Quick Pictures that Tell Stories About Life

The day Dad passed away I came home to this:

Don said it was thriving that morning when he went to the hospital to see Dad.

While in Gatineau, QC I came across this sign about the artist:

Both the same death date and same funeral date (10 days later) as Dad.

Then Friday I encountered this at the end of my walk in the woods:

I got through and around the tree. I think the message was life is not always going to be easy, but you'll get through it.

Go Thunder!

I have been a fan of Trenton Thunder practically since they first opened their doors in 1993. For a few years Don bought me the ten-pack of tickets with the anticipation I would use most of the tickets on myself. When I go to a game I grab a score card, sit down, and watch the game. Everyone else is getting up to buy snacks or go to the bathroom, but I'm glued in my seat enjoying it all.

My love of the game shifted a few years ago when we lost our AA team and became part of the new Draft League. The Draft League is a chance for the college players to play more ball and for Canadian players to step up their game. That's the first half of the season. Once they return to college teams, the second half are recent college graduates who still want a chance to pursue their dreams. 

Ideally many are drafted into the major league system. After all, it is in their name. This means fans don't form the same connections to players that we used to in the days of Shelley Duncan and Nomar Garciaparra, or witness rehab assignments like Derek Jeter. 

At the beginning of the season a friend invited me to a game in a suite. That was fun. It reminded me of the days when a the father of a friend of Ashley's had access to a suite and we held playdates in the suite during day games when the employees couldn't use the suite. Those were fun times. Sadly not documented well enough because they mostly took place before I had a digital camera.

This season a friend's son has a job with the State College Spikes, one of the away teams. When they've been in town, Debbi has reached out to me at the last moment with a ticket or two. The seats are behind home plate. For most people, they are ideal seats. For me, though, they are not where I like to sit.

My preferred spot is with the season ticket holders behind the Thunder dugout. Seats that now sport names on them to encourage the season ticket holders to return, and to mark them as belonging to someone. 

Or at least adjacent to them.

Carmine has been the usher for that section for years. We first bonded when he noticed my Muhlenburg Mom hat four years ago after Thunder reopened. He was getting ready to celebrate his 50th reunion from Ashley's school. He always greets me with a warm smile.

Sunday night was the last time the Spikes would be in town this season. The season is already too short. It only takes place from June through August, unlike the AA season that starts in April and goes through the playoffs in mid-September. My favorite experiences have been sipping hot chocolate on an April evening in a fairly empty stadium when only the diehard fans are in attendance.

Last night's game mimicked those feels. The game had a 50 minute rain delay.
The rest of the game threatened rain. I felt the coaches were trying to teach the players lessons that night. Lessons like the weather is not always going to be perfect, you have to adjust. Lessons like I am not pulling you out just because you loaded up the bases, figure out how to get out of it without blowing the four-run lead. 

Mike, one of the other long-time ushers, was shouting advice to the pitcher, "You've got seven guys behind them, use them. Not every pitch has to be perfect." Little kids were chanting, "Pitcher's got a big butt." I laughed. Been a long time since I've heard that taunt. The kid behind me was shouting encouragement to each Thunder batter.

This is what I've loved about watching a game at Waterfront Park.  

It is fun seeing Boomer run the bases (though now they keep him in the outfield, which is not as much fun). As that night wore on there were less fans filling the slots. They put an usher into service for the "Are you smarter than a Fifth Grader?" segment. No one stood for the Hometown Hero during the seventh inning stretch. Only a soloist for both the National Anthem and "God Bless America." The vibe was only those who really wanted to be there were in the stands. The other went home, or didn't bother showing up.

As the forecast was calling for storms all night I nearly didn't go. Sitting there I kept thinking it would rain again and I'd go home. The game kept playing and I became happier. 

I'm so glad I did as I fell in love with the game again that night. 

Riding the Rails

My friend Marlene recently reached out to me with a couple of big hints saying she was moving and the new space has an extra bedroom for guests. I took her up on her hint and booked an Amtrak ticket to help her out. Marlene and I met nearly 40 years ago when we were both Rotary exchange students. She was in college and I was a new high school graduate. She is the big sister I never had.

Like many I have a romantic view of train travel. Taking the train gives you the luxury of simply being. The transit hassles are left to the conductor. I could read, sleep, eat, or simply gaze out the window. 

The reality was pretty similar to that. I was lucky enough to have no one next to me for most of the trip in both directions. The ride did start with someone next to me, but I was so tired and slept for those 2.5 hours. As I said good-bye to her I was able to stretch out, as was everyone else who wanted to on the train.

Let me back up. The ride started in Trenton at 5:45 am. Ouch! Don dropped me off and waited until the train left. The ride is only an hour from there to New York's Penn Station where I had to wait 90 minutes for the train to Montreal.

What was not included in the ticket information was that we would have to go to an unmarked kiosk in a random hallway in order to have our passports verified and our paper tickets stamped. 

There is a lot in that sentence that bears unpacking. First, you need a paper ticket. They do not stamp your phone, which many people use as their ticket. Second, you need to hear the announcement telling people what to do. Third, you need to find the correct line (I asked three people before finding the secret line). 

After being approved, we were to stand in a line. There was still an hour to go before our train was to board. We left a cozy waiting room with cushioned seats to stand in a hallway.

This was the toughest part of the long day.

We were ushered to the train where we were told to stay in the rear two cars. I
didn't know if they were the only cars heading to Montreal, or because it made things easier for the conductor, but we obeyed. I scored a window seat. I thought it was facing forward because I saw a sign that said I was facing the direction of Boston and not Washington, DC. My caffeine hadn't kicked in enough to realize facing the rear of the train meant I would spend the next twelve hours traveling backwards. Oh well, it was good for sleeping. I wished the seats flipped like the old NJ Transit seats do, but the more modern seats recline and have seat pockets and tray tables on the backs of the seats in front of them. Trade offs.  

Traveling solo I looked into upgrading to business class only to learn business
class was only an option from Trenton to New York, a ride of barely an hour. Turns out every seat on the New York to Montreal stretch is coach. I did pay an extra $5 each way to ensure I had a window or an aisle seat only to learn all of the seats are windows or aisles. The $5 also allowed me to change or my ticket up to an hour before the trip. As I was meeting a friend and that either of our plans could change, I felt that was a good investment on my $100 ticket.

Don is taking Amtrak next month to get to the start of a long bike ride. I sent him a picture of the limited bike rack. I can see why they say there are only six slots. At least they are with the passengers and not hidden away. People do use the space for large suitcases, which are also kept with passengers.

Each car has two bathrooms, one is handicap accessible. They were fine at the start of the ride, but by the end they were getting rancid. I warned Don not to sit near them, even though those are the spaces closest to where he is hanging his bicycle.

The train was six cars long with the engine. There were four cars of coach seats with a dining car in the middle. The food was actually decent and cheap, but limited. I got a large cheeseburger for $8. No sales tax. If you care about what you eat, I recommend bringing food. I brought a sandwich, drink, and snacks, but twelve hours is a long time.

People hung out in the dining car. Some brought their laptops and got comfortable all by themselves in a four seater. Others brought playing cards and had three friends laughing and playing cards. The dining car served drinks. Throughout the ride I was surprised just how chill everyone was. No one was anxious. Many slept most of the ride, even though it took place mostly during daylight hours.

When we arrived in Albany, NY 2.5 hours into the ride we were told we could get out and stretch for 45 minutes. They would announce when it was time to get back in the train. At Plattsburgh, NY we were told we were running early and could get out for 20 minutes. I was surprised how much I enjoyed being able to get out of the train. It felt safe to leave my bag at my seat and see the unfiltered sun. Unfortunately the ride home did not allow this luxury. We only paused in Albany for about 20 minutes, during which time they refueled and moved the train.

I was surprised to learn at times the train runs on a single track, which meant we had to wait for the other train to pass before we could jump on the single track. On the ride up that happened like clockwork, but on the ride home we had a 25-minute wait for the other train. This is why we didn't have a chance to get out and stretch our legs in Albany.

In Plattsburgh I saw my first sign in both French and English. Getting close! I've often said if I lived in that area I would keep my passport (now NEXUS card) in my glove compartment just in case.

I wondered how the border crossing would be handled. Ashley said when she and Anna took the bus home from Montreal everyone had to get off of the bus and individually (or family unit) go through customs and immigration. When driving, each car is handled one at a time as a group. 

As we neared the border Amtrak announced the crossing will take as long as it takes. They have no control over it. Do not ask them any questions. We can move around our car and use our bathroom, but we should stay in our car in order to make it easier for border patrol. Meanwhile, it is what it is.

The train had customs and immigration patrol enter and interview each cluster of people. I could hear the interviews around me. The people around me could hear my interview. On our trip up, the stop was over two hours, which the conductor later said was on the long side. The trip back it was only 45 minutes.

I learned everyone sounds nervous when grilled. I believe my NEXUS card granted me the simplest of interviews. I don't want to give away any international secrets, but as with most of life, greeting people politely, using eye contact and a smile work wonders.

Interesting to note on the way into Canada everyone had to fill out a customs form, even Canadians. The trip back we did not.  

The extra time meant we arrived an hour later than planned. Marlene and her honey met me at the train station with a big hug. So worth it!

I used my downtime to sleep. I deleted excessive emails, did some crossword puzzles, read a couple of books, and gazed out the window. I arrived very relaxed.

One parent encouraged their 10-year old to conduct a survey with the passengers. He promised us a pie chart at the end, but never came through. I was fortunate in that I was on the train with him both on the way up and the way back. The way up was only two questions: Is a hot dog a sandwich? Can you give yourself a high five? Four days later, the questionnaire grew to six questions and his own debate pro and con, which he insisted on repeating to each person even if they were sitting in the same row. New questions included is a tomato a fruit or a vegetable? Is a fajita a taco? And, can water be wet? I don't remember the other questions. He did start with "Do you mind if I ask you a couple of question?" Most people were thrilled to have a tiny distraction and obliged.

I know I could have made the drive to Montreal in less than seven hours. I also know my time at the border with my NEXUS card would have been a fraction of that time. The benefit of a quicker trip would have come with the downsides of driving and finding parking (though she has a space in her new apartment I could use for parking). 

I'm wishing I spent a little more time with my friend. Our trips together are always too short, but always meaningful. I encountered a family who took the train up on Monday, and the one back on Wednesday. That was even crazier than my Sunday to Wednesday trip.

Views heading north:

Trip heading south:

On the way home I had an hour to stretch my legs at New York Penn Station. It was after 11 pm. I was afraid if I sat down I would fall sound asleep. Instead, I took some pictures.

Two Days in Montreal

A title like this sounds like something that belongs at my other, travel related, blog: PillsburyTravels.blogspot.com, but my two days in Montreal were not typical tourist days. I took Amtrak up on a Sunday to help my long-time friend, Marlene, unpack and settle into her new apartment. 

Moving is a pain! It doesn't matter that she can see her old apartment's balcony from the balcony of her new apartment. You still have to pack everything, especially your books, into boxes and then unpack them (ideally) on the correct shelves. Marlene is an academic. She has a lot of books. I'm more of a photographer. When I move, the trouble will be packing all of my photo albums. At least she looks at her books.

Marlene showed me Montreal through
her eyes. We went to her favorite farmers market and bought fresh food. She treated me to lunch at Montreal's best gluten free creperie. I escorted her as she changed her address at the library -- come on, twist my arm to visit a six-story glass library in the center of a city. 

She introduced me to Montreal's vast mass transit system. We rode the new REM line. At 20 stories down, it is the deepest station in North America. The metro and REM lines are so fast and so quiet. They make the New York City rails look and sound like antiques.

She also took me on a hike behind her place to the backside of St. Joseph's Oratory of Montreal. We saw the front when we changed buses. 

Mostly we relaxed and enjoyed this longest visit together in decades. May we have more now that I know how easy it is to get to Montreal.

Photos of Marlene are available for viewing in person. She is social media shy. She really does exist. I promise!

Digging Back Where it All Began

Fresh off of my dig in Gatineau, QC and my interview by CTV in Ottawa, I went to a dig much closer to home at The College of New Jersey. TCNJ, then Trenton State College (TSC) is where I went on my first dig around 1990.

My archaeology friends joined me for a public dig at The College of New Jersey. Two years ago Dan and I learned about the public archaeology day. We had so much fun! I think the intention was for the public to ooh and ahh over what the students were doing, and give a chance for the students to show off to their family members how they spent the summer semester playing in the dirt. Instead we arrived with trowels and tools and got in the dirt. About that same time we connected with Keith at Newlin Grist Mill, which has since turned into a regular digging experience for me.

This year I went in already feeling great. I have more experience than I did two years earlier, plus I brought more friends with me. The four of us, Martha and Mark joined Dan and I, went in and took over a square. We showed the students you can keep digging long after you graduate from college.

Dan is now known on TikTok and instagram as DanDigs. He posts videos teaching the public about archaeology. I was a rock star just for brining him with me (even though he was the one to tell me about the dig). George, the professor in charge of the archaeology program at my alma mater, encouraged him to create a quick video about his site.

I was also a rock star because I was part of the original program back in the 1990's that started the archaeology program. The school only dug two or three years before abandoning the program. Carolyn Metz was the anthropology program at the time. Upon retirement, she served in the Peace Corps. I wish I had kept in touch with her. I'm sad to see she passed away in 2018. She impacted my life in ways she never knew. Remember that teacher friends and family, you are making positive impacts you might never learn about, but it is true. 

In 2013 TCNJ hired George. A couple of years later he restarted the William Green Farmhouse Dig and teaches multiple archaeology classes each semester. A huge change from when the anthropology teacher happened to teach an archaeology class. He reached out to Professor Metz and was able to pick her brain. Now I'm even more determined to see if I kept my notes from that class.

The four of us work like a team. We have so much fun together. We talked to the
students and recent alumni about places one can dig as a volunteer, and how to learn about more opportunities. 

A clear highlight for me was that for once I had the shortest drive. 

I'm working with George to see if I can audit one of his classes. He is teaching one on Slavery and Archaeology that ties in nicely with my planned dig at Montpelier in September.

Dan, of course, found some Philadelphia slipware. I found another nail. Mostly we found community and a home.