Well, to say I've been inconsistent at blogging is an understatement. My last entry was January 20, 2007. I supposed because I write so much in my various Word documents, e.g., journal, poetry, stories, story lines, political opinon, that I'm all written out when it comes to this blog. So, I'm going to blog about what everyone really wants to read: me.
Let's start with the basics today. I'm 59 years old...yes, 59 for real, and like Jack Benny that is the number at which I have ended any further revelations of my age. If it's all that important to you in the future, do the math. I'm a white male, separated from my wife for the past six years. We were under the same roof for almost 18 years but I had to move out for several reasons, which I may or may not write about at some point. We have two daughters, 21 and 18. Yes, I know what some are thinking: this guy is pretty old to have daughters that young. He should be a grandfather by now. Well, hopefuly the grandfather part, which I'm looking forward to happening, will hold off until my daughters are ready to handle their own children. At this point, they are struggling to handle their own lives.
My older daughter is a junior at a prestigious and totally-out-of-our-financial-capabability-to-pay school in Boston. Can you say "paying off student loans for the rest of her life"? She's home for the summer, working at a restaurant out on Philly's "Main Line", having paid her dues over the past two years at the original Cheers, f/k/a Bull & Finches, in Boston. She's not very happy being home, because her childhood friends have been replaced by new friends at college, only one of whom lives in the area and she spends most of her summer at Bible camp. Not that there's anything wrong with that. Her only other friend in the neighborhood is working all summer at the south Jersey "shore", as we Delaware Valley natives call it. My daughter - let's call her E - had the opportunity to work there with free housing provided but she's not a shore person.
So, home for only a week she is trying her best to adjust for the 2 months or so that she'll be here, before she and a her college friend drive cross country for a fall semester/internship in L.A. That might give you an inkling of the field in which she is hoping to find a career. After a semester in L.A., she returns to Boston for her final semester. The wife and I - we're only separated, remember? and we're still good friends - will get out to see her in L.A. at some point, calling it a "parents' weekend" kind of thing. We've done that for the past 3 years in Boston and have come to love that town, cow-path street plan nothwithstanding. I grew up in Philly, so I've seen some of the nation's most historical sites. Yet, maybe because it's my hometown, Philly doesn't have the feel of history for me the way Boston does.
I've been to and through Independence Hall and the other sites in "Olde City", as well as to Valley Forge. I'd say the most alive historical site in our area that I've visited is the Gettysburgh battlefield. I was lucky enough to go with a friend who is a Civil War buff and on a day when there were very few tourists. I stood at the spot where Pickett gave the order to charge and at a spot where Confederate soldiers breached the Union line. We stood atop Little Roundtop -- or was it Big Roundtop -- and looked down on the battlefield from this prime Union held position. One of my most prized photos is a shot of my friend and me sitting atop a boulder on what is probably the most important hill of the whole Civil War, my inabilty to recall its name notwithstanding. For me, Gettysburgh was, indeed, what Lincoln called it: ground consecrated by 'the brave men, living and dead, who fought here, (they) have consecrated it, far above our poor power to add or detract." The Gettysburgh battlefield and cemetary breathe with the cries of men wounded and dying, and with the simple, disciplined words of the soon-to-be martyred President.
I had a similar feeling when we walked to the Old North Church one evening when we were visiting Boston. It is brightly lit at night, yet standing and staring up at the tower, I felt the darkness of that night when one of the most important beacons in the struggle for liberty was held aloft. A poem from elementary school days came to life for me. My wife and daughter are not necessarily taken by such sights the way I am, which may be just due to my general lunacy. As of today, I've been able to see the Old North Church only from the outside. Perhaps on our next, and possibly final, visit to Boston I'll get to go in and, if it's permitted, stand in that belfry on the spot where history was not only made but where it becomes animated.
As much as any city or town that has been home to great historical events, you can walk around Boston and almost literally stumble upon something that helped shape our country's foundations. For me, one of those sites was Paul Revere's house. The three of us were out for a walk, doing a little shopping. My daughter, now an old if somewhat blaise hand at the sites of Boston, said that Paul Revere's house was a couple blocks away. So, we followed the signs and soon we were standing in front of Revere's Boston home. He'd lived in a few different places, but I believe this was the house that he, a former silversmith, settled into and from which he conducted some of the affairs of his up-and-down copper foundry business, which became in the end quite successful. It is in this house, I think, that Revere died. Now, forgive the "I believe" and "I think", but the fact of the matter is that we didn't do the whole tour of the house as the line was rather long. I'm remembering off the top of my head some of what I read on plaques and signs and cheating a bit via Wikipedia.
There is a vibrancy in Boston beyond the history that saturates the city. It is home, of course, to some of the country's finest colleges and universities and it is also quite a tourist hotspot. My daughter E. has told me that at Cheers (she works there, remember?) the place is pretty much just tourists. They have a souvenir shop, peddling lots of things tied into the TV show as well as some simple Boston memorabilia. When I was there, there was a large cardboard cut-out of Norm, sitting on a barstool holding a mug. Needless to say, I had to have my picture taken beside ol' Norm. Yeah, "turista!!!" Anyway, my daughter tells us that all the servers get asked the question, "Do you know my name?", playing off the show's theme song that lyricizes about a "place where everybody knows your name." E. says that the servers often say no but also frequently attempt a "Yes, of course. You're Sue (or Mike)". The law of probability gives them the occasional correct name, which of course stuns the customer. But E. also says that some customers actually seem offended that the server doesn't know their name. Is it possible that these people think that the words of a TV theme song are factual? It kind of reminds me of when I worked at TV Guide and people would write to the magazine demanding to know "why did you took my favorite show off the air?!?" I take it for granted that people can separate reality from fiction, but then again this is a nation that twice overwhelming elected a master of blurring those lines in the form of Ronald Reagan. Nice guy, funny man but...well, I won't go into politics at this point but you can probably get some sense of my political sensibilities. I'm a radical moderate just to the left of center.
Let's start with the basics today. I'm 59 years old...yes, 59 for real, and like Jack Benny that is the number at which I have ended any further revelations of my age. If it's all that important to you in the future, do the math. I'm a white male, separated from my wife for the past six years. We were under the same roof for almost 18 years but I had to move out for several reasons, which I may or may not write about at some point. We have two daughters, 21 and 18. Yes, I know what some are thinking: this guy is pretty old to have daughters that young. He should be a grandfather by now. Well, hopefuly the grandfather part, which I'm looking forward to happening, will hold off until my daughters are ready to handle their own children. At this point, they are struggling to handle their own lives.
My older daughter is a junior at a prestigious and totally-out-of-our-financial-capabability-to-pay school in Boston. Can you say "paying off student loans for the rest of her life"? She's home for the summer, working at a restaurant out on Philly's "Main Line", having paid her dues over the past two years at the original Cheers, f/k/a Bull & Finches, in Boston. She's not very happy being home, because her childhood friends have been replaced by new friends at college, only one of whom lives in the area and she spends most of her summer at Bible camp. Not that there's anything wrong with that. Her only other friend in the neighborhood is working all summer at the south Jersey "shore", as we Delaware Valley natives call it. My daughter - let's call her E - had the opportunity to work there with free housing provided but she's not a shore person.
So, home for only a week she is trying her best to adjust for the 2 months or so that she'll be here, before she and a her college friend drive cross country for a fall semester/internship in L.A. That might give you an inkling of the field in which she is hoping to find a career. After a semester in L.A., she returns to Boston for her final semester. The wife and I - we're only separated, remember? and we're still good friends - will get out to see her in L.A. at some point, calling it a "parents' weekend" kind of thing. We've done that for the past 3 years in Boston and have come to love that town, cow-path street plan nothwithstanding. I grew up in Philly, so I've seen some of the nation's most historical sites. Yet, maybe because it's my hometown, Philly doesn't have the feel of history for me the way Boston does.
I've been to and through Independence Hall and the other sites in "Olde City", as well as to Valley Forge. I'd say the most alive historical site in our area that I've visited is the Gettysburgh battlefield. I was lucky enough to go with a friend who is a Civil War buff and on a day when there were very few tourists. I stood at the spot where Pickett gave the order to charge and at a spot where Confederate soldiers breached the Union line. We stood atop Little Roundtop -- or was it Big Roundtop -- and looked down on the battlefield from this prime Union held position. One of my most prized photos is a shot of my friend and me sitting atop a boulder on what is probably the most important hill of the whole Civil War, my inabilty to recall its name notwithstanding. For me, Gettysburgh was, indeed, what Lincoln called it: ground consecrated by 'the brave men, living and dead, who fought here, (they) have consecrated it, far above our poor power to add or detract." The Gettysburgh battlefield and cemetary breathe with the cries of men wounded and dying, and with the simple, disciplined words of the soon-to-be martyred President.
I had a similar feeling when we walked to the Old North Church one evening when we were visiting Boston. It is brightly lit at night, yet standing and staring up at the tower, I felt the darkness of that night when one of the most important beacons in the struggle for liberty was held aloft. A poem from elementary school days came to life for me. My wife and daughter are not necessarily taken by such sights the way I am, which may be just due to my general lunacy. As of today, I've been able to see the Old North Church only from the outside. Perhaps on our next, and possibly final, visit to Boston I'll get to go in and, if it's permitted, stand in that belfry on the spot where history was not only made but where it becomes animated.
As much as any city or town that has been home to great historical events, you can walk around Boston and almost literally stumble upon something that helped shape our country's foundations. For me, one of those sites was Paul Revere's house. The three of us were out for a walk, doing a little shopping. My daughter, now an old if somewhat blaise hand at the sites of Boston, said that Paul Revere's house was a couple blocks away. So, we followed the signs and soon we were standing in front of Revere's Boston home. He'd lived in a few different places, but I believe this was the house that he, a former silversmith, settled into and from which he conducted some of the affairs of his up-and-down copper foundry business, which became in the end quite successful. It is in this house, I think, that Revere died. Now, forgive the "I believe" and "I think", but the fact of the matter is that we didn't do the whole tour of the house as the line was rather long. I'm remembering off the top of my head some of what I read on plaques and signs and cheating a bit via Wikipedia.
There is a vibrancy in Boston beyond the history that saturates the city. It is home, of course, to some of the country's finest colleges and universities and it is also quite a tourist hotspot. My daughter E. has told me that at Cheers (she works there, remember?) the place is pretty much just tourists. They have a souvenir shop, peddling lots of things tied into the TV show as well as some simple Boston memorabilia. When I was there, there was a large cardboard cut-out of Norm, sitting on a barstool holding a mug. Needless to say, I had to have my picture taken beside ol' Norm. Yeah, "turista!!!" Anyway, my daughter tells us that all the servers get asked the question, "Do you know my name?", playing off the show's theme song that lyricizes about a "place where everybody knows your name." E. says that the servers often say no but also frequently attempt a "Yes, of course. You're Sue (or Mike)". The law of probability gives them the occasional correct name, which of course stuns the customer. But E. also says that some customers actually seem offended that the server doesn't know their name. Is it possible that these people think that the words of a TV theme song are factual? It kind of reminds me of when I worked at TV Guide and people would write to the magazine demanding to know "why did you took my favorite show off the air?!?" I take it for granted that people can separate reality from fiction, but then again this is a nation that twice overwhelming elected a master of blurring those lines in the form of Ronald Reagan. Nice guy, funny man but...well, I won't go into politics at this point but you can probably get some sense of my political sensibilities. I'm a radical moderate just to the left of center.
posted by mikekev58 at 6:18 AM
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