Remmington

It's been some days since I posted any pictures from my day-to-day travels as I drive around in Amishland going about my job. It was a REALLY nice day here in the northeast; what I call a 'California day.' Bright sunshine, dry air, moderate temps, too. It was a great day here to be outside. Hopefully, the promise of Spring this time will be true.

I had just one scheduled job today. I was sent to re-wire a house that some 'code I-D-ten-T' tampered with the lines. I was 'scheduled' to be there from four to six hours. The boss had been out to look at it; he briefed me on his plan. I altered his plan and was done in less than four hours on-site work time; did a nice job, too.

The people were very nice. I knew they were born- and-raised in Lancaster County. I spent four hours working and talking with them. Not once did they say, 'Do you want or need something to drink?' The way I was brought-up it would be natural for me to say to someone working in my home, 'If you need anything, please feel free to ask.' Not here. I am sure I have alluded to that before.

I finished my Friday rewiring project around 2PM. I took my lunch and on a quiet nice afternoon I was dispatched to reconnect the cable of a customer who had been disconnected for non-payment of their bill. There were no 'troubles' for us to take care of. I reported my job location to the office dispatch over the company radio. I hauled the ladder off the van; carried it 100 feet to the pole, climbed it, turned it on. It might take me two minutes to do that as I am 'up at the tap.'

I got back on the ground, carried and loaded the ladder back onto the van. I began driving and waited to get an opportunity to report I had completed my task to the company dispatch. As I rounded the corner driving slowly I noticed a small black dog being tended by his owner outside their house. I had to stop with my work clip-board in my hand.

The owner of the dog was a big tattooed 'Harley-looking' kind of guy. I stopped my brightly advertised work van. I got out and crossed the street with my silver work clip-board in my hand. As I approached he asked, 'What's Up?' He thought I was there to disconnect him; told me that later as he had just paid the bill.

I smiled and didn't say a word. I opened my clip-board and pulled out a picture that was paper-clipped onto the one side of my folding metal clip-board. I handed it to him. It was a close-up facial picture of my beloved female Pug named, Oprah. He smiled as he held the leash to his black pug. I reached into my stash of pictures and pulled out a couple more. I told him, her name was Oprah and she was one GREAT dog. I told him I promised her when I had to put her to sleep that any time I saw one I would stop to say hello as I knew there would be a little bit of her in each-and-every-one. Their black pug was named 'Remmington. He understood and invited me into their home. I had a nice brief visit with them.

The first picture above is 'Op' with a friend.

The bottom two are of 'Remmy' with his owner.

He's surely another beautiful pug. No doubt about it!

High School Here

I rambled on in my last entry about my childhood travels.

I came to live here at a very bad point in my life. We had been living the dream life I described before; we were headed 'back East' from California for our long-deserved stable home. At long last that one place to finally call 'home.'

That dream crashed just off I-70 in Columbia, Missouri. We had stopped for the night an hour away from St. Louis where dad's brother and mother were living. Dad died there. I will skip the details.

Both my dad and mom had been born in Pennsylvania. My father's father had been a doctor in western PA; my mom came from hardworking 'coal-crackers' in the central part of the state. I had only been here on infrequent weekend visits as I grew up. It was all new to me. It should have been no-big-deal as I had moved around my whole life. I knew what it was like to move into someplace where you don't know any body and are not related to anyone. That's how how everybody lives, right?

Wrong. The people I encountered when I got to school had all grown up with each other; their parents had, too. Their parents had, too. Their parents had, too. It was a tough time in my life personally; tough cultural adjustment, too.

My first day in the new school here kids would approach and ask, 'Where are you from?' I'd smile and say, 'I moved here from California.' They would take two steps back with wide-eyes and say, 'Oh, we know all about you people from out there.' I'd ask, 'Have you been there?' They would say, 'No.' I'd ask, 'ever been out west?' Again they would say, 'No.' I would ask, 'how far west have you been?' They would pause, think for a moment and answer, 'York.'

Growing Up Me

This evening's post began as a response to a new online friend who asked me the open question, 'tell me more about you.' I wasn't sure how to respond as he has some sense of my 'present.' I thought about my unusual childhood; a big part, I suppose of why I am 'me.'

Here's some of what I wrote...

I live here in Amishland but I am NOT from here. I was born in Boise, Idaho. My father was a West-Point grad and US Air Force pilot. Funny for me to think now that when I was born my dad's job was flying nuclear bombs around the world in the belly of a B-52. During the height of the Cold War my dad was a warrior protecting our rights and freedoms.

We moved around a lot when I was growing up. We only lived in Idaho for six months after I was born; we then moved to Seattle. We lived in Seattle for two years and then moved ALL THE WAY across the country to Cocoa Beach, Florida.

Life in Cocoa Beach was a young boy's dream. We lived directly across A1A (Florida's ocean-front highway) from the beach. As if that wasn't cool enough, if you walked across our street our neighbors' backyards faced across an ocean sound. We lived at the narrowest point of the barrier island. Patrick AFB

My dad was an electrical engineer by his degrees. While stationed at Patrick he flew an electronically-equipped C-130 that flew tracking flights for the space program. By the time I was four year old I knew what a 'gantry' was; by the time I was six had some concept of 'telemetry.'

It really was awesome living there. We knew all the launch schedules--manned and un-manned--and would watch from the backyard or walk across the highway to the beach. You could hear the waves on the beach from my bedroom window at night. Every nice day was a 'play' day on the beach. I suppose this is where the sun, the sand, and the water got into my blood.

We lived there until I was seven. We then moved to Montgomery, Alabama for 11 long months and then on to Alexandria, Virginia as dad got stationed at the Pentagon. I joke now that we lived in the DC area when it was still a very nice place to live; the Beltway really was a freeway. We could buzz over to the Officer's Club in Maryland in minutes; try that same route now. wink

Virginia was very nice. Our family thrived there. School was very cool as 'field trips' were to the Smithsonian. The commonwealth of Virginia is rightly proud of it's long heritage and place in the nation's history. Our house was built on what was touted as one of George Washington's five 'original' farms. Mount Vernon was very close by. I suppose while living there I developed some sense of history. Little did I know at the time that, through my dad and his job, I was witnessing it.

We lived in Virginia for almost five years. I went from before 3rd to the first part of 7th grade there. During the last year we lived there my dad was not home. He had gone off to Thailand to help in the Vietnam War. When he left he told us that he was going there to 'bomb' the Ho Chi Minh trail. We all assumed by 'bomb' he meant dropping explosives on the enemy. It's only recently that I discovered through online research that my dad was in Thailand as a 'nimrod.'

'Nimrod' was the code-name for a group of elite pilots who flew a plane called an A-26 from NKP, Thailand. Their mission was not to bomb-and-kill the enemy; their mission was surveillance. My dad was, in a sense, a spy. He flew his plane at very low altitude, at night dropping not bombs; but, instead, electronic sensors. These sensors reported back to the command post any movements along the trail of troops or materiel. When detected the 'real' bombers would come in. Pretty cool.

I suppose that's when I learned to want to know what's going on around the world. My life was affected by events a world-away. I had to try to understand; did my best to learn.

Dad came home from Thailand and we moved from Virginia to Omaha, Nebraska; Strategic Air Command Headquarters. Leaving the metro DC area for life on the Great Plains was not warmly received. The schools were good and it really wasn't as bad as we imagined. The winters were VERY cold and VERY windy. My blood 'thickened' there.

Dad was unhappy there. He had come home from the Vietnam effort disillusioned by the political influences on the War. He was taught at West Point if you are fighting a war; you are fighting to WIN it. When he came home he seemed to know; we weren't.

He was unhappy in his job in Omaha and put in for a transfer. He got new orders and brought the sad news home to us one night. We were headed to Grand Forks, ND. He had always told us that if you wanted to move someplace to request the place furthest away from where you really wanted to be. There was a collective family gasp at the news of our new destination.

I don't know what strings he pulled but he got the orders changed. We were now headed to California. Hallelujah!

I told the story of the trip from Nebraska and my feelings about California in a previous blog entry.

As you can tell, my childhood 'ride' was pretty cool. I had been exposed to so much. Not only was I a well-schooled kid; I was a well-traveled one, too. Then we moved here. Ugh.

My father retired from his twenty years of service in the Air Force on the first of May when I was 15. My sister had already headed 'back-east' to attend Penn State. Both my parents were born in PA and had always maintained legal residence there. I had only ever been here on brief visits to my grandparents.

My dad died five days after he retired on May 6th that year. We were traveling back east from California for him to take a job either near DC or for IBM up in Poughkeepsie, NY. Poughkeepsie was close to West Point and he really loved the area. I suppose my love of the river hills here may somehow be a reflection of him. I have not made the trip yet to West Point but have traveled close by. The Hudson passes through a glacier-carved river hills area; same thing with the river here.

I won't get into that story now; long story made short, that's how I came to be in Amishland. I suppose it's here that I learned the meaning of 'culture,' as I am not a part of this one. These local people are very different from me; for generations they haven't been anywhere, have no desire to go anywhere, either. I joke now we were THE FIRST family that EVER moved here from somewhere else!

It sure felt that way and now; as I have met A LOT of people on my job, 'culturally' it still does. I make some 'sport' now on my job of identifying locals from the people that have moved here from somewhere else. I am Very Good at it.

Given my life experience I am proud to say I am NOT from 'around here.' My world view does not include blinders, I really want to know what's over the next ridge! Sorry to say, not the locals here. As long as they have what they need; they don't care what's on the other side.

Just a brief of my childhood; the base from which I see things.

I hope all's well with everyone.
Talk to some of you soon.

Happy Easter

May the rebirth of the season touch you all!

Southwestern Shoreline

Today found me on a pleasure drive on a sunny, VERY windy day. I found myself, first, at a state park down along the river fifteen miles or so north of where the Susquehanna empties into the Chesapeake Bay in Maryland; fifteen miles or so from where I live, too. I then headed back towards home and stopped for the top two pics at another river-cliff overlook.

Hopefully, a good glimpse of the southwestern Lancaster County shoreline.

The river hills are close by and, no doubt, the countryside is very beautiful.

This is the side of Lancaster County most tourists never see.

Hope you like the pictures and are having a good weekend, too!

Mrs. S.

Today was a nice early Spring day here. The sun was shining; the birds were singing; some flowers are blooming now, too. It was a nice day to be out-and-about working.

I had one job that was scheduled between 1PM-3PM. I pride myself on being the Cable guy that is always on time. I stopped there early...about 12:20 PM and knocked lightly on the door. It appeared no one was home. I had a disconnect nearby to do; they go quickly. I would go do that and come back at 1PM.

When I returned I knocked a bit louder. A nice senior woman answered the door and asked, 'Were you here a short time ago?' I smiled and said, 'Yes.'
She said, 'I was washing vegetables and had my hands in the sink when you knocked...by the time I got to the door you were driving away. I was waving but you didn't see me.' Oh my.

I said, 'Ma'am, I am so sorry. I try to be on-time and if I am early I 'tread-lightly.'' Some people work shift-work and I wouldn't want to 'disturb.' She understood. I could tell she 'wasn't from around here.' She was in her late 70's and grandson was getting her the baseball package we carry.

I asked her where she was from and she said, 'Hoboken, New Jersey.' I smiled and said, 'What a cool place. I was just there the begining of December.' Her eyes got wide, she smiled and said, 'You were?' I said, 'Yes and I ate a good meal at some Italian restaurant there.' She asked, 'On Main Street?' I answered, 'Yes.' She tried to think of some names...lol. Bless her heart. I told her I wouldn't remember the name and explained we were on ZIP-car adventure to New Jersey from Manhattan. It was very cool as she understood 'all-that,' too.

I had a very nice time with her as I went about my job. I was saying my good-byes and she went to hand me a $5 bill. I told her, no. It was a pleasure to meet her; to keep her money. She said 'get yourself something to drink, thank you, you were very nice.' I smiled, thanked her and told her she didn't need to do that. She said she knew and 'go get something to drink.' We then had a brief conversation about the 'local' people. She completely understood. She really is a sweetheart. I knew when she told me she was from Hoboken; she had to be a Yankees fan. Guess what? She is! She complained that in New Jersey all the games would be on 'regular cable.' No doubt it was a nice gift from her grandson who lives closeby. I'm very glad to have been a part of it.

One of the human perks of my job that help me get out of bed every morning no matter how bad the weather forecast is. Every now-and-then you hit some people that are 'gems.' Publicly mentioned on here there's John-and-Lisa, Mr. and Mrs. D, and now I am happy to say; Mrs. S. I really had a nice time talking with her. I always like when the people sense they can be very comfortable with me. I'm happy to add Mrs S to the list.

Looks like rainy/windy day here tomorrow, ugh.
I'll manage to get through the eight potentially wet hours; I always do.
Then I have a three-day weekend. WOO HOO!

Hope you all had a good day.

Not sure where I will end up this weekend....

Weather Woes

The Spring-like weekend weather here all came crashing down late Sunday afternoon, literally. There was a confluence of a warm front and cold front that collided above this county that produced a violent rotating thunderstorm. There was golf-ball sized hail; very high winds and the National Weather Service determined it was an EF-1 tornado.

At my house it was a beautiful Sunday afternoon. After our harsh reminders of winter this year it was nice to finally sense that glow of Spring. The air was warm; the sun was strong. Some clouds came up; I saw the forecast. I knew a cold front was to pass through our area.

I was outside enjoying the day reading on a chaise lounge. I was trying to hear the songbirds from my backyard woods against the back-drop sounds of the neighbors-from-hell. I saw the clouds welling up and thought I'd wait until the rain hit me before I would go back inside. The weekend had been the long-awaited arrival of 'Spring fever.' I wanted to savor every moment.

I heard one of the LOUD children from next door say the words, 'tornado warning...' I looked up and the sky was pretty dark. I remembered my own local tornado experience which is the one you see in the pictures. I heard the thunder from the nearby storm. I decided to go in and check the Weather Channel.

There was a local tornado warning. Strong rotating cell. Here I had five minutes of very hard rain; five minutes of small hail and then the sun came out. Fifteen miles away from here a tornado touched down. It ran a few miles through a rural area. It took off some barn roofs; destroyed a few mobile homes. Luckily, no one was killed; three people were hospitalized.

I hope Spring is making a more gentle entrance where you are.

Enjoy the rise of the sun and the greening that's soon to come.

You have to love the colors of Spring. They are days away here now. It's very fun to look forward to; soon there will be vegetables growing in my garden, too.

Hope you all have are having a good week. I hope Spring has Sprung where you are, too; just not in such a destructive way.

More from me soon.

take care, have fun.

'night

*photo disclaimer - tornado photo was NOT of this recent storm. I took that photo back in 1989*