etc.  All of the conservatory was under glass, but one particular section stood out.  It was enclosed by a large tall arched structure that must have been 40′ tall.  There were all manner of climate controls in this section.  Near the bottom there were vents controlled by electric motor that would allow outside air in.  There were misters up high, and fans moving air around.  There were probably others I didn’t see.  The coolest part of this section was a mezzanine walkway up high.  There was even an elevator for those of us having trouble with stairs.  We observed one lady up there in a wheelchair. 

This section had some very tall trees which, from the 1^st floor, looked like pillars.  From the mezzanine, however, one got a closer look at the structures of the plants higher up.  We went around most of that section and both enjoyed the different vantage points.  My regret from the time we spent in the conservatory is that I did not have a hand lens for viewing the tiny structures of the plants.

After spending several hours in the conservatory, we reconnoitered.  There was still a chunk of the day left, and we had an opportunity to attend a “Women’s March” at Freedom Plaza.  There were to be speeches in the afternoon followed by a march from the plaza to the white house.  We took the Metro to the nearest station, then GPSed our way to the plaza.  As we got close, it became obvious that we were in the right place.  There were thousands of people there, many carrying signs and sporting hats and t-shirts.  There was a lot of enthusiasm.  It was so crowded we were not able to get close to the speaker’s stage.  Luckily, since it was a warm afternoon, we found some shade of one of the buildings along the sidewalk.  Still, I think we could have heard what was going on were it not for the chatter of hundreds of voices all around us.  It seemed rude to me until I thought things over.  This was a rally to be sure, but it was also a social event for many of these folks.  These kindred souls liked each other and were full of enthusiasm for the project at hand.  There were many small cups of ice cream being served and eaten.  

I do have trouble in groups when there is lots of chatter.  I tried to sort out the background noise from the words of the speakers, but was unsuccessful.  In the end I was getting more and more frustrated.  Alice took several pictures.  In the end, we probably stayed there less than an hour and then headed back to the hotel.  Neither of us felt up to the march to the white house.Next morning was my day, and we tried something a little different. We’d found a couple of restaurants in the local area that we’d settled on for breakfast, which has worked well for us so far. 

The next morning I thought it would be interesting to board the Metro and ride a ways out of the tourist district and see if we could find something different for breakfast.  We decided on the Metro green line to the waterfront.  When we stepped out of the station into daylight, we were not greeted by places to eat.  It being Sunday morning, the place looked pretty deserted.  We hiked around a block or two and found a place that was a combination restaurant and bakery.  I found a vegetarian breakfast burrito on the menu, and felt duty bound to try one of their maple donuts for 2 reasons.  First, I didn’t want to offend the bakers in the back room, and second, as a maple producer, I felt the need to support my industry.  Yes, it was a struggle to order and eat that donut, but I am secure inside myself knowing I did it for the greater good.

Then it was back to the Metro and to the National Gallery.  We’d spent a short time in the East Building already, so this time we went to the West Building.  We arrived just as they opened the doors and allowed the queue of people to enter.  We spent about 4 hours looking around until our brains froze.  I remember being in the Reuben’s room where there were several of his paintings on display, and it just not soaking in anymore.  So we headed back to the Metro and then back to the Union Station stop, which was near our hotel.  There are many shops and restaurants in the station, and we spent some time shopping and having some food.

We were eating at The Corner Cafe often enough that we were making friends with the workers.  We both had some kind of cereal.  At this place, one orders with an electronic kiosk, take a number which is placed on the table, and they bring the food out to you.  Since our 3-day Metro passes had expired, we bought 1 day passes for the Metro and boarded the train for the Smithsonian exit.  We worked well together on the Metro and hardly made any mistakes.  What a tremendous thing the Metro is.  Besides the subway trains, the system also includes buses.  The stations are mostly clean, the folks that work there are helpful, and the ride is fast and comfortable.  If I remember correctly, the cost is about $15 per person per day. 

The weather on this trip was great.  We didn’t need jackets at all.  We got off and walked a pleasant .3 miles to the Asian museum and had an enjoyable hour or so.  Then on to the African American museum.  There was a bit of a hassle getting in because a ticket is required.  One can apply for a ticket online, but the web page was kind of goofy.  I got on my phone and got as far as I could on the web page, then asked one of the security folks for help.  He took my phone and pressed some buttons and bam we were in.

We started our tour in the basement, which reminded both of us of the holocaust museum.  It was dedicated to the horrors of slavery.  It was quite crowded and with the crowds and the subject matter, we only made it part way through and looked for the exit.  We rode upstairs to the 4^th floor which was much more uplifting.  We stayed until 3:30 or so and then headed back to the hotel.  It is time to start getting our gear together because we take the train to Philadelphia in the morning.  Our visit to DC was great.  The hotel was fine, food options also good, and getting around a breeze.

We set the alarm and had an got going early.  We got our gear together, checked out, and headed to the train station for our 8:50 am train to Philadelphia.  It was with some mixed feelings.  The museums in DC are fabulous and comprehensive.  I suppose there are many legitimate ways to experience them, but my way tends to burn me out after several hours.  I just reached a point where nothing more is going in, regardless of what was out there to experience.  There were so many times we’d gotten through a handful of the total galleries before it was time to leave.  I hope to be able to come back again and do this all over again.  I feel like a different person boarded the train for Philadelphia than the one that arrived in DC about a week ago.

Alice and I, being Alice and I, arrived at the train station around 2 hours early.  We had time to have a leisurely fast-food breakfast, and enjoyed watching the differing approaches to folks boarding the trains.  For most of the train boarders, this wasn’t their first rodeo.  They lined up with their luggage and made their way to the train tracks.  Most people quietly filed toward the train tracks for boarding.  There was a bit of a pause, and the runners showed up.  This was around the time of the final boarding call when folks would bound toward the trains, and past the indulgent Amtrak rep who’d seen all this before.  I think they probably made it to their trains, and good for them.  Not the way I’d want to board a train, but to each his or her own.

The trip took about 2 hours and we arrived at the train station just before 11:00.  The phone GPS said the hotel was 1.1 miles from the station, and since it was another nice day, we decided to walk.  It was no trouble finding the hotel, check-in was a breeze, and we got our gear organized enough for me to get out for a reconnoitering walk.  Our hotel is surrounded by Drexel University.  Beautiful young people were all over the place, and it was enjoyable for me to walk among them and think back to that time in my life.  Back then there was so much to figure out and so many paths in front of me… I envied the young folks for the path before them. 

This was the day I woke up and learned that DT had won a second term as president.  I had some adjusting to do in my brain, and it used up a lot of my energy that day.  We did get up and booked a nice bus tour of Philadelphia.  We saw a lot and learned some… our tour guide was great.  My head and heart were elsewhere though.  We came back to the hotel and crashed.  

The next morning we rode the subway to the 15^th street exit, then got on bus 38, which took us to the Philadelphia Museum of Art.  We’d heard this was a good museum, and we weren’t disappointed.  We spent about 4 ½ hours inside.  The museum was open a couple of more hours, but we were both pretty well shot by 2:30 or so, so we jumped back on the bus and made our way back to the hotel.  I’d intended to read for a while, but dozed off for an hour or so.  I did go out and find a bank so we could replenish our cash, which we’d used for tips, etc., got some Chipotle takeout and called it a day.  The tickets to the museum were for 2 days, and included the Rodin museum, so we planned to go back the next day.  The subway/bus folks were threatening a strike at midnight, which meant we might not be going anywhere.

The strike didn’t happen, so we took the subway to the 15^th street exit, walked up the first stairway we saw, and found ourselves someplace neither of us recognized.  Yesterday, when we exited up onto the sidewalk, there was a large city square with a major bus stop just across the road. Instead, there was a large office building next to us, so we figured if we walked around it, we’d soon see something we recognized.  This was definitely the right station, and my guess is they have multiple exits for the convenience of folks that know what they are doing.  We kept making right turns, and one of them took us down a sort of dodgy looking alley.  We met someone walking the other way, and she seemed comfortable being there, so maybe we did a little bit more also.  Eventually we came around another corner and found the bus stop.  They really made us work for this one, though.  

After a short wait for the bus, we tapped our phones/credit cards and got moving in the right direction.  We soon arrived at the Philadelphia Museum of Art (PMA) and got off.  We showed our tickets from yesterday to the friendly clerk, and she printed us fresh ones.  Tickets at the PMA are good for 2 days.  Then we walked to a gallery and were once again transported.  These artists and their work do a great job of putting us in another world.  

We toured until midday and they headed over to the museum cafe for a rest and some lunch.  After lunch we decided to spend the afternoon at the Barnes.  We walked over to the clerk that had checked us in and asked her if there was any transportation to the Barnes.  She said no, but that it was a short walk of a few blocks.  We decided to try it, so told the GPS on the phone to take us there.  We dutifully followed the blue dots on the screen, and the amount of time to our destination increased rather than decreased.  We turned around and tried retracing our steps.  Even though we were walking opposite of what it was telling us, the time to the destination was now decreasing.  That didn’t last long however.  We finally by luck and process of elimination got close enough that the GPS got wind of the proper destination, and we arrived at the gate of the Barnes.

After some small hassles getting our tickets figured out, we were given the go-ahead to enter the galleries.  It was our great good fortune to walk in just as a tour group was assembling, and we dovetailed our way into the group.  Our guide was fabulous, and she did just what we needed.  She chose around 10 pieces of art and focused on them, telling the stories about the artists and their work, and Dr. Barnes’ acquisition of the pieces.  For me, the story behind each piece adds greatly to my enjoyment of it.

Our guide told us a lot about Dr. Barnes, a medical doctor that invented, patented, and produced Argyrol, an antiseptic that made him a wealthy man.  She explained how he became interested in impressionist art before it caught on, and how he traveled extensively and bought a LOT of art.  The Barnes is no small building, and it is just crammed with work by famous impressionist artists.  As I understand the story, Dr. Barnes, during his life, had no real interest in making his collection available to the general public.  He would make his gallery available to students in which he saw potential, and would spend hours showing his work.  He died tragically in an auto accident after running a stop sign.  According to our guide, he had petitioned the powers that be to have that stop sign removed, which they refused.  So, perhaps as an act of defiance against authority, he didn’t stop and was killed instantly when he was t-boned.

At the conclusion of our tour, we wandered around the galleries a bit, but we both felt it was getting late enough in the day that we should head back for a rest.  We were reluctant to walk back to the PAM to the bus stop after the difficulty we had had getting to the Barnes.  So we found a bus stop nearby, and when a bus came by, we asked the driver what would be the best bus to take back to the 15^th street terminal.  He pointed us to the bus stop across the road, and told us the number of the bus to wait for.  He was spot on.  It was just a short bus ride and we found ourselves at the subway station.  A quick look at the map told us which train to catch, and we were back at the hotel in a very short time.  I find it satisfying to figure out a mass transit system, and getting to where we’re going for a few bucks rather than a lot of money for a dedicated cab or Uber.  

An annual event is Philadelphia is the Rocky Run, which, as luck would have it, coincided with our visit to the city.  Thousands of people descend on the downtown area to redo portions of the run that Sylvester Stalone did in his Rocky movies.  Apparently, the grand staircase leading up to the Art Museum played a part in the conditioning run he did in the movies.  (I’ve not seen the Rocky movies).  

Since we knew the downtown would be full of people, we looked for an alternative for the day’s adventures.  I say “we” but it was, in fact, all Alice.  She found the University of Penn Museum which was just a few blocks from our hotel.  We figured it would be OK in a pinch.  Wrong!  It was better than OK, it was fabulous.  We spent the morning in the exhibits, had a nice lunch in the museum cafe, and then back to the exhibits for the afternoon.  I tried to make it until 3:00, but gave up around 2:40.  My brain was so full that nothing else would fit.  So we walked back to the hotel very satisfied with what we saw and learned today.

We had one day left in Philadelphia before we were scheduled to board the train to New York.  We were both getting low on clean clothes, so I did some looking around in Google Maps, and found a laundromat about .6 miles from the hotel.  According to what I saw, they opened at 8:00 am, so I made a note to myself to try to get there around opening time.  I figured Sunday morning would not be too busy, and that early Sunday morning folks not going to church would likely be sleeping in.  

We’d organized the laundry the night before, so there were just a few details to attend to in the morning, and I was off.  I had dirty laundry stuffed in my daypack and two of the nylon shopping bags we carry.  I’d reconnoitered this place on a walk earlier in the week, so had a fair idea of where I was going.  I took a slightly different route this time, and went by a church I found interesting.  The building was clearly in decline.  One door was propped open, which one might expect on a Sunday morning, but there was no activity that I would consider getting ready for church services.  Had I had more time, I might have explored some, but it was already after 8:00 and I was still 5 minutes away.

Once inside, the small Asian woman I’d seen on my earlier visit was there, as well as several other women already deep into the laundry process.  I was lucky enough to find 2 washing machines in a small aisle that was deserted.  This aisle also had a nice fiberglass table for folding that I claimed as my own.  There was no change machine, so I asked the woman behind the desk how much change I’d need.  I told her I had 2 loads.  “Wash and dry?” she asked me.  I nodded yes.  “10 dollar,” she told me.  So I gave her the 10 and she gave me 40 quarters in the cap of a laundry soap container.  

This facility was open from 8:00 am until 8:00 pm 7 days a week.  When I looked at the small Asian woman that was in charge, I imagined that she put in most if not all the hours.  There was something about her I’ve noticed with other Asian folks, that of being they are hard working and consistent.  Once when I walked by, I saw her in the tiny office doing some stretching exercises.  I remember thinking I hope she has some help with running this place, because the hours would grind anyone down.

The place itself was in need of some sprucing up.  Many of the tiles in the drop ceiling had large water stains, and several were bulged out to the point that they might let go at any time.  The walls of the place appear to have been modified some time ago to accommodate a change in the washer/dryer machines.  Whoever did the work used a sawzall, and did not do a careful job.  Some trim would have covered up the rough edges, but no trim was evident, and I predicted none on the near horizon.

One of the machines was clearly marked $2.50, so I added my soap pod, the money, and got it started.  The other machine accepted 1 quarter at a time, but had nothing discernible saying how much money to put in.  I had to ask the clerk a couple of times, and she finally came over, looked at it, and said, “Three dollar.”  With that mystery solved, I was back in business.  I walked over to the chair I’d been using and saw it was occupied, so I sat next to the fellow.  He had walked in with a coffee cup and sat down.  I assumed he was doing laundry too.  We said nothing to each other, and after 10 minutes or so, he got up and walked out the front door.  No laundry, just a place for him to sit and watch the dryers spin.

The women that were in the facility before me were skilled practitioners.  They flowed through the process with no wasted motion.  And did they talk!  One more than the other.  I likened her speech pattern to that of a machine gun. Ratta-ta-tatta-ta-tatta.  I didn’t catch any of the words, just the cadence.  Her friend got a word in now and then, but for the most part, the first lady was holding forth on a topic that required a lot of words.  The entire time they were there, I never heard the talking stop.

As soon as the first machine finished, I put the clothes in one of the dryers that lined the wall.  $.25 got you 6 minutes of low, medium, or high heat.  I was a bit timid at first and put in 1 quarter at a time, but as my confidence grew, I did 2 or even 3 quarters.  My second load finished and I managed to put that load in the dryer below the other one I was using.  When the dryer stopped, I felt inside and added more money.  When the first load was dry, I took it out and over to “my” table and folded everything.  The other load took another 20 minutes or so, which gave me time to get the first batch folded.  The final batch came out and was folded, stashed, and I was out the door.  It took an hour and a half, not including the walk to and from the place.  

Once back at the hotel, we got our fresh laundry organized and headed back to the Penn Museum.  Once again, our minds were blown.  The place is so comprehensive.  You’d finish one room and walk to the next, and see some additional wonders begging to be explored.  As we wandered, we came into a large round room with a high domed ceiling.  I stood just inside the door looking up with my mouth open.  If there’d have been pigeons up there, I’d have been an interesting target.  I estimated the distance from the floor to the top of the dome to be about 100′.  And the treasures inside were phenomenal.  The acoustics were interesting too.  The children that came in made full use of the echoes, but we adults, though we wished we could, didn’t.  The kids would stomp a foot, clap, screech, and make other sounds.  The dome was high enough that there was a lag before the sound returned, making for some interesting echoes.

Around noon we headed down to the cafe for some lunch, then more museuming.  Around 2:30 I looked at the time, and thought I’d be able to stay until closing.  By 2:45 I’d hit a wall,  and found that Alice was kind of staring off into space.  There must be an antiquities limit set somewhere in the brain, because we had found that once that limit was met, there was no more room and we might as well go back home.

We had a nice rest and got a bit more organized for the train trip the next day. 

Our train to NYC was scheduled to leave around noon, so we got up and going around 8:00, got checked out, and started the trek to the subway station with our suitcases and other gear.  Things went smoothly and we got to the train station in about a half hour.  We’d skipped breakfast figuring we wanted to be sure there were no glitches in our trip to the Amtrak station.  We figured we’d be able to find something to eat at the station.  There were several options.  A Dunkin’ was located right in the big waiting room, and there was a long line of folks waiting to be served.  There was also a Pret, in which we both found something we could eat.

I remember in the days of my youth that waiting half an hour for something seemed interminable.  At the ripe old age of 72, the several hours we had to wait for our train went by pretty quickly for me.  I had my tablet and went for several walks around the place.  Before we knew it, our train made it onto the board, and shortly after that we were boarding.  We had assigned seats and after juggling our luggage up into the overhead rack, we settled in.  It was about a 2 hour ride to the NYC train station.  We had a comfortable ride and it was soon time to get off the train.

The train station in NYC is a large, well-used, busy place.  We knew the address of our hotel, but had no real idea of how to get there.  We moved out of the Amtrak area looking for an information booth to help us navigate the subway system.  None presented itself, so I approached a uniformed fellow (I don’t know if he was station security or a policeman) and asked him where the nearest information booth was located.  He didn’t seem to know of one, but asked where we were going.  I told him the address of the hotel, and he spent a few seconds on his phone and told us to find the 1 train uptown and get off at 50^th street.  It should be a 5 minute walk from there.  So we were off on another quest.

We found our platform without too much trouble and also found an elevator to help us down to the platform with our luggage.  “This is easy,” I (foolishly) said to myself.  The train came, we got on and were pretty smug about the whole thing.  At the first stop there was some kind of a garbled announcement, and no signage that I could see on the walls of the platform.  As we were pulling out, I did see a sign that said 50^th street.  Too late!  We were doomed to ride to the next station with our luggage and catch a train going back the way we’d come.  We got off at 57th Street and did our best to follow the signs to the downtown “1” train.  We thought we’d found it several times, and hauled the luggage up and down stairs with optimism, only to find that we were still in the uptown section.  Up and down we went trying to follow the signs.  Alice finally asked a fellow traveler how to get to the downtown platform, and what she told us must have finally clicked, because we followed the signage with growing confidence.

I believe that the folks that design the obstacle courses for the military must have grown up in NYC.  There were several up and down staircases, long walks through strange looking sections, and finally we were on the correct platform.  I was puffing like a steam engine when we finally made it.  The train arrived and we took the short ride to the correct station, got off and almost kissed the sidewalk when we made it up the last set of stairs.  The GPS on the phone gave us a direction to head, and before long we were walking into the hotel.

The check-in process had its ups and downs.  I was pretty much exhausted, and the clerk seemed like he wanted to spend a lot of time querying us regarding situations not relevant to us getting up to our room.  I finally told him that we’d surely ask him later if we had any questions, but for now all we wanted was to get to our room and rest.  An elevator ride to the 22^nd floor and we could finally rid ourselves of that 8 ton package of suitcases and lay down for a bit.  Home at last for the next 6 nights.

After a rest we ventured out into the streets of New York.  What to say?  People walking everywhere, aggressive drivers honking their horns at every opportunity, street crossing lights that were sometimes difficult to see.  We soon developed the swagger necessary to navigate the streets.  

After walking a few blocks we found ourselves in Times Square.  There were lots of people doing all manner of things.  We were probably asked 50 times along the way if we wanted to book a Hop On Hop Off tour of the city.  We learned how to look straight ahead and keep walking.  There were bicycles with a seat in the front for 2 people that were giving people short rides.  They were lit up with bright blinking LEDs and were playing music near the sound level of a jet engine at takeoff.  The people riding in them seemed to be having a good time though.

We puttered around Times Square for a bit and then headed back to the hotel.  There was a Chipotle very close to the hotel, so we got some take-out and brought it back to the room.  After a good supper, we read for a while and then crashed.  It had been a big day.

Next morning we got up and headed to the Deli that Alice had found the day before.  It was well stocked with food or all sorts.  They had breakfast burritos that all had meat, so I asked the guy if it was possible to get one without.  He said sure and pretty soon it arrived, warm and delicious.  This deli advertised as being open 24/7, and was only a few doors down from the hotel.  Good find Alice!

After breakfast we bundled up and headed for the Museum of Modern Art (MoMA), which was walking distance from our hotel.  After a trip through security and getting our tickets, we began our tour.  What a place!  As usual, we tried our best to read and understand about each piece of art that attracted us.  What we learned is that the intensity of that experience limited the amount of time we could spend doing it.  We found a cafe for lunch in the museum, then hit the exhibits again.  We wandered with no clear goal in mind when we stumbled into a room with several panels of the famous Monet Water Lilies. I just about fell to my knees. I knew about a museum in France that had been built especially for several panels of this work, but had no idea some of the panels also existed in New York, let alone in the very museum we were in. It wasn’t very crowded, and I was lucky enough to be able to just sit and enjoy this amazing art only a few feet in front of me.

Just about like clockwork, around 2:30 our eyes started glazing over and it was time to start thinking about the trip home.  One of the nice features of NYC is its walk-ability.  It felt safe to us, and the people that swirled all around us spoke a big variety of languages. They were young to old, thin to fat, and all shapes and sizes.  

Navigating through large crowds of folks, especially at street crossings, took some getting used to.  When the light changed a bulge of people started walking towards us, and their body language said, “move out of my way chump.”  It seemed that we had to learn to exude a similar body language that said, “no, you move!”  It generally worked itself out by both of us moving just enough to squeeze past each other.  What complicated things was the phones many people held as they were walking.  Many folks looked up from their phones infrequently or not much at all.  If it seemed I was on a collision course with a phoner, I would just stop in the street and stand there until they snapped out of it and gave some indication whether they planned to move left or right.  This didn’t happen often, but when it did, I found it was better to just pause a moment rather than doing a dancer’s pirouette to get out of their way.

Back at the hotel we both decompressed for a while, picked up some carryout supper from one of the two places next to us we’d standardized on, and rested up for Hamilton.

The play Hamilton tells a good story.  It has been in NYC for some time, and still has consistently full houses.  We sat in the first balcony house right.  We were, unfortunately, right next to a bank of speakers, whose job it was to project out into the middle of the house.  In order to do that, the volume had to be turned up pretty loud for the folks close to it.  The first part of the show involved some rap-type songs, of which I probably understood 10% of the words.  I strained to hear for the first while, then gave up, relaxed, and caught whatever was catchable.  Some parts of the play were quite loud, and I regretted leaving my hearing protectors home this time.  All in all, the show was enjoyable and we were glad we’d seen it.  Alice had gotten to work and found us matinee seats in a couple of days for the play about Louis Armstrong called, “A Wonderful World.”  

The next day we decided to head to the Guggenheim.  The building itself is a work of art, and the artwork inside is hard to describe.  Our visit coincided with a large number of Orphism paintings.  The work was highly abstract and many involved swirling kaleidoscopes of color.  I gave up early on reading about the particular artists of the pieces I was viewing, and instead just stood before each piece and let my mind wander.  I found that staring at the work allowed my mind to find a center of the piece, and on occasions I could enter the piece to the exclusion of the world around me.  Then the thoughts started coming… things I hadn’t thought about for decades sometimes.  Some pleasant, and some not so much.  I guess that is what good art should do… take one away from the everyday and into a time and place where the rules are different.  When done right one can walk away from it all a different, more resilient person.

Manhattan is an island, which is probably a main reason it became a major metropolitan city.  Travel and freight hauling by water was the easiest way to get around before roads and railroad tracks became common.  Along with nearby water, another requirement is good deepwater ports.  Manhattan has both.  I’d heard there were museum ships in NYC, and saw evidence of one in a Bon Jovi music video called “Do What We Can” on YouTube.  Armed with that scanty evidence we went to work online, and learned the aircraft carrier Intrepid was a museum and docked close to our hotel.  Alice had scored 2 tickets to the matinee performance of “A Wonderful World” that afternoon, and the museum didn’t open until 10:00, so we only had a couple of hours for the tour.  How big can an aircraft carrier be?  So we rolled up our sleeves and told the GPS to take us to the museum.  

The answer: an aircraft carrier can be pretty big.  For example, on the flight deck, they’d erected a building to house the Space Shuttle Enterprise.  One could walk around the massive thing, walk up on a balcony to look it in the eye, and examine several very good displays in the periphery.  The carrier itself was accessible below decks where the sleeping quarters for officers and enlisted men were shown.  The kitchen was also there as well as their respective chow halls and relaxing areas.  The area just below the flight deck had several displays, including a running video of one of the Intrepid’s battles in the Pacific during World War II.  She was hit by two kamikaze aircraft  which caused a fire that almost destroyed her.  The video was so well done you could feel the ship shake and even see smoke as the emergency grew.  

There were several vintage aircraft on the flight deck, including a predecessor to the SR-17, several fighter jets, and helicopters.  As our time was getting short we took the elevator down to the dock where the Intrepid was moored, and found there was a submarine on display, and also one of the few remaining Concord SSTs.  We skipped the sub but did walk around the Concord.  If I ever return to NYC, I hope to be able to spend more time at this complex.  Just seeing the bunks where the enlisted men slept got me thinking about my Dad as a teenager shipping out as a marine on a ship to China.  

Around noon we left the waterfront and made our way toward the theater.  Once we found it and knew we were close, we felt we had time for some lunch.  We walked into a deli, but learned they were out of veggie burgers, so we looked around some more, settling on a McDonald’s.  A quick lunch later and we were once again on our way to the theater.  

“A Wonderful World” really struck me.  I can remember as a kid watching the Ed Sullivan show and seeing black performers like Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Armstrong.  We grew up in a pretty white part of Michigan, so seeing black performers on TV was somewhat of a novelty for me.  I knew about Louie’s music, but nothing about his life until this play.  The closing song was “What a Wonderful World” which held a special meaning to me.  It is the poem I sent to Alice and son Steve in the aftermath of the 9/11 attacks.  When the closing song came, I found myself sobbing.

We decided to spend our second to last day in the city at the Metropolitan Museum of Art.  After a short subway ride from our hotel, the faithful GPS took us there without a hiccup.  Once inside and tickets purchased, we started in on the galleries.  What a place!  It seemed like no matter what interested one, there was a room devoted to it.  The musical instruments made a special impact on me, although there were so many other rooms.  We found a cafeteria for lunch and I continued to get tripped up when paying for our meal.  When one gets ready to pay with a credit card, things don’t seem to work.  The clerk reminded me that I needed to read the screen before I entered my card.  On the screen was a question about what percentage of the bill tip I wanted to leave (all calculated out in 10%, 15%, and 20% increments).  I’ve always felt that a tip was a reward for good service.  In this cafeteria, we chose our own food in the line, put it on our tray, and pushed our tray along until we got to the cashier.  It puzzled me that I was being asked how much I wanted to tip the guy I interacted with for about 10 seconds and that said about 5 words to me.  This wasn’t the first time this happened on this trip.  Tipping felt more and more to me like a tax rather than a reward for good service. 

After lunch we were good for a couple of more hours, and then headed back to the hotel to rest.  Our normal life at home had few intersections with what we were seeing in these fabulous museums.  It being so different meant we had to spend some time finding brain slots for all the new information that was being thrust at us.  And this activity, dealing with mostly new, interesting, and soul enriching items minute after minute, hour by hour, wore us down quicker than we’d have liked.

We talked about how we’d like to spend our last day in the city, and came to the consensus that Central Park was our best option.  For one, it is more of a natural place than any we’d seen this trip.  We have brain slots for lots of what we’d see.  For another, the Bethesda fountain beckoned.  We got to know this part of the park from the movie “Angels in America,” and had briefly visited once before.  This trip we hoped to stretch that visit.  So, maps in hand we made our way toward the park.  

Once inside, we were first confronted with an “Alice in Wonderland” themed children’s playground.  And children were playing there while the adults sat on benches and chatted with each other.  Good start.  We followed our map towards Bethesda as best we could, not worrying about getting off course.  The designers of this park did a great job not destroying everything natural, and it was a pleasure to see mature trees, rocky outcroppings, and *gasp* bodies of water.  As we walked in nearly perfect fall weather, we appreciated how we were sharing that space with so many people that seldom see a living thing other than fellow humans.  Smiles abounded, and we joined in.  A few minutes down the path we were attracted to some commotion, and came upon a “walk for dementia.”  Many of the walkers had colorful plastic pinwheels that had been handed out by the organizers, and the wheels were spinning in the breeze.  I would have joined in if I could have, losing both my parents to that terrible disease, but when we arrived, it was not clear how to join, and shortly after we got there, the walk ended.

We continued on for a short distance and arrived at the tunnel that led to the fountain.  Lots of people seemed to share our love for this place, but it was not hard to find a place to sit and soak up the sunshine.  There were buskers in the area, and we sat on a bench near a Native American man who was playing both the pan pipes and a Native American flute.  There was something about the natural beauty of the place, and the haunting sounds of his playing that touched my heart.  We both gave a generous donation to this artist and walked away with his music playing in the background.  Alice bought some Christmas presents from some vendors near the fountain, and then we decided to continue the walk.  

Bethesda was located near a small lake that had a concession renting rowboats.  Gosh it was entertaining watching these folks attempting to navigate on the lake with their oars.  Some did better than others, but I suspect some had to beach their crafts and walk back to the renter’s pavilion and pay them to bring the boat back.  The trail took us around that little lake, and we were both struck by how lucky we were to have our ponds and small boats that we could use any time we wanted to.

We continued our walk until we returned to where we’d started, and were surprised by how many hours had elapsed since we’d entered the park.  What a great finish to our stay in NYC, and a good rest for the final leg of our trip; the train journey back to Chicago, then to Milwaukee, and then to our car and back home.

By now we were knowledgeable enough about the subway not be too worried about getting to the Amtrak station.  Our train was scheduled to leave after 3:00 PM, so we had plenty of time to assemble our gear, check out and make our way to the subway.  We then boarded the subway for Penn station, headed out to the sidewalk and across the road to the train station, and sat in the Metropolitan Lounge.  We’ve been to a few of these train lounges over the years, but this one took the cake.  It was clean and comfortable, there was a snackbar with all manner of food from snacks to meals, and drinks.  All free as long as you are qualified to be in there.  A clerk checked us in by scanning our ticket, and since we were in a sleeper, we were waved inside with a smile.

After we got settled, Alice did what she does so well, and started a conversation with a traveler sitting across the coffee table from us.  She was a mother of 5; 2 of her own and 3 adopted.  She had traveled to the city with a couple of her female friends for a lady’s weekend out.  We really clicked with this woman, and the time until her train was called vanished in a puff of conversation.  Our seats were within sight of a monitor that showed the status of the various trains leaving the station, and before long, our train came up on the screen, and slowly climbed up the queue until it was time for us to board.  

Getting on the train was a bit confusing, because the sleeper car assigned to us had no place for our luggage.  If you’ve ever been in a sleeper car, you know there is no room in there for luggage.  The porter told us we could put our stuff in room 6, which had no occupants for the trip, so we did as we were told, found our room, settled in, and let out a sigh.  Once we were in the system, we could almost smell our home in the northwoods.  

Neither of us sleep great on the train, but we do sleep better than we would in the reclining seats in  coach.  And this particular room had a feature we’d not seen in our previous Amtrak experience.  There was a covered toilet and flip-down sink in the room.  Now, if you’ve ever been inside an Amtrak roomette, you know it’s small.  Somehow the clever designers figured out a way to install toilet facilities in each roomette.  We were skeptical about using the toilet in such close proximity to each other, but we surprised ourselves by how uncomplicated it felt.  We enjoyed the supper in the dining car.  At our request the attendant converted our room to bunk beds, and we gratefully called it a day.  

The next morning we headed to the dining car for breakfast and were cheered to learn the train was ahead of schedule.  We’d booked our connecting train trip from Chicago to Milwaukee on a train several hours after our scheduled arrival.  There was an earlier train, and if we could catch it, we’d be able to start the drive home a couple of hours sooner, which appealed to us.  This time of year it gets dark early, and being on the road in the dark is extra tiring for us.  When we made it to Chicago, we did our best to organize the luggage and follow the signs to the ticket agent.  After a short wait we learned we could change our ticket for the earlier train for about $30.  We said yes and headed to the lounge to wait.  Soon it was time to board, and the train was packed.  We fortunately got on early enough to stow our gear and find seats next to each other.  Several people after us had to stand until the first stop because no more seats were available.  In a few hours, we arrived at the Milwaukee train stop.  We contacted the hotel and waited for the shuttle to arrive.  A short drive in Milwaukee traffic and we were dropped off at our car.  Thinking our troubles were over, I loaded up the luggage and started it up.

Error messages screamed at us on the console.  There were 4 that kept repeating that talked about stabilizers, and other things.  The car ran fine and we were informed that all wheel drive had been cancelled, but that didn’t matter, so we cautiously headed out of the driveway and onto the highway.  With a few stops for food and fuel, we made it home in 6 or 7 hours… grateful to have that couple of hours we’d gained by catching the earlier train.  Home!

A trip to the mechanic and $500 later, we learned that an ABS sensor had died in the front left wheel bearing.  The only repair was to replace the wheel bearing.  This is not the first time this has happened with this car.

We just returned from spending 3 vacation weeks on the road. Our trip included Chicago, Washington DC, Philadelphia, and New York City. Most days were spent in museums, mostly art museums. We found we were good for about 4 hours before our brains froze over. Then we had to get back outside for a while.

After returning home, I wondered to myself, “Why do we do it?” What is the attraction to seeing all this art? We’re both trained in the sciences, so it isn’t about putting puzzle pieces into an already existing matrix of art information. It is all pretty new to us.

On the “science” side, the way we think in a physiological sense intrigues me. Our thoughts are neural networks inside our brains that need to be refreshed in order to stay active. But our lives when we are at home can get to be pretty routine, and so the networks outside our daily routine can get stale. I think that novel things in general, and art in particular, force our brains outside the routine corridors, and creates new ones, or refreshes older and less used ones.

This trip we spent one day at the Guggenheim in New York. This place is organized into galleries that contain their regular collection, and a large multi-floor spiral section that has traveling exhibitions. Our visit coincided with a large number of Orphism paintings. The work was highly abstract and many involved swirling kaleidoscopes of color. I gave up early on reading about the particular artists of the pieces I was viewing, and instead just stood before each piece and let my mind wander. I found that staring at the work allowed my mind to find a center of the piece, and on occasions I could enter the piece to the exclusion of the world around me. Then the thoughts started coming… things I hadn’t thought about for decades sometimes. Some pleasant, and some not so much.

Thinking about it later, I felt as though the art stimulated me to visit parts of my mind that I’d either not thought about in some time, or had intentionally walled off. Either way, I felt as though the works had done me some good. It is a good thing to stretch oneself within the bounds of a sane ecosystem. Poking around outside that area could have consequences, so that is the challenge: to stretch yourself while keeping things sane.