The Lookout

I changed dad to "granddad" in this poem because I wanted to communicate age and make the poem more generic and timeless. However, as you can see in the picture, dad truly does ride the streets of Sac City.

The Lookout

Old men like to be of use.

Just having ready opinions

at Kathy’s Korner Café doesn’t satisfy.

So when granddad rides his bike

with us as we walk the streets

of Sac City, population 3000,

he’s our ever-vigilant lookout.

“Three cars on the left,” he calls.

Every corner, every road,

his eyes search the distance looking

for danger as we walk in the streets

of this three dog town. “Wait!”

Granddad spies a car turning

onto our street five blocks away.

Even walking, we benefit from mirrors,

huge glass reflectors on his handle bars.

He announces all traffic—coming, going,

of either lane. Not much happening

in this small Iowa town. But he rides

along with us, enjoying the breeze,

the crisp air, landscape and foliage,

and keeping his loved ones safe.

Loving Iowa

Although I am a West Coast woman now, I have a big corner of my heart saved for Iowa.

I grew up in Storm Lake, Iowa, an agricultural community with about 10,000 people during the time I lived there. In the fifties, it was one of those little Mayberry communities with a wide, tree-lined main street right down to the gorgeous three mile wide lake. I attended one of the two high schools--St. Mary's, although I burned to know what life would be like at the big public high school several blocks away. The town was very different then: the little Presbyterian college had a smaller footprint, there was no racial diversity in this town that is now half Hispanic. Parks surrounded the lake which was full of bass, pike, catfish, bullheads, and crappies.

My childhood was happy there, so I am delighted when I get a chance to go to my first hometown. Storm Lake looks quite similar today. Despite the recession, there were few empty store fronts. We visited my old church, St. Mary's and were delighted in the beautiful remodeling. No confessionals in 2010, but there was a reconciliation room. We had lunch at King's Pointe, the new waterpark resort built on the lake by the public golf course. We all walked along the lake, visited my old college, and did a bit of shopping.

Sometime around 2004 Mom and Dad moved from Storm Lake to Sac City to live with my brother Mike and his wife Carol. It was safer and easier on dad who had been taking care of mom for some years. Mike had spent half his life on the road traveling to Storm Lake to check on the folks and do their errands; so in many ways it was easier for him as well.

Sac City is another small town of about 3000 based on agriculture. Today it seems like only senior citizens live there, and it is true that retired farmers move to their favorite small town after they leave their farms. There is only one grocery store, a cafe that never opens, a post office, drug store, dentist. Whereas this town is blessed to have a hospital and a good medical staff, many nearby towns don't have one. There are many main line churches; unfortunately the smaller and older congregations can barely keep their huge churches in decent repair.

Iowa's consolidation of schools has had a disastrous affect on these small communities. It is impossible to run a complete school system with their tax base. These communities are usually 5 to 10 miles apart, so the solution is to have one community provide the elementary school, another, like Sac City, provide the middle school, and yet another, like Lakeview, provide the high school. Many of the young families have decided to settle in the bigger towns, or they have decided to work in the big towns and live in a smaller community close by. Consequently, the small communities have lost many facilities. We drove about 15 miles to find a theatre that provided almost current movies. Lake City has a fine theatre run by volunteers. We saw a fine film for $2 a piece. The profits go into paying the heat, film rent, and keeping the theatre in good shape.

It is a good, quiet life. Each day we walked around town, often right down the middle of the street. There were few children and fewer cars. It was a great place for my 97 year old dad to ride his 3 wheeled bicycle. It was a great place to relax and enjoy a beautiful fall.

Koolatron Katastrophe

The other evening our extended family had a big laugh on me. A great faux pas and a great story:

Chuck and I had planned a long car trip to the Midwest, so we bought a highly recommended 12 volt cooler so we would not be at the mercy of bad road side diners. Our initial trip with the cooler was to the Seattle area where we were going to see our son Will off for his mountaineering in the Rainier area. We had cooled and packed the cooler in our living room, and it was loaded. We had loaded in and out of our car several times and were very pleased. Will needed his own provisions for his climb, so he went shopping for climbing food.

At this point, I should divulge that our new cooler also doubles as a food warmer. I remember quickly reading the instructions and being very puzzled about the process of reversing the polarity so it would heat. (Maybe you know where this is going!)

We had a room at a lovely Victorian Inn between Ashford and Paradise lodge. We unloaded and moved into the little suite, and I quickly plugged in the cooler so we could get some dinner down the road. Will had me put in several package of cheeses and some packages of hot smoked salmon. Dinner was okay, and we returned to our room, read for awhile, and turned in early because it had been a long day.

The next morning at 6:30 AM Will came in holding a plastic package that dangled limply in his hand. It was his cheese. He pointed to the cooler. I opened the cooler and could practically feel steam. There were his two packages of hot, hot-smoked salmon. His cheese was melted and liquid in the cellophane. And everything we had in the "cooler" was cooked. Among the casualties:

• An unopened package of Chinese barbecued pork
• A package of dried prunes
• A bag of peaches turned into peach soup.
• A package of lettuce
• A bottle of garlic vinaigrette
• 2 packages of lunch meat
• 3 packages of cheese
• 1 jar of pepper jelly
• bottles of mustard and catsup
• Several containers of yogurt
• 1 bottle of beer (almost too hot to touch)
• 1 bottled of Spanish sparkling wine with a very bent cork (I think that it was 5 minutes from blowing its top.)

Did I say it was a very big cooler?

Will desperately needed to replace his lost food for the climb which was about to start in an hour, so Chuck and I start out down the highway looking for backpacking food. We drove several miles before we were stopped by a herd of elk in the middle of the road. (How often does one find a herd of elk when actually looking for them? Never!) It was quite dark out so the camera back in the room probably wouldn't have gotten a good shot of this huge bull elk and his herd of girls anyway. Soon we were on our way. With persistence we were able to find some vacuum-packed tuna, some packages of cheese, some jerky, and some fruit leather.

Will accepted our peace offering, and started up the mountain. Back at the Inn, we cleaned out the cooler. We threw the whole mess into the dumpster. I closely examined the plug on the cooler. There was an arrow on one end of the plug, and a plug with a red side and a blue side on the other end. What were the odds that in plugging it in (about 4 times), each time until the 9th I had selected the lucky blue side. Unfortunately for all of us, the last time I had connected to the red or heat side.

I thought I could blame all of this on a manual written in Skri Lanka, but when I read it after I returned home, it was clear that I had been sloppy in my preparation. I can guarantee you it is a mistake I won't make again.

A Night At Zinzani's

Perhaps the most exciting date Chuck and I have had in a decade was our evening at Zinzani's. We were to be guests of our friends the Dziekonskis, and would you believe it? We picked Seattle's busiest weekend--a Seafair parade and opera's opening night--all happening in the same area around 200 Mercer. Chuck and I decided to take the bus in from where we were staying in the Wallingford area, and so we spent several hours walking around the Seattle Center listening to bands and watching the fountain. That was an incredibly beautiful time right there, and Chuck was able to have a few deja vu moments watching the bands prepare for the parade.

At 6:30 we went over to Zinzani's where we gave them our name, then we were escorted to the Producer's booth where there were menus and plates waiting for us. We had a view of the entire restaurant, as well as the central area where trapeze acts were to be staged. They planned to serve a five course meal over three hours while performing continuous acts and music.

The food was delicious. Great salads, Chuck enjoyed a steak and I had halibut. Every meal that was served was a big production with the waiters dancing out with their dishes. When the entree was served, after they deposited the dishes, they danced around with the covers using them as cymbals. The cast was huge and professional. There was also an opera singer, a blues singer, a magician, trapeze performers, contortionists, and best of all--a great quartet that played through the three hour dinner. Tom was the violinist. We had no idea that he was a great jazz musician as well as a classical musician. There was a pianist, a percussionist, and a horn player--flute, clarinet, accordion (not exactly a horn.)

After this beautiful evening, we still had to get back to the Wallingford District. We accomplished that by catching the monorail into downtown Seattle. Then we caught the bus to Wallingford. The downtown was full of cops--mounted police, gang units--all dealing with problems left over from the parade. Pretty exciting for a couple of seniors used to being in bed by ten.

Fodder For My "To Do" List

A few weeks ago I was making a skirt smaller in the waist when my 45 year old Sears Roebuck machine jammed up and refused to sew. As I pondered how I was going to get that heavy machine (it weighed between 30 pounds and 150 pounds--depending on how strong I felt when I moved it or dead-lifted it from my closet) to the repairman again. Luckily I took time to reflect if I would ever need that machine again. Being able to shorten Chuck's trousers, mend things, maybe do a bit of quilting--I decided it was time for a light machine. So shopping I went.

Replacing my old machine now living at Goodwill was not the cheap task I thought it would be. Several weeks later I still needed a machine. Chuck and I were in Portland visiting our children the Knopps when I discovered that my grandson Eric worked at the Montavilla Sewing and Vacuum store two blocks from their house. I accompanied Eric to work and discovered a very professional and well-equipped sewing department with twenty to thirty machines set up and ready to sew. Prior research had suggested that Janome made an excellent machine, so I was able to purchase an affordable machine with a needle-threader at an excellent discount. They were running an excellent sale--my good luck. I was so happy that I carried that machine the two blocks back to our children's home.

A few weeks later I was able to unpack it and complete a fun project. Note the table cloth in the upper right picture. I was able to make the table cloth (except for the applique which was done by my friend Barbara Kinsman) for our Britt picnic season. It is great to have a good machine, and I am thankful to the Montavilla Sewing center and Sarah for helping me find one. Although I don't want to totally blow Christmas, I will admit that I have projects for Christmas in the works.

Music Family

Of the friends that move in and out of our lives, Chuck and I treasure the friendships of musicians--those people who have dedicated their lives to the humble life style that goes along with playing in major symphonies and music groups, teaching future musicians, and sharing their art with the world.

At the top are pictures of Tom and Virginia Dziekonski, musicians who were part of our family for years. Beside being top cello and violin players, they are also some of the brightest and most hilarious musicians we have ever known. When they joined us each summer our lives were filled with mosquito dives in our pool, midnight debates over Economist articles, music jokes, and crazy parties (I am thinking about the Nixon Vinaigrette party we had the year they played the Lincoln tribute.) The three weeks they lived with us were the highlight of our summer.

Lower right is Britt musician Lew Sligh, fantastic flautist and piccolo player. Lew joined our family for a few years during the summer Britt musical festival. May Zia, lower left, is another Britt musician who has been a friend eating and picnicking with us for years. We have watched her children grow and now start college.

Like so many friends who share our love of music, we connect with these dear souls when we can, but they will forever be a part of our family.

A Symphony of Food

Summer blessings definitely include the time we spend on the Britt hill in Jacksonville picnicking with dear friends and music lovers. This has become one of my favorite rituals. After five to twenty emails we decide on our menu for an evening, then we all show up with our favorite dishes. We would wear the label of “foodies” proudly. Here are some of the summer dishes:

· Cioppino with clams, mussels, calamari, octopus, crab, shrimp, prawns & Alaska Pollock, over penne pasta

· white bean salad with sun-dried tomato vinaigrette and tri-tip

· Quinoa salad with roasted garlic dressing and chopped veggys

· mango sorbet with blueberry short-cake

· dolmas

· fruit salad

· barbecued pork

Obviously it is all we can do to avoid gaining a pound or two during symphony season. Foremost are the laughs we have as we talk about our week and share a few glasses of very good wine.

Since Chuck and I are now sitting on the handicap pad (Chuck's hearing is so bad that he can miss whole symphony movements if he isn't close) we now sit almost in the front row. Such closeness to the orchestra has involved me in the music unlike any concerts I have ever attended.

I wrote the following poem in an attempt to express how meaningful the experience was for me.

Evening Under The Stars

The chaos of tuning instruments

greets us as we take front seats.

Silence. The baton slices the air,

sforzando brass bellow, blowing

me back against my chair. Yes,

I can feel the orchestra. As the bass

drone menacingly, their strings buzz,

pulling me forward, tickling my ears.

As the bass bounce, viola and flute

sing melody and counter melody;

melodies wed, becoming gigantic

sound puzzles. Tympani

crescendos rock over me.

After the pop of drum, piccolo,

and horns, the violin bows ricochet,

their sweet pulses blending into the stars.

Sound

building, building, until

the music's purity fills my soul,

and my breath becomes a gasp.

There are no individuals here:

we are one with the song.

A pause

commanded by a measured rest.

A pause

filled by crickets singing to the stars.

The final chord

and I hold out my hands to catch the notes.

The Spice of Life

There are many people who can eat oatmeal day after day, or read book after book by the same author, or walk the same neighborhood day after day. I am not one of them. Variety and surprise are my friends. I love to try new dishes when I cook, so thank God there are endless ways to cook quinoa. My son laughs at me because I often vary a recipe before I have even cooked it once.

So the monthly haircut has been a real bore lately. My beautician, Cheri Workman, is a genius with hair, so many times in our ten or twelve year relationship I have had her surprise me with something new and different. Back when I taught eighth grade, (been awhile, okay), she once shaved a lightning bolt on the back of my head. A fond memory. It was great time. Lately though, we have caved into my hair's personality. You know--its curliness, cowlicks, thick spots, thin spots. Today we played around with my hair. Using machines, straightening irons, product, we achieved the impossible! This naturally curly haired person has straight hair. Spiky straight hair.

I wore it to a church meeting tonight and gained lots of laughs. My husband Chuck was shocked and startled. I put the picture on Facebook and received a record number of comments--all favorable except for the friend who compared me to a dog with a spiky cut. Whatever the reactions, I have enjoyed having variety and humor in my life.

Me Bad

The first Sunday of August is traditionally our family reunion day. It is a great time connecting to family and enjoying a picnic. Before I was diagnosed with diabetes, it was always a delightful meal of potato or pasta salad with delicious grilled turkey dogs. This year we tried to do without those delicacies, but at my request, Chuck's daughter Tami brought Lay's baked potato chips.

I love potato chips. The only time I eat them is at the family reunion. I haven't bought a bag in years. For the first time I read the label. One serving was nine chips. So, I laid out nine chips and thought I was strong enough to stop there. I ate eleven and a half. If the temptation is there, I will probably give in to it.

One of my good friends allows herself some chocolate sometimes. After 3 months of successful dieting and eating, I bought a bag of candy and tried having a piece now and then. That is definitely not my nature. If it is in the house, I will eat it. I have learned that if I have a dish that is left over and on my NO list, I will eat it. So I need to give it away before it enters the house.

A crisis situation provides a window into the true mettle of a person. My failure to control impulses could be a stumbling block to my desire to be healthy despite diabetes. Obviously I must trick myself--never bringing temptation into the house is my first line of defense.

Tornado or Flood?

The other day while I was shopping at Wal-Mart, I received a call from my brother in Iowa. They were in the basement during a Tornado watch. It was an interesting conversation that brought back memories of Iowa's storm warnings--an all too common experience.

This Dark and Stormy Night


blackness replaces the shadows
that usually float on the west wall.
Pelting rain dents the aluminum
window shutters just before
clouds shoot hail onto the roof.


The blanket over my head
blocks out the alarm’s glow,
but not the high pitched wail
of the town’s emergency siren.
It’s a steady screech, warning
this Iowa town of flood,
and with tonight’s blast, a tornado.


We all grab our robes first,
then jeans and sweaters as
we head toward the basement.
We take special care with
granddad. He descends slowly,
testing step after step. Lights
flicker and dim. Darkness.


We grope our way to couches
in the ping pong room. Guarded
by the strongest basement walls,
we exchange lame jokes, stories
about last year’s storms, and compose
mental grocery lists. It’s four A.M.


When the all clear blows
an hour later, we help granddad
upstairs to the kitchen as the lights
sputter and shine. Scrambled eggs
and bacon anyone? We’ll collect
shingles and yard debris later.

Politics As Usual

The unfortunate situation of Shirley Sherrod should be a lesson for journalists, politicians, and voters everywhere. Fox network showed an piece of a speech she gave to a NAACP meeting. Unfortunately the editing took words out of context, twisting them to show she had racial bias against whites rather than her message that race is not as important as empowering the poor and exploited. Shirley lost her job and her reputation was sullied because of that story, but the situation shows how sloppy our thought and research processes have become.

No one checked the story. No one talked with Shirley.

I could spend some time blaming Fox's editorial policy for this mistake, but it is only a small part of the problem. We are all at fault. I get innumerable political commentaries in emails. How many of them do I check? Just a few. We should all research and check ALL of the story facts all of the time. A overwhelming burden? True. The implication is that we should check the facts of stories with which we agree and those which we question. That is the only way we can be sure we know and understand what we are talking about. Educators have always taught critical thinking and good logic, but applying those skills in today's media market is not easy. When it is possible to Google a topic and get two million references, the need to check facts seems daunting. Journalists have the responsibility to do this, however, and no one reporting on Shirley's speech should have done so without watching the entire speech.

Our technological advances are a waste if we don't use them.

Someday we should also address those people who gain political advantage by twisting their opponents' statements. No President or politican is safe from this contemporary strategy. Personally, I hope there is a special corner in Hell for such political liars.

Birthday Number 70

I haven't spent a second deciding what I would do or be in my 70th year, but that birthday arrived just the same on June 18. There is something formidable about those birthdays ending in 0. Expectations. The work, transitions of retirement, my first poetry book, all are part of a past decade. Gone. Forgotten.

Seventy could be the beginning of old age. On the other hand, each day we are all older than the day before. Reflecting on age, I believe we are as old as we allow ourselves to be. With plenty of exercise, good food, and lots of interesting projects, the seventies should resemble the sixties and the eighties. Perhaps just a bit more relaxed.

Thank God for good friends and soul sisters. I have been fortunate to belong to several writing groups. My poetry group had a fantastic birthday party for me at our last meeting. Below, a poem written for me fills me with hope and encourages me to go boldly into the next decade. I thought today that if I were to have an eightieth birthday party, it should be poems and readings--wisdom for the next decade.

A Toast to Maryann

First, forget everything you’ve learned
about turning 70,
about black sheep and cracked pots.

Just say “yes” to the glorious anatomy of a simile,
drawing friends as little circles of overlapping similarities.

Together, we drink from the delicate soup of your whimsy,
served with a sly wink,
savoring the morsels that nourish our being.

A toast to you, Maryann;
to the cook who follows no recipe,
but throwing mysterious spices into the pot
somehow transforms everyday ingredients, and
serves up such tasty, unexpected delights
to us, your hungry guests.

Suzanne Frey
June, 2010


Here is a poem written by another dear friend. Very clever:

Wow! With Today's birthday, Maryann becomes seventy.
Now some would say, these are years a-plenty,
But I say, "No," she deserves much more.
She should still brighten this world at one hundred-four.

Alan Axtell. (I hope he is right!)

Whacked

A gorgeous trumpet vine
winds around my front door,
dropping bell-shaped blossoms
on my door step. Everyday
I sweep their dead brown bodies
into a tan grocery bag, then
perform ritual dumpster burial.

Encouraged by persistent
spring showers, the vine
multiplied madly, sending
tendrils into gutters and cracks,
aspiring to the roof and skies,
snaking into the boxwood bushes,
and whacking my forehead
when I leave my home.

There are boundaries, you know.
Mr. Trumpet vine’s arrogance
begs a lesson. He must learn
his place. Armed with clippers,
tentatively a snip here,
cautiously a cut there,
until left balances right:
trim becomes prune and shape.

Today the green vine twines
round my door-—smaller,
decorous, and well-behaved.
Golden bright flowers
dazzling like sunshine gone.

Anomaly

She doesn’t understand me.
She claims I am different,
unlike any of their friends or relatives.
The cracked pot on the shelf.
The black sheep in the field.
The inexplicable picture on the wall.

Shy and introverted,
I had few friends in school.
The smart kid. The lonely kid.
The thinking “outside the box” kid.
Even mother complained
I wasn’t normal like the other girls.
She said her friends told her that.

There must be a right way
and a wrong way to think.
The perfect answer to life’s
questions and problems.
My replies are never
the anticipated response.
“That’s a joke, right?”
“Are you serious?”
“Hmm.”

Despite rejection, disconnected
images and thoughts still rush past,
too rapid and numerous to sort
into “acceptable,” “questionable,”
and “more honesty then they need.
Some details are too poetic to speak.
How distressing I risk disgrace
if I share what my soul knows.

Asheville to the Smoky Mountains

Asheville is a charming mountain town that reminds me of my home in Ashland. In the foothills of the Appalachian mountains (also called the Blue Ridge Mountains) the Cherokee were the first settlers until some adventurers from the Morristown settlement wandered over in about 1797. This was largely tobacco growing country until George Vanderbuilt decided to build a home on 8000 acres of his property in 1889. After the Biltmore became a destination for the rich and famous with its 250 rooms, the Grove Inn was built. Since Obama was vacationing there while we were in the Comfort Inn, I'd say that the Grove still has its appeal.

After we arrived in town, we parked the car and took a walk past the 1930's art decco city hall, the theatre where Charlton Heston directed a play as a young man, the boarding house of Thomas Wolfe's mom where Wolfe spent his youth. I decided to put one of his novels on my reading list because it had been years since I had read You Can't Go Home Again. (He did write about Asheville, and the fact he tried to disguise the name in his unflattering accounts has not kept Asheville from memorializing him.

After Asheville, we traveled toward the Smokies. We kept thinking that we would outrun the resorts and hotels, but since Asheville and the Smokies are so beautiful, the whole area has been commercialized. We stopped in Cherokee, a small community that houses a museum of that Indian nation, and enjoyed the exhibits. Then we stopped at the native craft store across the street. There were beautiful displays of artists and their work as well as valuable baskets and ware for sale. We moved on and drove as far into the Smokies as it deemed prudent considering the time we needed to drive back to Atlanta. It was a rainy day, and much of the mountain range was in fog. So we headed “home.”

This trip has been an interesting window into the Southeast. Despite the fact I was sick with allergies most of the time, I really enjoyed talking to the southerners and studying their history. If we ever get a chance to go back, I definitely want to spend more time in west North Carolina. It is a gorgeous place.

We are home now after driving 3600 miles. We had some beautiful moments with great new and old friends. We were greated by chilling weather and snow on the mountain.

3000 Miles Of Food

Travelers need to eat. We have done very well in that category. Most of the food was inexpensive, There were good meals and there were horrid meals. Sometimes the need to feed a diabetic husband got in the way of an intelligent choice.

Horrid

TGI Fridays was one of the worst places for a senior citizen (and perhaps anyone else) to stop. We were in the Keys and well past time to eat. There was no senior menu, so we decided to split a meal. We selected the steak, shrimp combo, and I had a extra side salad. The salad was small, the steak was pre-salted with tons of butter and sodium. The steak was overcooked. Even the shrimp were salted. The restaurant may have a good bar, but it had little else that pleased us.

Pretty Darn Good

In Montgomery, Alabama, we stopped at Lek's Railroad Thai. The food was fresh, with crunchy veggys, tasty sauces, for a very reasonable price.

Georgia had several very inexpensive and delicious restaurants: The Bamboo Curtain was a small take out restaurant with several tables. The best $6 meal around. Then we really hit the jackpot at Kikko' Asian Buffet. We normally don't do buffets, but this one was $6, so we felt we wouldn't lose money. There were over 100 items of delicious and well-prepared food. My meal included salmon, barbecued chicken, a great salad with apples and cucumbers. Great eats in Savannah, but we didn't gain 20 lbs eating Paula Dean's special dishes or spend a fortune doing it.

In Atlanta we found the Landmark Diner. Known for its incredible cakes, it also served very generous portions of pot roast or leg of lamb. Chuck and I would split a dinner and even enjoyed a slice of caramel mouse cake.

Somewhere in North Carolina we found Melvin's Barbecue. Barbecue is a big specialty in the south, so we tried this restaurant that had both eat in service and a drive up window. (And heavenly smells.) We ordered pork platters, but I had a side of fried okra. I couldn't imagine what fried okra would taste like, so I was surprised to find that it was pieces of okra, breaded, and deep fried. Very sinful, but very tasty.

When we were at the Keys in Florida, I received a recommendation from a guy at a gas station who just happened to be a chef. He suggested the Conch House, so we followed his directions to a little restaurant in a house hidden in the trees. Our meal was fish tacos with yellowtail fish, and homemade chips. Perhaps the best part was their homemade key lime pie. Excellent flavor.

Best Ambiance

We took Waldie and Carolyn to their choice of restaurants. It was a seafood restaurant on the gulf that they used to enjoy a lot before a hurricane had taken it out. The new Angelo's still had a wonderful view of the bridge and gulf, and even better seafood. Since the restaurant had its own fishing boats, they had very fresh fish, and it was beautifully prepared. Chuck and I shared a stuffed grouper, and savored the incredible sauce and the scallop and shrimp stuffing.

Perhaps the best part of the trip was returning home feeling well-fed, but not over-fed.

The Browns

My husband Chuck has friends--Bill and Mary Brown-- he taught with in Sitka, Alaska, way back in the early 50's. After he and the Browns left Alaska, they kept their friendship alive by visiting each other and sharing good times. The Browns would drive to Hoquiam, and both families would enjoy clam digging and the ocean beaches. The Chuck would drive his family to California, and they would enjoy Disneyland and life in a sunny place less rainy than Washington.

Now 60 years later they are having a joyful reunion here in Wake Forest where Bill and Mary live with their children Pastor Scott Brown, his wife Deborah, and their beautiful children. Their home is an apartment in an immense barn with rooms around the eaves of the great room. There is a huge stone fireplace which was constructed from the stones of an old abandoned house on Scott's 120 acres. There are three natural ponds on the land, a few pastured cows, and stands of timber on the rolling hills. We have enjoyed a church picnic, complete with softball, ultimate frisbee, and volleyball. Sunday morning we all worshiped at Hope Baptist Church which meets at Tuxedo Junction, a Wake Forest ballroom. After many memories, laughs, and some prayer time, we are off to the Smokey Mountains.

Charleston and North

Charleston is just a hop and jump north of Savannah. We dropped off the freeway at the Visitor Center in Charleston only to find the parking lot was full. My hero, Chuck the incredible driver, parallel parked on a side street for free. There was only an inch or so on each bumper, plus it had to be the only free place in the city. We snagged a good map at the visitor's center and decided to walk what looked like a short ways to the Battery, a park on the bay. We walked about four blocks admiring large buildings, old buildings, when Maryann struck up a conversation with a city cop who was heading the same direction. We were at the Four Corners of Law. He pointed out the Federal building, the State building, a church (God's law), and the city hall we were standing by, each on a corner. This incredibly generous man proceeded to give us a tour of the newly renovated building. The main council room was restored to what it was in the 1700's, complete with the school desk-like tables. The art in the room was noteable with paintings of Andrew Jackson, John Calhoun, and an 8 million dollar painting of George Washington. The focus of the room was the painting of Washington, but this was the second painting of Washington by that artist. Washington had visited Charleston and posed for the artist who painted a nice likeness in front of a horse whose head was over his right shoulder. Unfortunately Washington didn't like the painting, so the artist painted a second one which is the one hanging in the council chambers. This painting of Washington is just like the first except for the horse. In this painting, the horse's rear is over his shoulder, and the tail is up. Well, you get the artist's message.

Then we started toward the bay again, walking past beautiful Charleston mansions. Meeting Street smelled of horse urine because of all the horse drawn tour wagons, but other than that, it was a beautiful walk past huge homes with balconies on the sides—either the West or South to take advantage of shade. By the time we reached the bay and a view of Fort Sumpter—that three story fort in the middle of the bay, we were really bushed. We looked for bus stops, only to find there weren't any. (We found out later that the bus stops had been changed, but our old map from the visitor's center had not.) So we hired a bike taxi to take us back to our car. Wise investment.

We drove through Myrtle Beach on our way to Wilmington, NC. So many expensive restaurants, so many golf courses. My brother would have loved it.

Savannah

We expected to love Savannah, but we had no idea how different it would be from St. Augustine just a few miles away. I knew the homes would be big and grand, but I had no idea they would be three story giants that are more like banks or libraries. Of course not all homes were mansions, but three story row homes lined up next to the more stately homes. We arrived in Savannah on Bay Street and parked in front of what used to be the famous cotton exchange which helped make Savannah's rail and commercial success. We walked along the river and imagined the ships coming in full of bricks for ballast, unload, and then leave with bales of cotton. Those old bricks are now worth about $6. a piece. Then we drove the historic district, taking note of the charming squares (24 in all) that occur every few blocks. The squares have fountains, or statues in memory of founders like Olglethorpe. We parked the car and walked in Forsyth Park, stopping to admire the fountain. The live oaks and the Spanish Moss made beautiful canopy walkways.

The Savannah History center pesented an excellent film on important points in Savannah history. Their displays were excellent too. It was interesting to me that the Indians in this area built circular homes with thatched grass roofs. There were odd displays, like Forest Gump's bench. Chuck was taken with the World War II display and the items---mess kit, mirror, M1 carbine, M1 rifle—which were once part of his life and are now a history exhibit. Chuck discovered he couldn't remember his rifle number anymore, a number he had blazoned in his memory for years.

Our best adventure was our morning at Fort Pulaski on the island of Cockspur. Fort Pulaski was built by the Union, occupied by the Confederates after Georgia succeeded, then a part of the Union conquests when Olmstead surrendered after the rifled canons blew a wall to smitherines. The Union mainly used the fort as a prison for 600 Confederate officers. The moat was interesting because it was tidal. The 7 ft deep water could be added or flushed out with adjustable gates. The human sewage of the fort drained into the moat, so it was really one big comode. It was Robert E Lee's first job design the drainage system for the island. The entire fort—which took 18 years and a million dollars to build—had fascinating brickwork and structure.

It was a great visit, and it is onward to Charleston.

St. Augustine

St. Augustine is steeped in history: at age 444 it has the longest history of any city in the United States. It was founded September 8, 1565, and named for the saint whose feast was that day. Under the control of Spain the settlement grew on this land that was first discovered by Ponce de Leon. In order to protect his settlement, Admiral Menendez had to fight off the French, Sir Francis Drake, hurricanes, fire, the British, piracy, and illegal trade. After control passed back and forth between countries, St. Augustine finally became part of the United States in 1821.

We were very fortunate to have E & B hosts there, but outside of town a few miles in the International World of Golf. This was a very interesting place where there is a big golf museum, streets dedicated to golfers, some retail stores dedicated specifically to golfers, and several world class golf courses, including Saw Grass. Our new friends Bill and Anita lived in a development close but not attached to the golf complex, for they were sailors, not golfers. Their home was built along a decorative lake and had a nice view out their family room. Their home still had that “new-just-built” smell, and better yet, a guest room with a new bed and its own bathroom. We slept like the weary travelers we were. We really enjoyed Bill and Anita as well as a dinner with them at a very fashionable and excellent restaurant on the bay.

Our visit of the historic town included most of the first buildings in the country. First we visited the Castill0 de San Marcos, an early fortress started in 1739 for defense. More than once the settlement hid behind the walls made of coquina, a soft limestone which contains pieces of shells and coral fragments. We saw a small wooden building built in the 1750's which is probably one of the oldest school buildings.

In addition to the first settlement artifacts, there are fantastic remains from the Henry Flagler era.

Flagler was a partner with Rockefeller in Standard Oil who looked for a warm winter resort for an ailing wife. (He had several wives.) After falling in love with the St. Augustine area, he built a beautiful hotel there, added a railroad, invited all his rich New York friends to spend a season there, and then added other hotels, churches, and services. The Ponce de Leon Hotel has beautiful Tiffany windows, Tiffany chandeliers, and beautiful carved woodwork. He later built the Alcazar Hotel, which had a 19^th century spa in it and a huge pool the size of a gym with a floating platform for a band to entertain diners on the surrounding decks. In 1948 Otto Lightner, publisher of Hobbies magazine, bought the building and turned it into a museum of his collections of collections. We enjoyed displays of Tiffany windows and glass, cigar wrappers, purses, toasters, as well as other objects. Then we visited the Cathedral and Basilica of St. Augustine built in 1887. All in all, it was a delightful visit to a town crammed with tourists and clanging tourist trains.