As far as history goes in the Lehigh Valley, Bethlehem gets all the attention.  The Sun Inn, where Washington and other founding fathers slept . The sixth oldest college in the country, Moravian College. The oldest bookstore too, Moravian Bookstore. And their wonderful story of being named Bethlehem on Christmas Eve in 1741.   While I admire Bethlehem and its rich traditions, for this post I would like to say blah blah blah and yada yada yada.

You all know by now how proud I am of my little hometown, Slatington.  Well guess what! Benjamin Franklin was there!! Below is a picture (still having difficulty putting pictures where I want them) of the remains of Trucker’s Mill. It was a sawmill along Trout Creek (officially known as Big Trout Run) in the center of what is today Slatington.  Back then it was one of only a handful of dwellings in the area. Benjamin Franklin was on a mission of building forts north of the bigger towns in the area to protect them from Native Americans. Ben Franklin purchased lumber at Trucker’s Mill for the building of Fort Allen.  The mill also was a stationing point for soldiers during the French and Indian War.  How cool is that!

The picture you see is probably, at least, fifty years old. There is even less of Trucker’s Mill left today. What a shame.  That’s where my admiration of Bethlehem and its view of its own history becomes even more important.  Bethlehem has worked hard to keep its historic buildings in tact and its story alive. Slatington did not and doesn’t. That’s why everyone in the Lehigh Valley knows about historic Bethlehem and I bet no one, except those who grew up in Slatington, have ever heard of Trucker’s Mill.

I have often told myself that if I ever win big in the lottery, I would try to restore some of Slatington’s history.  But then, the Slatington in me says….but first my house on a lake, a horse for Emma, and a myriad of other things I would like to spend my winnings on.  Trucker’s Mill will have to wait.

Trucker’s Mill below

Sorry about the giant picture! I couldn’t figure out how to shrink it.  I really mostly wanted you to see the caption “dress code man”.  Yes, I was once a radical and once had a lot of hair.

Slatington High School , 1969.  The world was changing. High schools in the Lehigh Valley were changing. All across Lehigh and Northampton counties high schools were fighting the norms.  The prime target at the time was the high school dress code.  Jeans were not allowed. Girls had to wear skirts or dresses, even in the depths of winter.  Completely different from today.

At Slatington we tried to fight that.  I was one of the leaders of the change, from my position as VP of Student Council.  We explored sit down protests. We explored boycotting the cafeteria. We definitely did distribute petitions and got almost every kid in school to sign.  Basically we made enough noise to get a sit down meeting with the principal, Mr. Kemp. In that meeting, I remember the principal asking us how it would be if he were sitting there in shorts and a tee shirt. We replied that he would be more comfortable and could concentrate better on his job.  He was not happy with that answer.

Our victory in the end was minimal. I can only remember that girls were now allowed to wear slacks instead of skirts and dresses…but only in December, January, and February!

Parkland High School, 2018.  I wait outside for my daughter after school and see how far dress codes have declined.  Wow!

The funny thing is, in spite of my radical past, I have grown much more conservative in this area.  I think the decline in dress codes is representative of the decline of decorum in general. Our standards for ourselves have certainly diminished. Language is coarser. Common courtesy has all but disappeared.

Like all things of this nature there is the pendulum effect. One extreme to the other.  Some public schools are instituting uniforms.

I think one thing is clear though. We should always question authority. Does it make sense? If it does not, try to peacefully change things.  Even the Buddha said…question everything, even the things I say.

I’m am off to work now. I will, of course, be wearing something professional. No tie though. I want to be comfortable so I can concentrate better on my job.

Nothing deep today readers. I’ve been thinking about celebrity crushes! Who is your celebrity crush? Come on, you know you have one. We all do.  I’m not talking about the star you admire because of the life they live, their charity work, their brilliant mind, or even their wealth. I’m thinking about the star you find hot, and sexy, and you would think for a few seconds if they said to you, “It’s me or your spouse?”.  I, not having a spouse, wouldn’t even need a few seconds. What time do we leave?

What does a celebrity crush represent? I don’t know for sure. I suppose it represents our ideal in good looks and attractiveness.   Maybe it serves to elevate how we feel about our own looks. Yes, he/she would want to be with me! Maybe it is pure escapism. Every minute I spend thinking about my crush is a minute I don’t have to think about my bills, my health, my relationships, nor the state of our nation.

I’ll confess. My celebrity crush is Scarlett Johansson. I think I may have seen her first in Lost in Translation. She was in an intimate relationship with Bill Murray.  Bill Murray! Heck, I’m better looking than Bill Murray. Well at least I think so. Haha.  Then when I saw her in Match Point, that sealed the deal! Oh my!

I even have a “celebrity crush emeritus”…Marilyn Monroe. Not much needs to be said there. If my male readers were being honest, she would probably be the crush emeritus for lots of them.

I had a celebrity crush when I was six years old. Kathy Lennon from the Lennon Sisters of Lawrence Welk fame. I remember sitting around the TV watching The Lawrence Welk Show with my parents. Eventually, the Lennon Sisters would come on and set my six year old heart aflutter!

Over the years I have had an ever shifting roster of celebrity crushes. Some I can remember are Sally Struthers, Patty Duke, Catherine Ross, Ann Margret, and Mary Ann from Gilligan’s Island (yes, I am on Team Mary Ann… Ginger was just too glamorous).

So what does all this mean? I don’t think it has a meaning, It’s one of the fun parts of being a human being…the chance to dream and imagine.

I hope today’s post made you think about celebrity crushes in your life.  And I hope that gives you a little smile and a nice thought to get you through your day.

 

 

 

This past weekend I spent some time at French Creek State Park in Birdsboro, PA. It’s a beautiful park with over 80 miles of hiking trails and two lakes. It is my favorite state park to camp and hike in because there are no bears!  My visit this weekend brought back memories of an eventually solved mystery.

About twenty five years ago, my ex-wife an I owned a canoe which we kept moored at Scott Run Lake in French Creek State Park. The picture above on the right shows the moorings. The canoe floated in the water and was attached by chain to an eyebolt in a railroad tie on shore.  About thirty canoes were lined up in this manner.

We drove down one Saturday, looking forward to a good time on the lake. We walked down to the mooring. No canoe!!  Where is our canoe?!  Plenty of other canoes, kayaks, and rowboats were there, floating in the water gently, but not ours.  Why would someone take OUR canoe?  It wasn’t the newest nor the nicest. It wasn’t the closest to the road.  We didn’t know what to do except ask for help at the Ranger Station.

The ranger listened attentively, but offered little assurance. He said basically “Well, you are never going to see that canoe again”.  Thank you government bureaucrat. Somehow, I thought rangers would be different.   Not this one! We filled out some forms and bid the ranger farewell. He said that he would call us if he hears anything, but not to expect it.

Guess what?!  About three weeks later, the helpful ranger called us and said we found your boat and we’d like you to come and get it as soon as you can.  I was excited. I loved my canoe!  As soon as the weekend arrived we went to the ranger station at the park. He asked us to follow him and he took us to our canoe.  Our canoe, while still in one piece,was bent in the middle and was now a right angle, a perfect 90 degrees. What?!

He explained that they found the canoe deep in the woods about three hundred yards from the lake. They assumed that Hurricane Floyd, earlier that summer, tore the canoe from it’s mooring, sent it over the dam, and down the creek until it wrapped itself around a tree!  Best adventure that canoe ever had!

He said that we have to remove it from the park as soon as possible as it is now trash. How am I going to get a right angled canoe into my truck for the hour long ride home? The ranger didn’t care how. He only said that he can’t help. After my earlier dealing with him, I was not surprised.

Well with a maze of bungee cords and rope, we got the canoe home.  There I cut it into little pieces and put it out gradually with the trash.  Bye bye canoe.

Mystery solved. Three lessons learned.  First, if you moor your boat, it’s better to have it on dry land. Secondly, don’t ever make assumptions. Finally, there are jerks in every profession, even park rangers.

Happy paddling!

 

There is a Moody Blues song, from back in the ’60s, called “22,000 Days”.  It’s a good song, certainly not one of their hits. It’s about how we each have 22,000 days to live in this life. If it were being written today it  would need to be changed to 25,000 days, or something close to that.

That’s a lot of days!  Not all of those are going to be good days and not all of them bad. But we have a lot of control over which of those two types of days it will be. Short of having a mental disorder, the mood we are in is our own choice.   Choose wisely.

This got me thinking about life spans and wondering if there is a perfect age.  I don’t mean individually, based on your life circumstances.  I mean, in the 80, or so, years we spend in this life, which is the best age to be?

You could argue that being a baby is the perfect age. You have your whole life ahead of you!  What about 5? Just starting a school career that will fill you with knowledge and wonder!  How about any of the teen years? Your body coming of age, the new feelings, the new responsibilities, the new possibilities!  21?  You can legally drink, but you have been probably been doing that for years by then anyway.  31? Creating a family and settling in a career!  45? Reaching your stride on the job. Family past the baby days and helping your teens  become men and women.  56?  Starting to realize you are past halfway but still have the physical and mental prowess to enjoy life to its fullest! 67? Retired, or close, so your days are yours without the pressure of work or parenting! 85? Getting to look back on a live well lived and being cared for by those who love you!

If you had to pick an age, to live over and over again, what would it be?  Any one that you pick will be filled with good and have some bad sprinkled in. That is just the way life works.  But, please,  pick one. I’d like to hear, in your comments, which year you chose.

I am choosing 33! At 33, there is still so much possibility and you are at a peak of physical and mental health. Your career is most likely chosen (though I changed mine twice after that!).  Your children are most likely still small as are their problems. Your parents are still around for advice.  I am twice that age now. I love being 66, but to be 33 again…be still my heart! Haha.

Seriously, I would love to hear your choices.

Tomorrow it will be ten years since I had my cancerous prostate removed, leaving me cancer free!  So it’s been ten years of not having cancer, but also ten years of thinking about it every day…every single day.

Prostate cancer was my second cancer. I also had a malignant melanoma removed from my right shoulder about fifteen years ago.  Does this make me prone to cancer? I sure hope not.  But things seem to happen in threes. Does the ten years of no cancer cancel out the “things in three” rule.  One can only hope!

I suppose I should be thankful that the cancers I have had are the more easily treatable ones.  I am thankful. Very thankful. People have actually said that to me. That I am lucky I didn’t have a more serious cancer.  That’s a little rude, because I have run in a 5k that was dedicated to a local mother who died of a malignant melanoma. Here are some people you may know who have died of prostate cancer:  Bill Bixby, Telly Savalas, Frank Zappa, Timothy Leary, Merv Griffin, James Herriot, Dennis Hopper, Bud Abbot, Gary Cooper, Johnny Ramone, Jerry Ohrbach, and most importantly to me, my brother Don.

Here are some things I have learned from surviving prostate cancer. Every day on this earth is precious. No medical test is too embarrassing. People often don’t know what to say to you but will, with good intentions, say something. If it is rude, don’t take it personally.  Eat your vegetables! Tell and show the people in your life that you love them.  Keep moving….your body and your mind.  Read good books. Listen to great music. View great art.  Be curious. Learn about what is going on in your medical life. Knowledge is power.  Go to the doctor. Fight for Universal Healthcare so everyone can go to the doctor!

I am so very thankful for this cancer free decade.  I am thankful for the doctors that helped keep me living and allowed me to enjoy the last ten years.  I am thankful for the friends and family that supported me during the rough time and I am glad they are with me still, ten years later.

So men, get your self to the doctor. Get tested. The digital only takes a minute and I am pretty sure the doctor isn’t enjoying it either! Get you PSA checked.  That’s what saved me.  Do all you can to stay on this Earth as long as you can. It’s sometimes a bumpy ride….but oh, what a ride it is!!

 

Call me Ishmael.  Oh, wait. That’s been used before.  Call me wary.  Wary about Pennsylvania’s first Independence Day with new rules on the kinds of fireworks citizens can buy and use.  Apparently, Pennsylvanians have access to bigger and louder fireworks than ever before. I wasn’t aware of this until recently. I am disappointed.

First let me say that I am not a big fan of this holiday. Sure, it’s great to have a day off from work. Actually, being self-employed and having  the holiday fall on the one of two days I work, I will lose half of my pay this week! But I digress.  And…I will survive.

The two main reasons I am not a fan of the Fourth are that I am not a very patriotic person and I don’t like loud noises. Those two things will be in ample supply today.  I mentioned in other blog posts my tendency to not be much of a stereotypical patriot.  Today is the day of God Bless America.  Whenever I hear that phrase I think to myself, shouldn’t we be asking God to bless the entire world. I mean there are countries on Earth that can use that blessing much more than we can.  Yes, I am one of those people.

But to avoid turning this into a political rant, let’s talk about fireworks.  How did making as much noise as possible become the way of celebration?  I blame extroverts! Just kidding. I’ve been to many fireworks displays and have been greatly impressed by the displays, just not the noise that goes along with it.  Put me in the camp of the dogs and cats and horses and veterans with PTSD. This year, with the new Pennsylvania, liberal fireworks regulations, it may not be necessary to go to a public fireworks display. Your neighbor may have something equally impressive in mind. Super.  Also, your neighbor may be the one who shows up in the newspaper the next day having lost a hand to his own explosive. It happens every year! Some things are best left to professionals.

I’m feeling a little like Debbie Downer in this post.  So let me end it by wishing you all a wonderful holiday! If you like the loud noises, I hope they are as loud as possible. If you are feeling patriotic, show your colors proudly! I’ll be enjoying nature and looking for quiet and peace. Finally, God Bless the Whole World!

 

Saturday afternoon, a very hot Saturday afternoon. I attended my first ever roller derby game, the first of a double header.  The Blast Furnace Betties versus the BuxMont I Can’t Remembers. No, I really can’t remember!  I was anxious to see roller derby for the first time, because three women I know and respect are on the Lehigh Valley Rollergirls teams. Two were playing  that night.  They derby……yes, it’s the verb they use.

I had no idea what to expect. I didn’t even know what to call it. It’s a game, not a match! I kind of expected a raucous crowd, a small raucous crowd.  I didn’t know if I would fit in. It turned out to be a record crowd, I’d say over 300, and not raucous at all, but really into the game.  The game was played at the Bethlehem Municipal Ice Rink. I’d never been there before. I expected ice somewhere and therefore air conditioning.  There was no ice anywhere to be found. I knew they weren’t playing on ice, but I thought there would be ice in an ice rink facility! It was hot as blazes in there.

So it is crazy hot and humid and about thirty women were about to play full contact derby. It was nothing like the derby I remember watching as a kid. That was played on a sloped oval track and I can remember the women forming links and whipping a skater  around the track.  There was none of that.

Instead, it was more like a football game. The only person who can score is the jammer. She is like a fullback in football. The others on the track are blockers. They are like an offensive line. But they are also a defensive line in that they are also trying to stop the other team’s jammer from getting through.  I made that sound simple. It’s not. Did I mention they are on skates, flying around a flat oval? There are rules I can’t begin to understand.  But, wow, was it fun!! There are two halves in a game. At halftime, there was a sweaty sock toss to keep the kids, and adults, entertained.

The Betties won the game by about 100 points!  It was fun, it was interesting, and I am definitely going back.  Oh, there is a snack bar too and a merchandise table.

In conclusion I offer this: I once ran a group for male domestic abusers facing prison. Much of the group was about trying to explain why women deserve respect.  We had a rule in the group. If a member used an animal name, like chick or fox or cow, to describe a woman, they were assessed a point. If they reached three in a session they were kicked out and did not get credit for attendance.  That happened often. These roller girls would have absolutely no problem handling themselves against these weak men. I don’t just mean physically. These women are tough and strong and independent!

If you have never watched derby before, get out of your comfort zone and give it a chance. You may be pleasantly surprised, like I was.

Remember that game we all played as kids, and maybe still do? The one where you take a basketball, make a shot, and the next player has to make the same shot or  get a letter.  It seems the general consensus is that the name of that game is HORSE.  When a player spells the word HORSE, they are out of the game.  When I hear the game HORSE talked about on TV or elsewhere, I smirk to myself.

In Slatington, that game was RAT! We didn’t have time to wait for someone to miss enough shots to spell a five letter word. We had other things to do!  Maybe, actually,  it was a lack of patience or boredom.  We played RAT on the Lincoln Elementary playground. There was one basket there, that if you made a really bad shot the ball would go bouncing down the hill of Chestnut Alley all the way down to Kuntz Avenue or even beyond to Main Street.

This got me thinking of other childhood games we played. Two stand out for me.  The first is Strikeout. Boxes were painted on the brick wall of Lincoln Elementary representing a strike zone. There was a batter and a pitcher. Sometimes there was an outfielder, usually not.  The idea, of course, was to strike each other out. But we did get hits. There were no bases, except in your mind. Past the pitcher was a single. A double would hit the playground border wall. A triple would be if the ball landed on a slope bordering school property. A home run would land in the yard of the meanest lady on the planet. The meanest lady who probably also had the biggest collection of rubber balls in the Lehigh Valley!

The other memorable game we played was called Detective. A group of kids, for me it was the Dowell Street, North Street, and Willow Avenue gang, would get together and draw cards without sharing what card you got.  One card was an ace. He was the killer. Another card was the King. He was the detective. The other cards drawn were innocent bystanders. This is a game that was always played in the dark. We would spread out in a four block area and the innocent bystanders would run and hide. The killer would go out seeking someone to murder. The King just wandered about trying to find out who the killer was.  I’m not sure how the game ended.  I can’t imagine anyone screaming out “Help, I’ve been shot!” even in ’60s Slatington.  Maybe one of my Slatington readers can help here.

That’s enough about fun and games……except tonight I am going to see my very first Roller Derby.  I can’t wait! It could lead to an interesting blog post.

Stay cool this weekend!  May A/C and water be your friends.

Experts say that smells reside deep in our long term memory and a smell is very likely to bring about thoughts of something from long ago.

This is not a story of a memory being triggered by a fragrance. The trigger in this case is a sunny summer day. One of my very first jobs, not as a paperboy, was working for Kern’s Florist on Walnut Street in Slatington.  What does that have to do with smells? Patience.

I was fifteen at the time and was assigned whatever task needed doing that day. One day I might be loading the delivery truck, the next pulling weeds.  One day I was watering plants in the greenhouse, the next pulling the side buds off chrysanthemums so the top bud gives a big flower.  Here comes the smell part!  My favorite job there, by far, was steaming dirt. A load of dirt would be delivered and we would flatten the pile into a manageable mound. Next we would cover it with a canvas tarp. Then we would put chains around the pile to hold the tarp in place. Then we would sneak a steam hose underneath the tarp and steam the dirt for hours.

It was the most amazing smell! Better than coffee, better than opening a bag of chips, better than Cinnabon at the mall.  You would think working at a florist the memorable smells would be roses, or geraniums. or lilies.  but no…..my big takeaway is the smell of steaming dirt! Earthy, sweet, and exotic!

I drove by Kern’s Florist recently. The four greenhouses (wow that was a hot place) are down to one. The adults I worked with are certainly long gone. Lots of good memories. The owner was a cokeaholic. He would drink at least a dozen seven ounce bottles in an eight hour shift. At lunch we all had those small bottles of coke with the place it was made etched into the bottom of the bottle. Whoever had the farthest location from Slatington had to buy!  Before Memorial Day, in 1967,  I went with the owner and his brother-in-law to the cemetery to deliver flowers. The two of them knew every grave in that very large cemetery by heart. Good times!

I wonder if there is a fragrance from your past that holds good memories. I am now thinking of how every time when I eat a Swiss Vanilla Crème Sandwich Cookie, I am immediately taken back to Kindergarten and cookies and milk before nap time. Mmmm.