Sunday, March 30, 2014

Completing the Circle

Wednesday morning in Everett, I got up at 4:45. Coffee was already brewing, and I had packed most everything the night before. I was operating on six hour sleep, but I would have plenty of opportunity to snooze once I was on the train.

Small towns pass on the way to Seattle
Chance had to be dropped off at school and Jim had to get to work, so there was no way he could drive me into downtown Seattle to catch my train. Instead, he dropped me off at Mukilteo to take the Sounder (a commuter train) into King Street Station, where I would board the Coast Starlight for my return to Los Angeles.

The Sounder arrived as 6:56 on the dot, and I boarded with a few dozen other riders for the trip into Seattle. We arrived around 8:20, so I sat in the marble-clad waiting room, nodding off once or twice, until the train was called. There were two lines formed, one for coach passengers and one for sleeping car passengers. The second line was perhaps 20 people, while the coach line stretched along into the waiting room and doubled back on itself.

View from the King Street Station platform
The sleeping cars were boarded first, and I found my car with little trouble. The attendant was genial enough, but made no offer to help lug my bags up to my compartment. I was to find this was his M.O. for most of the trip. I managed my bags up the stairs and into my roomette, got myself situated and tried to get comfortable. (Three weeks of plane seats, unfamiliar beds and train rides had left my back sore and kinking.)

One of the features of the Coast Starlight is a Parlour Car, which is for the exclusive use of the sleeping car passengers. The Parlour Cars are actual cars from the old Super Chief, which used to ply its way from Los Angeles to Chicago before Amtrak was formed. Five of these cars were found in a Southern Pacific Railroad boneyard, and Amtrak rescued and refurbished them for use on this line.

In the Parlour Car, there are swiveling lounge chairs, banquettes with small tables for cocktails, a full bar and a half-dozen booths for dinner service. And although the passengers in the sleeper cars could opt to head one car down to the dining room for meals, slightly tastier fare was available in the Parlour Car. WiFi and two movies a day in the downstairs theater were also supposed to be available, but a last-minute swap in equipment meant these amenities were not available on our train.

Just as the train was pulling out of the station, at 9:35, Bob came by and offered me a split of champagne, which I graciously accepted. I noticed with some chagrin that my window was facing east, not west, so I would not be getting the spectacular ocean views once we got into California.

Debbie, the Parlour Car attendant stopped by a bit later, taking my order for lunch and letting me know about the Parlour Car services. Once the train was well on its way, I pulled out my laptop and started working on writing a story that's been in my head for the last couple years.

The 12:15 lunch seating rolled around and I was still writing. Debbie got on the train intercom and announced, "Mark, time to wake up and have lunch." By the time I finished my turkey panini, I was a celebrity of sorts in the sleeper cars.

I went back to my room and wrote a bit longer, then decided to pop in a DVD and watch "Come Back to the Five and Dime, Jimmy Dean, Jimmy Dean."

That afternoon, Bob stopped by to say he liked to make up the beds between 8 and 8:30. I told him I would probably not want mine done until 10 or 10:30. He didn't seem too happy about it, almost like I was there for his convenience and not the other way around.

Mist and forest in the Oregon mountains
Dinnertime rolled around: pot roast with wild rice pilaf. The Oregon mountains were moving past the window, covered with mist moving in and out of the coniferous forest. Out of dozens of shots, I have one good image suggesting how stunning the view was, even as the light was beginning to fade into night.

I returned to my room after dinner, watched the first part of the "LOTR: Fellowship of the Ring" DVD, and around 9 o'clock, I pushed the call button. Bob showed up 10 or 15 minutes later and made up the bed. After my evening ablutions (fairly quick on a moving train), I watched the rest of the movie and retired to bed.

I slept soundly and woke up early the next morning. In the night we had passed through Northern California and came into Emeryville around 8 a.m. I went to the Parlour Car for breakfast, but all Debbie had was an egg, bacon and croissant sandwich. It was a little on the stale side and obviously microwaved before being served up. While I was there, Debbie took my orders for lunch and dinner.

I knew that the rest of the ride (another 12 hours) was going to provide little in the way of scenery on my side of the train (and it was landscape I had traversed numerous times), so I went back to writing, breaking only for a lunch of vegetarian lasagna. After lunch, my back started to sing a song of strain and pain from the constant bumping and gyrating of the train, so I lowered the seats and stretched out for a nap, which lasted straight through the dinner service.

Around 7:30 I went to the Parlour Car, which was now closed for service, and gave Debbie a tip for all her attention and excellent work. I was hoping to talk her out of a soda, but she said everything was stowed.

According to my calculations (and those of the Amtrak app on my iPhone), the train would be getting in about a half an hour early, so I texted Jessie (who had insisted upon picking me up at the station) and let her know. As it turned out, she pulled into the station at the exact moment the train pulled in. And now the truth about Bob.

As we were pulling in, Bob stopped by the room of two pretty young women and asked if they needed help getting their luggage downstairs. They said no. There was also myself (no spring chicken at 60) and an elderly couple, at least in their 70s, who also might need some assistance, but he didn't even offer it. I got to watch as this dottering old man lugged his roll-around case down the twisting stairs, nearly losing his balance on several occasions. The old guy stopped in front of Bob, standing inside the train, and tipped him. Bob thanked him and watched the old guy wrestle his bags off the train and onto the platform. When it came my turn to leave, I gave Bob the nastiest, most steely gaze I could, hoisted my bags off the train myself and left him without so much as a fare-thee-well, much less a tip. (I had planned to toss him a quarter, but didn't have change with me.)

I took the stairwell down to the pedestrian corridor and made the short trek to the waiting area where Jessie greeted me with a big hug. We got to her car, put the luggage in the back, and I showed her the shortest route to the 110 (Pasadena) Freeway.

We talked about the trip on our drive to my house. She helped me in with the bags, and I told her she didn't have to stay. I'm assuming she had things to do at home, as she seemed ready to get back to what she was doing.

The house was in amazing shape. Aria had obviously been there earlier in the day, because the cats' litter box was clean and there was canned food out for the cats.

Marcel was the first to greet me, and he seemed annoyed and a little put out. Patty was furtive to begin with, but soon was coaxed to sit on the couch next to me. Once she got some petting, there was no stopping her, and she's been a pig for attention ever since. It was not long before I was unpacked, in my bunny suit and ready for bed. I stayed up long enough to watch the 11 o'clock news, see what the weather was going to be like for Friday, then I headed up to my very own bed and slept for a long, long time.

Friday was a day off, snoozing, posting the Everett entry to my blog and watching TV mindlessly. Saturday I organized my three weeks of back mail and caught up on "Upstairs, Downstairs," which I had started watching back in Wisconsin. Today I plan to organize myself for the next week and all the pickup chores and business meetings which will bring me up to speed after such a long absence.


I would not forgo the trip I've just taken for anything. It was a wonderful way to re-establish contact with family I hadn't seen in a long time, and a way to get out of myself and my life and routine in Pasadena. I feel fairly confident that I will be all right moving forward this year.

Saturday, March 29, 2014

The Final Visitation

The Empire Builder was a couple of hours late into Everett and Jim wasn't quite there when the train arrived around noon. It was a short ride from the train station to their home, where his wife Carla was waiting to greet me.

Carla at the bandstand in Snohomish.
Not losing any time, we hopped into the car and headed out to Snohomish, a small artsy village nearby. The main street was quaint, with restored old buildings and funky boutiques. The town sits on the Snohomish River.

A totem pole tucked
behind the bandstand
The day was overcast but there was no rain, so we strolled up the main street and down along the river path before getting back to the car and heading for Mukilteo, where the ferry to Whidby Island is located. We walked along the the beach on the Sound and passed by the historical lighthouse and watched the ferry arrive from the island.

It's clearly labeled: Mark's Building!
That evening we ate Chinese, bringing the remainder back for Chance, their 18-year-old son, who was deep in the machinations of a model U.N. weekend. He was the delegate from Australia and spoke of resolutions to train kangaroos to help those in need in developing countries and other such diplomatic falderal.

Jim and Carla
The bed in their guest room was blissfully firm, so I had a good night's rest and slept in until almost 10 the next morning. Jim put together an egg scramble with the leftover vegetables from the Chinese repast the night before, served up with fresh fruit and fresh-baked croissants. It was a real treat.

The lighthouse in Mukilteo
For our day trip, we returned to Mukilteo and actually boarded the ferry for a trip to drive around Whidby Island, starting first in Clinton (sort of a wide spot in the road with small neighborhoods nestled in the trees), then stopping at Langley, a sort of artists' colony with a large collection of retired hippies.

A gray whale spout from the ferry
We walked the center of Langley (about four blocks square) and stopped in to grab some lunch at a very nice place. Carla had the chicken liver mousse on toast points, I had their version of a croque monsieur and, honestly, I don't recall what Jim had (you can e-mail him and ask if it's really important to you).

Carla, Jim and a bronze in Langley
After lunch we drove around the island, checking out what seemed to be village after village of small communities. As we headed north, though, it got more populated, and Carla explained that the north end of the island was a naval air base. We stopped in at a convenience store/gas station so Carla could make a pit stop, and It was obvious from the clientele who came and went that the air base was not far away.

The real treat of the island, beyond Langley, was Deception Pass, where the sound narrows and the tidal currents become so fast you can see them as the water moves in and out. I shot numerous photos of the bridge and the waters, but resorted to video in order to capture the visual flow of the tidal currents.

Tulips from Jim's camera
From there we headed back toward to the mainland over a large bridge whose name I cannot recall (I really need to take notes on these excursions). Then there was a small detour to check out the daffodil and tulips that festoon the fields along the bottom land. There were some daffodils evident, but the fields were just yellow blobs in my photos, so Jim lent me some photos he had taken the previous year to show examples of how beautiful it wasn't because of the late winter this year.

Chance pre-video game
When we returned home, Chance had come back from the final assembly of the model U.N., and it was decided we should eat at Lucky Buffet, a place that had everything from sushi to Chinese to pizza to Mongolian stir fry; kind of an Asian themed smorgasbord with American favorites thrown in. While looking over the wonton and egg rolls I got a wide smile from a middle-aged gentleman returning to his seat, where another gentleman was seated. My gaydar went off, realizing here was a couple who had also pegged me. (Don't ask me how we do it, but gay men can sense one another in just about any social environment; sorry that can't be said for the rest of the population).

Jim built a hot tub in their back yard, and after dinner we both took a nice long soak, and I think I shocked Jim a little with my views on state's rights and the importance of limiting federal oversight to such issues as civil rights and constitutional issues, while leaving the interpretation and execution of formal programs to the states themselves. (I am socially extremely liberal, but my take on government tends to be on the conservative side.)

At this point, as with most blog entries, I have to stop and think what happened on which day. Sometimes I move a meal from one day to the next, or will recall watching a movie on one day when it really happened on another. As I said, I really should take notes.

My recollection of Monday was that I pretty much sat around and surfed the web looking at real estate prices in the Seattle area, on Whidby Island and near Everett. There were properties in my price range, but they were limited and not really in the areas that I thought might be good places to live. But I realize more research needs to be done.

I also had come across a few very nice lots near Langley, services already in place, and spent some time looking into prefabricated and modular housing options, seeing if perhaps something like that might be a solution for my new home. One of my fantasies has always to live in a geodesic dome. More research needed there, as well.

Robins raid the mulch in the front yard.
Monday night the rains came, and Tuesday Jim and Chance were at work and school. Carla had an eye appointment and was out and about until the afternoon. Chance got home from school, chatted for a bit and then headed to his video game. Carla spent most of the afternoon on the phone, but it was not out of rudeness.

One sad part of my visit was the fact that Carla was trying to handle her 91-year-old mother's post-operative care long distance, and it wasn't working so well. Her mother was just in hospital for surgery (I will spare you the dismal details) and was recovering well but not quite ready to be in her home. Kaiser (her health care provider) thought differently, though, and was discharging her without any support or supplemental care coverage (any aftercare at home would have to be provided by the family, of whom there are few if any other than Carla).

Carla's mother, Edith, can best be described as cantankerous, and in a most intractable way. So, after a week in the hospital, her fuse is very short, if not non-existent. Luckily, there are a couple caregivers in San Bernardino (her home town) who are visiting her and can look after her at home…but not full time. So Carla is flying down this week to organize, coordinate and help out.

After my experience with Steve's illness and death, my heart really goes out to her, and I'm even more impressed that she had the time to spend with me during my visit.

The saddest news of all came early Wednesday morning when I checked my e-mail. EVERETT

The Empire Builder was a couple of hours late into Everett and Jim wasn't quite there when the train arrived around noon. It was a short ride from the train station to their home, where his wife Carla was waiting to greet me.

Not losing any time, we hopped into the car and headed out to Snohomish, a small artsy village nearby. The main street was quaint, with restored old buildings and funky boutiques. The town sat on the Snohomish River.

The day was overcast but there was no rain, so we strolled up the main street and down along the river path before getting back to the car and heading for Mukilteo, where the ferry to Whideby Island is located. We walked along the the beach on the Sound and passed by the historical lighthouse and watched the ferry arrive from the island.

That evening we ate Chinese, bringing the remainder back for Chance, their 18-year-old son, who was deep in the machinations of a model U.N. weekend. He was the delegate from Australia and spoke of resolutions to train kangaroos to help those in need in developing countries and other such diplomatic falderal.

The bed in their guest room was blissfully firm, so I had a good night's rest and slept in until almost 10 the next morning. Jim put together an egg scramble with the leftover vegetables from the Chinese repast the night before, served up with fresh fruit and fresh-baked croissants. It was a real treat.

For our day trip, we returned to Mukilteo and actually boarded the ferry for a trip around Whidby Island, starting first in Clinton (sort of a wide spot in the road with small neighborhoods nestled in the trees), then stopping at Langley, a sort of artists' colony with a large collection of retired hippies.

We walked the center of Langley (about four blocks square) and stopped in to grab some lunch at a very nice place. Carla had the chicken liver mousse on toast points, I had their version of a croque monsieur and, honestly, I don't recall what Jim had (you can e-mail him and ask if it's really important to you).

After lunch we drove around the island, checking out what seemed to be village after village of small communities. As we headed north, though, it got more populated, and Carla explained that the north end of the island was a naval air base. We stopped in at a convenience store/gas station so Carla could make a pit stop, and It was obvious from the clientele who came and went that the air base was not far away.

The real treat of the island, beyond Langley, was Deception Pass, where the sound narrows and the tidal currents become so fast you can see them as the water moves in and out. I shot numerous photos of the bridge and the waters, but resorted to video in order to capture the visual flow of the tidal currents.

From there we headed back toward to the mainland over a large bridge whose name I cannot recall (I really need to take notes on these excursions). Then there was a small detour to check out the daffodil and tulips that festoon the fields along the bottom land. There were some daffodils evident, but the fields were just yellow blobs in my photos, so Jim lent me some photos he had taken the previous year to show examples of how beautiful it wasn't because of the late winter this year.

When we returned home, Chance had come back from the final assembly of the model U.N., and it was decided we should eat at Lucky Buffet, a place that had everything from sushi to Chinese to pizza to Mongolian stir fry; kind of an Asian themed smorgasbord
with American favorites thrown in. While looking over the wonton and egg rolls I got a wide smile from a middle-aged gentleman returning to his seat, where another gentleman was seated. My gaydar went off, realizing here was a couple who had also pegged me. (Don't ask me how we do it, but gay men can sense one another in just about any social environment; sorry that can't be said for the rest of the population).

Jim built a hot tub in their back yard, and after dinner we both took a nice long soak, and I think I shocked Jim a little with my views on state's rights and the importance of limiting federal oversight to such issues as civil rights and constitutional issues, while leaving the interpretation and execution of formal programs to the states themselves. (I am socially extremely liberal, but my take on government tends to be on the conservative side.)

At this point, as with most blog entries, I have to stop and think what happened on which day. Sometimes I move a meal from one day to the next, or will recall watching a movie on one day when it really happened on another. As I said, I really should take notes.

My recollection of Monday was that I pretty much sat around and surfed the web looking at real estate prices in the Seattle area, on Whidby Island and near Everett. There were properties in my price range, but they were limited and not really in the areas that I thought might be good places to live. But I realize more research needs to be done.

I also had come across a few very nice lots near Langley, services already in place, and spent some time looking into prefabricated and modular housing options, seeing if perhaps something like that might be a solution for my new home. One of my fantasies has always to live in a geodesic dome. More research needed there, as well.

Monday night the rains came, and Tuesday Jim and Chance were at work and school. Carla had an eye appointment and was out and about until the afternoon. Chance got home from school, chatted for a bit and then headed to his video game. Carla spent most of the afternoon on the phone, but it was not out of rudeness.

One sad part of my visit was the fact that Carla was trying to handle her 91-year-old mother's post-operative care long distance, and it wasn't working so well. Her mother was just in hospital for surgery (I will spare you the dismal details) and was recovering well but not quite ready to be in her home. Kaiser (her health care provider) thought differently, though, and was discharging her without any support or supplemental care coverage (any aftercare at home would have to be provided by the family, or whom there are few if any other than Carla).

Carla's mother, Edith, can best be described as cantankerous, and in a most intractable way. So, after a week in the hospital, her fuse is very short, if not non-existent. Luckily, there are a couple caregivers in San Bernardino (her home town) who are visiting her and can look after her at home…but not full time. So Carla is flying down this week to organize, coordinate and help out.

After my experience with Steve's illness and death, my heart really goes out to her, and I'm even more impressed that she had the time to spend with me during my visit.

The saddest news of all came early Wednesday morning when I checked my e-mail. There had been a massive landslide (nearly a mile wide) that had struck near Seattle as my train was arriving on Saturday. In my e-mail was a forwarded message from Cousin Beth verified that our Cousin, Tom Durnell, was almost certainly killed in the slide. His house was obliterated by the mud and debris. His wife was at work at the time of the slide, but Tom had retired and was most likely working in his wood shop at the time. Jim was just as shocked as I was, for he thought Tom's new home wasn't in the slide area at all.

While sitting at the dining room table with my coffee, rolling all this over in my head, I glanced at a stoneware plate that stood upright in the kitchen. It had "Coshocton, O." written across the top, with a stylized tree in the center. Then it hit me: that was the town where my Steve was born.

I don't know what that portends, but it smacks of metaphysical connections that I can only guess at for the moment.

Tuesday, March 25, 2014

Forty Hours Rockin' America

Long distance travel by train is a unique experience. For those who have not spent several days traveling across the country on a train, it's hard to explain the disorientation that occurs as the train moves from one station to the next, often not stopping for hours on end.

The front half of the Empire Builder and the entry to my sleeper car
There are no signposts, no way of telling exactly where you are or when the time zones change. The thin aisles and rocking motion of the train become your only constants, that and your surrounding accommodations. I had a roomette on the north side of the train, with a wide comfortable seat and (since I was the only person in the cabin) room to stow my luggage and spread out. 

One of the advantages of having sleeper car accommodations is a porter who is on call to take care of your needs and answer your questions. Another is the fact that all your meals in the dining car are included in the cost of your ticket. There was a lounge car on the train but it was filled with folks from the coach cars, so the roomette was much quieter, more relaxing and comfortable than spending my time in the common areas of the train.

A more "populated" stretch of track
The train (No. 11, the Empire Builder) departed La Crosse about 7:20 in the evening, so it was soon dark. Outside the windows, very little was observable except perhaps a few lights in the distance and an occasional warehouse or factory located by the tracks; everything else was open land hidden in the black of night.

Dragging my laptop computer through all those security checkpoints at the airports I'd visited paid off on the train. I sat back, popped in a DVD and watched a movie my first evening on the train. Around 10:30, I rang for the porter and had him make up my bed (created by folding the two facing seats flat and placing a thin mattress and bedding over them).

I find sleeping on a train a restful thing, especially when you're on the upper level of the car. The train rocks gently as it courses down the rails, and even rough tracks are reduced to mild bouncing. Oddly enough, it's only when the train stops moving that I would wake up. Again, nothing to see out the window except the immediate ground glowing from the lights emanating from the windows of the train.

Sunrise somwhere in the Dakotas
I left the curtains open on my window that evening, and the first lights of dawn awoke me. I grabbed my iPhone and took a shot of the sun rising over an empty landscape somewhere on the plains, then rolled over and went back to sleep.

That morning, I headed to the dining car and had breakfast with a woman and her two young sons (both with their noses buried in their iPads). Far be it for me to chide their mother about table manners and electronic devices, so I engaged her in conversation about their destination, which was White Fish, Montana. They were going there for a final ski trip of the season. I had a cheese omelet with home fries and a croissant, orange juice and coffee.

Long-frozen ground by the tracks
The rest of the morning was spent reclining in my cabin, staring out the window at the ever moving landscape. Winter still had ahold of the land here, and the white, cold world outside was beautiful in a bleak sort of way, leaving me to imagine what it must look like when warm and verdant once spring arrived.

My lunch companions were a woman who photographed for NASCAR (her French nails were edged with a checkered rally flag motif rather than the standard porcelain white) and a gentleman from Atlanta who was traveling to work in the oil fields in Montana.

I cannot explain the Canadian flag, but the locomotive was stunning.
My meal consisted of a garden salad and a large bowl of New England clam chowder, suitable for the weather outside. As if to reinforce the appropriateness of my meal choice, when we stopped in a town that had an old steam locomotive on display, it began to snow. Suddenly the world was filled with big fat flakes dancing and whirling in a gentle breeze.

I started watching Armistad Maupin's "Tales of the City" on DVD after lunch as the world outside became rolling hills leading into the Rockies. The porter came by to take my dinner reservations (I chose the 6:45 p.m. seating) and I reported to the dining car on time for a meal of herbed chicken with chocolate mousse for dessert. By the time I returned to the sleeper car, dusk was turning to dark.

Running water portends warmer climes at the coast.
I finished watching the miniseries, had my bed made and turned in by midnight, again with my curtain open. (In the middle of nowhere, there's no one outside to peer in). I remember waking up around 3 a.m. and looking out at dark outlines of coniferous trees silhouetted against a profusion of stars that one rarely sees in populated areas. It reminded me of the time Steve and I took a honeymoon trip to Baywood Park, walked by the bay and look up at the clear night.

"What's that?" Steve asked. "What's what?" I replied. "That streak in the sky," he said. A little stunned, I said, "The Milky Way." Having lived in the city all his life, he'd never really seen it.

I smiled at the memory, wept a little for missing Steve, hoped that he was somehow with me on this long trip and drifted off to sleep.

Our train snakes through Steven's Pass.
The train was scheduled to arrive in Everett, Washington around 9 a.m. the next morning, but conflicts with freight trains had sidetracked the Empire Builder for several hours over the last day, and we weren't due in until 11:30, so there would be time to pack after breakfast that morning.

I was greeted by an almost-empty dining car and actually had a table all to myself. The server came over (she had a clipped delivery for the diners but had softened to me over the trip) and I had scrambled eggs, bacon, home fries, croissant and orange juice. She didn't ask if I wanted coffee, but just came by and poured it. When I was finished, I left a $10 tip. She came over as I was getting up, so I handed it to her, and she was flabbergasted.

"Oh," she said, looking astonished at the bill in her hand, "Thank you." I replied, "Well, I didn't leave a tip after the meals, so I thought I'd give them to you at the end of the trip." The smile she gave me said I was her favorite customer on the train. I assume that people no longer tip on the trains, especially if the meals are included in the price of the ticket.

The snow here will not return anytime soon.
The rest of the morning was spent descending the mountains into the western side of Washington. The snow slowly started parting, the air obviously warmer outside, and soon we were in green passes and coming into town after town, though we did not stop. I started sending my brother Jim texts (he was to retrieve me from the station) about my arrival, making reference to things that passed outside my window.

One other thing about train travel is guessing at the names of the towns you pass by. At some point or another, you'll see a business that has the town's name incorporated into its own; hence the text, "Just passing Sultan Dental Center." I spotted a sign for the Evergreen Fairgrounds and texted: "Pygmy goat show today at the fairgrounds!" Jim's reply: "No, you can't have a pygmy goat."


My final text was: "I am here."

Sunday, March 23, 2014

Winter Won't Leave

The Tampa Airport was on the muggy side, even with the air conditioning, on the day I left Florida. The flight to Chicago-O'Hare Airport was packed, but it was only a couple hours long, and not too uncomfortable. At O'Hare, with the distances to be traversed from one gate to another, I had very little time between flights. The plane to Minneapolis (also packed) was on time, and I took to following the very exact directions to get from my gate to the shuttle terminal, where various ground transport services operate.

The shuttle bay in Minneapolis/St. Paul Airport
I was on a Go Rochester shuttle that went to, you guessed it, Rochester (home of the Mayo Clinic). The shuttle was also packed, with a contingent of Amish, all dressed in black and bonnets, filling the back seats, a very large lesbian couple from Connecticut on their way to the Mayo Clinic, and a woman traveling alone, and another gentleman who was headed to Winona.

Although it was well below freezing, the van was warm and the conversation was fairly lively on the one-hour trip to Rochester, with the Amish man (I believe it was a family group) even adding comments about having traveled on the Coast Starlight in the past.

Everything's ready for spring — except the weather.
In Rochester, all but the two of us heading for Winona dispersed at the hotel. We were transferred to a second shuttle which took us to two drop-off spots in Winona. I got off at Perkins Restaurant, where Steve picked me up. (I was later to learn Amanda was living in Winona.) When I left the shuttle, the other passenger was fast asleep.

Steve and Pam at the train station
On the drive home, we stopped at the Subway store in Galesville so I could pick up a sandwich for dinner. We arrived in Ettrick to find Steve's wife, Pam, busily grading papers. I had half my sandwich and we talked and caught up on things.

Sunday morning Steve and Pam went to church while I slept in. I discovered that coffee and donuts were the morning staple in the McDougal/Solberg home. Their house is a 140-year-old structure, with Glen and Avis, Pam's parents, living on the first floor of the home, and Steve and Pam residing upstairs in a fairly spacious six rooms.

Emily always takes a good picture
In the afternoon, Amanda dropped by with her daughter Natalie, now 3 years old. She bounced into the living room, then stopped dead when she saw me. She looked from Grandpa (Steve) to me and did a double take. (I didn't expect her to remember me, as she was a little over 1 year old when she last saw me.) Once I was introduced as her Uncle Mark, though, she was up and sitting in my lap is short order, realizing I was another relative who would dote on her.

A little later Emily, Amanda's younger sister, stopped by with her boyfriend, Jim, who seemed like a really great guy. In conversations with Steve later on, it was obvious that he was impressed with Jim, noting that, "He's the only boyfriend Emily's had who wasn't intimidated by me." Jim is the head of the Ettrick volunteer fire department, so I don't think much would intimidate him.

Steve outside the Beach in Ettrick
It was cold in Ettrick, with daytime highs in the upper 20s and low 30s and nighttime lows down into the teens. You could see the whole world — earth, plants, air — wanting to begin spring, but it was just too cold. This being so, we didn't get out a whole lot, but that was OK with me, as I planned to do a fair amount of vegetating while on vacation. That evening, Amanda, Natalie, Steve and I went to the Beach, a local watering hole with basic pub food, and had a dinner of hamburgers and a variety basket of deep-fried sides (onion rings, jo-jo potatoes and deep-fried cheese curds).

Bucolic scenes present themselves at every turn.
Monday we had tentatively planned to head up to Wabeshau to visit the National Eagle Center, where they have bald eagles on display, but it was supposed to be snowing (up to 4") up there on Monday afternoon, so we decided to stay home. We switched off between streaming Netflix and the cable channels, but there wasn't much to be watched on the television. Some of the time Pam would sit on the couch grading papers on her laptop while Steve and I sat in the easy chairs, both surfing the web. It was all very 21st century.

That evening, Avis had put together a dinner of brats, potato salad and beans. I have to say that I cannot find brats of that quality or flavor anywhere in California.

Culver's is fast food, Tri-State style (frozen custard!)
Tuesday I had arranged to check out some houses in the La Crosse area with a local Realtor, and Steve and Amanda decided to come along. I didn't want to take up a lot of the guy's time, as this was merely a reconnaissance mission, with no real purchasing in mind at the moment. I picked the guy because his name was Gaylord Zastrow and his head shot showed his age (late 60s or early 70s).

Steve and I drove into La Crosse early and met Amanda for lunch at a Culver's, which is a fast food place native to the Tri-State area (Minnesota, Wisconsin and Iowa). We met the Realtor at his office and headed out, seeing one house in the northern part of town, another in Onalaska (just north of La Crosse) and one on the south side of town. All were within my price range and rather nice. After about an hour and a half, we bid adieu to Gaylord, Amanda to Winona and Steve and I returned to Ettrick, where Avis was beginning what would become a wonderful spaghetti dinner.

View from the Eagle Center in Wabeshau.
Again, it had been chilly day, but I wasn't really too worried about it. First in Montreal and Keeseville, now here; I was realizing how little the cold bothered me. As a treat for me, it started snowing lightly as the sun set. Steve went to bed early, I was talking to Pam about "Downton Abbey," and she suggested I start watching "Upstairs, Downstairs" streaming on Netflix. I was hooked.

Columbia gets a fresh rabbit
One thing I was worried about was my back. The bed I was sleeping in was extremely soft, and I was waking up with lower back aches that were almost debilitating. Steve commented that they had a firmer bed in Pam's sewing room, but I didn't want to put them through making up another bed, so I let it slide. Also, the furniture in the living room is old and low to the ground, which exacerbated the back condition. I could move around and walk off most of the soreness and cramping in the muscle, but any period of rest would bring it back once I tried to stand up.

A collection of rare toy kitchens
Wednesday, we decided to go to the Eagle Center, snow or no snow, and headed up to Wabeshau. We had some blowing snow across the highway as we drove, and Amanda came along. The center sits on the Mississippi River at a spot where the wild eagles nest and hunt. The center itself had several birds that they could not return to captivity, and they were trained for presentation to the public. The one eagle we saw discussed was Columbia.

Vintage toy robots on display
Since we were in the area, we stopped off at Larks Toys, but not before visiting another Culver's so I could try their pork tenderloin sandwich. Larks Toys is a store that specializes in older style and vintage type toy lines. They also have an extensive and impressive collection of real vintage toys, as well as an indoor carousel and a miniature golf course (closed due to snow coverage). They also had a fudge counter, and I broke the back, buying eight pieces for about $20. I thought it was rather extravagant, but the woman at the counter pointed out that one piece of fudge weighs a quarter pound.

A selfie first for me and Natalie
On our way returning to Ettrick, we stopped off at Amanda's home in Winona to visit. I wanted to get a selfie of me and Natalie for the blog, and also Amanda, a licensed massage therapist, offered to take care of my back problems with a massage. Her therapy worked magic (though I was to find it was short lived), and not only did I get the selfie I had wanted, but I also got a mother-and-child of Amanda and Natalie that is probably the best snapshot taken during my entire trip.

"Nattie P" and Amanda strike a pose.
Wednesday night we kind of scrounged dinner for ourselves (leftover brats and beans). I got things ready for washing my load of laundry Thursday. I watched a couple more episodes of "Upstairs, Downstairs," then went to bed.

Thursday was laundry day for me, as well as my departure date from Ettrick. Once I was packed, we headed for La Crosse and stopped in to see Connie, a friend of Pam's that I'd met on one of her trips to the Coast. Connie designs some really stunning jewelry, and I was telling her she should think about doing a line for men, since she's very skilled with working in metals. Small, subtle lapel pins, or neck pieces that can be worn in lieu of a tie for more formal occasions.

Look closely and you can see spring green budding in those trees.
Time was running short, so Steve, Pam and I went to Fayze's in downtown to grab a bite before I left. After eating about half the dinner, we had to ask for boxes for the remainder of the food. Steve drove me to the train station while Pam dealt with the leftovers and joined us there.

Bucolic scenes are everywhere
I took Steve and Amanda and Natalie showed up a few minutes after we arrived, and the wait was short, as the train was on time. Natalie was convinced that it was she who was going on the train, but we quickly diverted this notion. When the train pulled into the station, I found my sleeper car in short order and boarded the train. My room was on the opposite side of the train, so there was no waving from the window as the train pulled out. In a few minutes, I had found homes for all my things in the roomette, and settled in for the long ride to Everett and my visit with my brother Jim, his wife Carla and their son Chance.


Tuesday, March 18, 2014

Like No Place On Earth

The trip from Keeseville to Sarasota was fairly uneventful. One more trip across the Canadian border to the airport in Montreal (and one more trip through U.S. customs, Canadian customs and the ever-popular TSA security screening).

My gate in Montreal was, as usual, the very last one in a very long terminal, so there was ample walking and almost nothing to do once I got there. I sat and reflected that this would be the last French I would be hearing for a while. The plane boarded on time and we landed a few minutes early at my one stop, La Guardia Airport.

True to form, my trek at La Guardia was from the very end of one terminal to the center of the airport and then out to the very end of yet another terminal. When I finally arrived at my flight's gate in the Delta terminal, I encountered a most bizarre sight: a forest of iPads.

Look how these little glowing tablets suck in everyone like shiny black holes.
iPads everywhere. Each and every seat in the waiting area had an iPad sitting in front of it (and there were very few chairs for simply sitting and waiting). In the middle of the terminal arm was a bar and bistro setup called Empire Tavern. And at each seat was (you guessed it) an iPad. I sat down, not for a drink, but to get a bite to eat. The server came over and explained I had to order my food and drink on the iPad and pay for it with a credit card (no cash accepted). After pushing many buttons, I managed to order a burger cordon bleu and a Diet Coke for a measly $17. Soon, they were calling my flight, and I was again early into Tampa.

Jay and Cousin Sandy
I was actually headed to Sarasota, where my Cousin Sandy and her husband Jay have retired. It has been years since I last saw Jay, as my last trip to New York (their home before retiring) coincided with a medical conference he was attending and we just missed one another. But he had no problem spotting me and I made out his visage through the tinting on the car windows. The ride back to Sarasota was a little over an hour, so we had time to catch up on retired life and extended vacations.

It was dark when I landed in Tampa and dark when we got to their home. Sandy was there with open arms, and again I felt as though we'd just seen each other, although it's been years.


A panorama shot of the canal (left) leading into the bay (far right).
Their house sits on the end of a canal right on the bay, literally two feet above sea level. One of the things we were talking about was insurance, and we swapped info on the pricing of flood insurance (Florida) and earthquake insurance (California), and I think California came out the cheaper coverage.


The ficus tree in the front yard has grown into a banyan-like behemoth.
Their front yard is walled and gated, and when you enter from the street it's like walking into a set for "Jurassic Park." The first thing you encounter is a huge ficus tree in the center of the space, circled by a brick walkway. There is a profusion of various exotic plants mixed with more common tropical plants, and the impression is more of a park than a yard.


Heron statues and Chinese pots
are among the home's visual delights.
The house itself has obviously grown over the years, much as the tree, and even after three days of visiting with them, I was still finding new things on the walls or tucked onto shelves that I had not noticed before. And every single thing has its own look (and probably a story to go with it). The rooms are open to one another, and out back is the lanai (what we in California call a patio) which borders the canal.

The evening I got there it was on the humid side, so even with a temperature in the 60s, I was still sweating slightly behind the ears. Luckily, there was a ceiling fan in my room, so with a little moving air I was quite comfortable.

I slept in on Wednesday which was delicious. Sandy had scheduled a meeting with a local Realtor (also named Sandy), so Realtor Sandy and I drove around looking at houses in my price range: There are lots and lots of bungalows built in the 1950s and '60s, and most of the neighborhoods seemed very nice. I was a little leery of all the screened-in porches and swimming pools in the back yards; one might almost get a feeling of being caged in to save oneself from the bugs and insects that seem to dominate the ecosystem. It rained some while house hunting, so the mugginess of the day before had returned when Realtor Sandy dropped me off at Jay and Sandy's.

Later, in the early evening, Jay and I were standing out on the lanai when he spotted two dolphins who had swum up the canal looking for fish. The water wasn't clear enough to track them as they swam, so it was mere luck that I got a shot of them at all. They didn't stay long, and soon swam back to the bay. After dinner, we watched an Indian film titled "Water."

Thursday I slept until 2:30 in the afternoon, just as I had in Keeseville. I suspect there is major neural reorganization going on in my head, which would account for the 12-hour periods of sound sleep I've been experiencing. Or it could be jet lag. Who knows.

A weekly jazz concert in the Gallery
gardens at the Ringling Museum.
In any case, Sandy and I drove around Sarasota, more the downtown core, and we stopped by a thrift store where she picked up a VHS recorder and some food storage containers. She was eyeing a three-foot tall nutcracker but fought the urge to purchase. We went to the Asolo Theater, where she exchanged some tickets, then we strolled across the street to the Ringling Museum, where she signed up for membership. We then walked over to the Galleries to hear the weekly jazz concert.

Jay joined us in short order, and we had a picnic on the grounds in the Dwarf Garden before heading into the theater to watch a documentary titled "Flood," about the great flood of 1927. It was compiled entirely of archival footage, some on the edge of extinction when rescued, and had only an accompanying score and no narration.

I play "Find Waldo:
Ocean Garbage Edition."
On Friday, Jay took out a rat to thaw (one of the things they have in the house is a large, very docile snake). We then drove around town, this time with Jay at the wheel, showing off the world-renowned beaches and surrounding communities. We stopped in Bradenton and visited the South Florida Museum, which was quite an eclectic space. We saw Snooty, the manatee who sort of laid in his pool and let the caretaker push sweet potatoes in his mouth.

Delusional Elderly
There was a great film on the universe at the planetarium. It was narrated by Tom Hanks and had mind-blowing graphics. There was a special exhibit on sea garbage, as well as the standing exhibits of the history and biology of the western Florida seaboard.

SNAKE HANDLER!
On the way home, I forced my hand and insisted on taking Jay and Sandy out for dinner, which Sandy had vehemently opposed throughout my visit. Always gracious, she acquiesced and we stopped to eat at Yummy House, which turned out to be a great Chinese restaurant. What it lacked in ambiance it more than made up for in taste and freshness.

Upon return home, Jay brought out the snake (I can't remember its name) to feed it the now-thawed rodent. I got to handle the reptile, but it was Jay upon whom it really doted. Maybe it was because he smelled like thawed rat.

That evening, Sandy introduced me to Ted.com, a site specializing in lectures and talks, many of them fascinating.

I packed before retiring on Friday, and around 10 a.m. Saturday morning, Sandy and I got in the car, my bags in tow, and headed back up to Tampa Airport and my flight to Minneapolis. That, of course, will be the next entry.

Friday, March 14, 2014

I Fart in Your General Direction

View from LAX Terminal 2.
As promised, I am making blog entries while on vacation. Right now, I'm sitting in Rick and Candy's living room in Keeseville. It's nice to just kick back and relax.

Like most trips, this one started with a plane ride, which means taking the shuttle to LAX. Since I was flying to another country (Montreal), I had to get to the terminal three hours early. As usual, it took me all of 15 minutes to get through security and the gate I was leaving from was about 100 feet from the security station, so there was lots of time to sit in the waiting area and wait.

 Waiting in le salle d'attente at LAX.
Of course, I sat with a cup of Starbucks joe and a croissant, dozed off several times and waited patiently for the flight. I heard more and more French being spoken around me. It was an Air Canada flight. But the accent was odd to my ear. It was course around the edges, not as refined as the Parisian French I am used to hearing. And I would be hearing it for the next several days.

Snowy night in Montreal
When I arrived in Montreal, there was the passage through customs, then the descent into the baggage claim area (I did not have any checked bags). I was looking around, trying to see if I could find Candy and Rick. I pulled out my trusty iPhone and dialed their number, knowing I'd have a nice international charge on my bill come next month. Rick answered his phone. I had to cup my free ear in order to hear. "I'm in the baggage claim area," I said. "There's a Starbucks and I'm near Gate 25 and 26."

Candy and Rick at dinner.
I started turning around to look for them, only to see Rick standing up, no more than three feet behind me, looking around as well, both with shocked looks on our faces when we saw one another. There was laughing and hugs, and we went to the car and drove into Montreal proper and, after a bit of misdirected travel, ended up at the St. Suplice hotel, where we overnighted. We walked out and had dinner in a very nice restaurant and hit the sack.

The Notre Dame basilica in Montreal.
On Saturday, we walked around the neighborhood, grabbed some breakfast, then got the car and moved it near the theater, where we were attending a play. There was enough time that we visited the Notre Dame basilica, which was an amazing piece of architecture, but definitely of New World design and construction. Afterwards, we did some window shopping (I bought the necessary refrigerator magnet as souvenir) and ended up back at the theater.

A lovely theater, a very lame production.
The play was more of a workshop piece, really, dealing with something awful that had happened to some Quebec women in the early 20th century. It was all told by a narrator and no one ever really explained what the whole story was about. If I knew more about Canadian history, perhaps it would have made sense to me, but Rick, Candy and I were all kind of mystified by the whole thing. I would give it a 3 out of 10.

After the show, we got into the car and headed to the border, went through U.S. customs and headed for Keeseville. We stopped off at Corey and Daphne's home (Daphne is Rick's daughter) and Corey made a great dinner of Tilapia and brown rice. This is the first time I had met either of them, or their kids, Dominique and Josh (their third offspring was not present, so I can't remember his name).

During a trip to the market, a ceremonial bottle of La Phroiag was purchased in my honor, and I dutifully downed a sizable amount. It was not necessary to pour me into the car when we left for Rick and Candy's, but I have to admit that the rest of the evening was rather a blur.

I discovered that Corey and Rick were both trying to quit smoking, as I am, so of course we all went out onto the front porch, had a cigarette, and talked about how hard it was to quit. This scenario would be repeated numerous times over my stay, either on Corey's front porch or Rick's. I suppose you could consider it a type of support group.

Rick and Candy's home in Keeseville.
The next morning I got up with much less of a hangover than I thought I would have. Rick explained that he had given me some B vitamin tablets before retiring, and that had mitigated a lot of the suffering I might have had. There wasn't a whole lot to do in Keeseville, and the fact that it was 28°F outside made staying in for the day reasonable. That evening, Corey and Daphne brought the kids over for dinner, we watched some TV and everyone headed home. I think we headed to bed around 11 that evening.

View from the "smoking porch."
I slept 12 hours at least that night, waking up after noon. I can remember waking up once during that time, so I figured I needed the rest. The weather had warmed up to the upper 30s, so the smoke breaks to the front porch became longer in duration, if not in number. The finest part of any visit is the visiting, and we did that extensively and well. It's so great to see people you love and realize that all the time spent apart doesn't seem to have an effect on the friendship and intimacy you share.

Sometime in the afternoon we fit in doing a load of laundry (my wardrobe was planned for one load of laundry in each location, sort of recycling the clothes I brought and allowing me to take only one carry-on and avoid checking luggage altogether). We would have to leave the next morning around 10 a.m. in order to get me across the border, through U.S. customs and to the airport on time.

As usual, my experience with customs and security it that I get through the entire process in under 15 minutes, then have a couple hours to wait for my flight to board. This time was no different. I got to the gate and sat for an hour or so before the flight boarded (on time), and I was off to my next destination: Tampa Airport, where I would be retrieved for my visit to Jay and Sandy in Sarasota, where I am polishing and posting this entry. Next entry: Sunshine and Sarasota.