Going Walk About
Fortieth Class Reunion
I’m not really going to be walking, some walking maybe but not for the most part. I’m going back home. At least where home was when I was growing up; Ontario, Ohio. It will be a journey through many states and back in time. Way back in time.
This trip might be a little rushed to start, but I want to stop and take pictures along the way. Granted Interstates aren’t known for their scenic routes, still, I’ve seen things in the past that were interesting but I was “in a hurry” moving from point A to point B. This time, I want to enjoy the journey as much as the various destinations along the way.
This also means I’ll be somewhat MIA from the Tucson Real Estate scene for a couple of weeks. (It will survive without me or my commentary on the state of the market I’m sure.)
Going Home Again
There has been a flood of memories over the past six months as I planned this trip. Lots of things I had forgotten about my childhood slowing seeping to the surface. Old photos being looked at again as memory pnumonics.
Mom died suddenly the beginning of March from Leukemia. That prompted even more memories flooding back of my childhood and a conviction I wanted to make this trip. Dad has been in the hospital for a couple of weeks. He has cronic colitis, or he did. They took out his colon two days ago. Thought I might have to cancel the trip, but he is in great hands and doing fine. Can eat food without pain for the first time in months. He is a big fan of this trip and can’t wait to see the pictures especially the ones from back home.
So tomorrow morning about 6 am. I hit the road, first planned stop after breakfast is Texas Canyon and the boulders that look like Idaho potatoes. I’ve always wanted to stop there. I hope it isn’t too hot by the time I get there.
This post then becomes more a journal entry than my typical random thought which is why it placed in life observations. More along the way. I think I’m going to enjoy going walk about.
Men Make Little Noises?
I was told recently by a member of the other side of the gene pool that men make noises when they are tired of waiting. I didn’t know that. I must have missed school that day or was late getting back from the playground when we had that lesson.
It appears from what my friend said there are a series of noises which indicate varying degrees of impatience or “let’s move along dear” sounds. Some are little grunts, and she didn’t go into detail of what others might be.
I checked on Amazon to see if I could order a “Set of Noises Men Make When Tired of Waiting” but nothing was returned in the search results.
This has left me for my entire life using alternatives.
- I bring a book or magazine to read
- I find a seat or bench in the store
- I find a place up front by the door and count the tile or ceiling squares
- I wait to see how many people leave the store before “We” are ready to leave the store
- I count how many people go through the security thingy before someone sets off the alarm and doesn’t quite know what to do. Some Freeze, some go back with bags open, some ignore it like someone’s car alarm just went off.
I never thought of making noises, low, guttural or otherwise.
After a life time of alternatives I don’t know if I could adjust to the noise making routines. Especially if I was already using an alternative. Just sitting on a bench in the mall making noises might be construed as something else especially if they were grunting sounds, low or otherwise.
The Ohio Mailbox and The Snow Plow
It was like an annual rite of passage. The snow would fall and continue to build up in the ditches as the snowplows would come down the road as fast as they could navigate and giant plums of snow would cascade from the front of the plow at times appearing to blind the driver!
Every year it seemed a driver would get too close to the ditch and would take out (destroy completely) the mailbox and post.
Over the years dad tired a variety of different configurations.
- Set the pole back further
- Raise the pole up and extend an arm
- Paint the pole a bright red
- Get a bigger box (easier to see)
None of these seemed to work every winter same ritual.
It was after I had left home and gone off to college I noticed once again Dad had a new mailbox and post. But this wasn’t just a mailbox post it was like he had sawn off a 12″ tree and mounted the box on top of it.
There was a slight curve to the post putting the box exactly where the mailman (yes, back then they were all called mailmen) could reach it easily from their mail truck.
When I got in the house I asked Dad about the new mailbox (always a bone of contetion. He said last year it was snapped off as usual and this past fall he had to cut down a large locust tree. (Locust trees are hard wood and back in Ohio the bark is stripped from them and they make exellent fence posts.)
He decided it was going to be his new mailbox post instead of fuel for his stove in the garage.
He cut it so it was almost 10 feet long and dug one very deep hole and poured cement around the post and mounted the mailbox on top of the post.
I ask him if he thought this one would last. He said “Yep, I think this one will last.”
I asked why he thought so, here is what he said.
“About a week ago we had a couple of snow storms and the trucks were coming down the road every couple of days. Then we had one really big storm and the ditches were already getting pretty full. I was watching from the window when the truck came down the road and I could tell he was going to hit the mailbox post. He did, and when he did his truck spun right around in the road and landed in the ditch. My mailbox post never moved. I don’t think he will be hitting my post again.”
When mom and dad moved from Ohio to Tucson that mailbox and post were still at the end of their driveway. It was never hit again by a passing snowplow : )
