Honoring Dolly Parton

I recently saw a meme that said: In a world of Donalds, be a Dolly.

It seems the world has lit up in pink and purple in honor of Dolly Parton. First it was the Empire State Building, then I noticed more places.

I had heard the Delaware River bridges were going to light up on Friday and Saturday night in honor of Dolly. As I was driving home from the Thunder game on Friday night, I could see the lights on the Trenton Makes bridge. It was stunning. I could not figure out where to stand to get the shot. I wasn't about to park on the Route 1 Bridge, which does have a fabulous vantage. 

After driving around for about a half an hour I gave up and went home. My consolation prize was seeing town hall decked out in pink.

The next night I had the chance to try again. Don suggested photographing it from the Pennsylvania side, so I drove across the bridge.

Not quite the image I was looking for, bet better than nothing.

When I woke up I saw a professional photographer posted his picture. 

I'm challenging myself to figure out where he took that picture so the next time it is lit up I can take my own. Thanks for sharing Josh Friedman.

End of the Baseball Season

As soon as I was falling into the groove of going to Thunder games, the season was over.

I did go to the second game of the season, and a couple of games here and there when Debbi and Mike's son's team was in town, but it took going on a rainy night when the season was almost over before I fell in love with going again. 

Last week Debbi handed me a couple of
free passes, and even a parking pass. How could I not go? I did try to get a friend to go with me, but I didn't try that hard. I love sitting in Carmine's section, up close, with my feet propped up on the Thunder dugout listening to season ticket holders and their friends as I have an unobstructed view. Yes, I keep the seats of season ticket holders warm. If those seats became truly available, I'd be encouraged to spend my summer legitimately in those seats. They feel magical. 

I went to Thursday's game. Despite the near certainty the game would be called on account of rain, I went early to collect a pink Thunder shirt. I don't really need more t-shirts, but this one caught my eye. I sat in my car until the game was called.

The next night, the second to the last of the season, was fun. In the eighth inning kids a couple of sections away tried hard to get the 2,000 of us still there to do the wave. After a half dozen attempts, they were successful. I cheered louder for them then I did for the players.

I applaud the players for sticking with the dream, but I am tired of the Draft League. The first half of our too short season is made up of college players trying to get extra experience. Around the Fourth of July is the All-Star Game. Some are drafted to the majors, the rest return to college for fall training. The team then becomes filled with recent college graduates not willing to give up on their dreams. They are all about 22-26 years old. As they are drafted they go to their new teams, and we are happy for them.

The real result is, it is hard to build excitement about getting to know the players. They are not here long enough. When they leave, it is not up to the same team as had happened when they were a AA team, but to a wide variety of teams.

At the game I noticed the pitcher, Billy Morris was also batting as the Designated Hitter, which is uncommon in our ballpark. In the past we were with National League teams. Up until 2022, in the American League the pitcher also batted, but that is the year they instituted the Designated Hitter Rule. When I asked a season  ticket holder why he was batting, he commented he is just that good. In the lead up to that game, he was 10 for 19, which is much higher than most batters. He also didn't let any opposing runners score that night.

For the past few years we've left the season hoping for an announcement that we'll gain a AA team again. Heck, at this point we'll take a single-A team. I have noticed the staff is less inclined to say there will be an announcement soon. I suspect they, too, have grown tired of being met with eye rolls when they make those proclamations.

Meanwhile, people sign up for season tickets and leave their seats empty. 

I yearn for returning on a cold day in April and watch the new season unfold as I sip a cup of hot chocolate, and keep score with my eyes glued to the game and oblivious to the lines at the concession stand.

Fortunately, Boomer and the bat dogs remain a constant.

Conversations and Book Signing with Dr. Eddie S. Glaude, Jr.

Less than a week before Princeton University professor Dr. Eddie S. Glaude, Jr. was scheduled to speak at my church I heard in passing he was going to give a presentation about his new book America, USA: how race shadows the nation's anniversaries. I was more than a little surprised how it nearly flew under my radar and feared the event would not receive as much attention as it deserved. At the very least, it should have appeared in our church's newsletter, and in the eBlast for The Community Well, a non-profit that exists without our church and one of the sponsors of the event.

I'm pleased to say in that short time word got out and he spoke to a Standing Room Only audience. 

Dr. Glaude is an excellent speaker. He spent the hour mesmerizing me with the connections he made throughout history to drive home the main message of how American tends to whitewash our history, especially as we draw closer to our anniversary years. Our 250th was the rule, not the exception.

"We are an adolescent nation that doesn't want to grow up. We need our innocence so we can't accept our faults," states Glaude. There is always a veil between the white side of town and the black side of town. 

"American has a divided soul. We are a beacon of freedom and a white republic. We are the shining city on the hill [and we have] compromises around [being] a slaveholding nation. Our citizenship is tethered to our whiteness." Hopefully my quotes are correct. The brackets indicate words I did not write in my notes. Misquotes are entirely my fault.

Listening and learning from him I want to learn more. I want to better understand.

Glaude spoke about Moses Gordon. The link is to an article Glaude published on Memorial Day 2026 about Gordon. He was a slave being held by Caleb Trueblood, a Quaker. Three months after the signing of the Declaration of Independence, Skinner freed him. Two years later he was captured because North Carolina law would not allow manumission, unless the slave had fought in the Revolutionary War. He became the property of Brigadier General William Skinner. He escaped to Philadelphia where he lived for ten years.  He was captured under the Fugitive Slave Clause of 1793 and reenslaved to General Skinner who thought he was a thief for the act of "stealing himself." The law was later rescinded and the transatlantic slave trade was ended.

I was enthralled listening to him speak. This is history I have never heard before. From the sounds of the ethnically diverse audience, others were all too familiar with Gordon's life. It echoes their own family histories in ways as a white American I don't understand in my marrow.

Glaude ways he doesn't love America, but he also does not hate it. His father was the second African American hired by the postal service in Moss Point Mississippi. Through his prestigious job the family was able to move to the "other side" of town. He recalls playing with a new friend, a white, red-headed child when the boy's father came home and told his son not to play with "n word." His grandmother is buried in Moss Point, MS. It is part of his history, too.

Whites have the expectation of the "happy slave" so we can avoid the cruelty of slavery. It was cruel.

The interviewer, whose name I did not catch, grew up in Trenton. She attended the Afrikan Peoples Action School, "a place that reminded me my Blackness is an asset that intimidates people. I have ownership of this place." I have never heard of this school located a few miles away from me. Searching google, it seems it has since closed. How come I never knew it existed despite living in this area for over three decades and the interviewer was younger than me.

One hundred years ago Carter G. Woodson founded the first Negro History Week, what we think of as Black History Month today. Woodson was the second Black doctor at Harvard University. He wanted to make Black history seen. A battle still taking place a century later.

"We have always told our story," explained Glaude. "We work to fortify the spirits of our children."

On September 2nd he will be holding office hours live at 12:30 on his YouTube channel. He is encouraging everyone to read Souls of Black Folk by WEB Dubois available HERE for free via Project Gutenburg in preparation of this event. He also invited people to join his substack.

~~~

I took too long to write this post. The distance is making my notes make less sense. At the time I was riveted, so I'll include them here. Feel free to stop reading.

Brotherhood of the Sleeper Car Porters was founded in 1925 by A. Philip Randolph as the first African American Union. Glaude brought up Randolph's name a number of times. He is a gentleman I am not familiar with, but based on what I learned that afternoon, I should be as he was a leading labor leader and social activist of the early 20th century.

My notes then say: co author of The Messenger, founding of colored women, NAACP, Harlem Renaissance, Marcus Garvey, Cold War redacts Blacks in global sense, leftist socialist era, Paul Robeson era, Council of African Affairs, connection to African diaspera, 1950's Ghana established as an independent country. 

See, my notes are a mess!

Randoph founded the March on Washington Movement to push FDR to desegregate the military. "Read the book, get the information, do knowledge, share knowledge," charged Glaude. We were encouraged to watch his interviews on YouTube.

Snuck into the conversation is that he actually lives in town. He is hyperlocal, and internationally known.

"What can we do as neighbors?" asked a member of the audience. "Because I run my mouth for a living, people think we have the answers," quipped Glaude. He pointed us to Lawrence Neighbors Together Community, one of the co-sponsors of the event. Understand the definition of justice without exception. People get redacted from the question. What are the most pressing issues? Then go after the resources in direct ways. We think politicians can solve the problems, they can't. Identify the most important issues.

The interviewer said she is a fifth generation Lawrentian. She encouraged us to make sure our children see us reading so they are encouraged to read. Get involved with Lawrence Community Center so they can receive grants to get running and functioning. Join Marth Friend's anti-racism book club.

On a higher level, Glaude suggested someone create an app to get children to learn African American History. "They are not lacking, but we need to rewire ourselves to teach them. I have to retool if I'm going to reach the next generation." 

Congresswoman Sydney Kalmager-Dove has a plainspeaking YouTube channel Is This Sh*t Legal we were encouraged to listen to.

A sentiment I have heard from other minorities, "I don't want to answer stupid questions." I can't remember who said it, but it bears repeating. The goal is to create a world where people have to be better or not. We need to use our energies to build a world where people like Tr*mp cannot exist without sanctions. Create a world where people have to make a choice.

Racial justice is not a philanthropic enterprise. It is not a charitable gesture. That thinking only repeats the sin. 

Sit with literature by authors such as Toni Morisson's Belevoved and Jesmyn Ward. It is not a guarantee your heart will be filled with justice, but it is a start.

Another question from the audience: "How do you feel we should have done differently after the Civil War?" Glaude pointed out we had radical reconstruction and and extraordinary expectation to transform the nation. The 13th, 14th, and 15th amendments were passed. Blacks were given the reigns of power until whites claimed they overreached. "The answer was there, but the country betrayed it. From that moment, race has been the center of politics."

Glaube has been interviewed by CNN. He commented "my mom is always watching and she knows if I am lying. She tells him 'people love you because you tell the truth. Try to be consistent.'" 

People tell him "this isn't America," to which he had a very succinct timeline reflecting the answer that yes, it is. "How many times are you going to say that?" 

James Baldwin said "the devil is not some aberration, all we need to do is look in the mirror and we might find him. Humans are capable of extreme evil, and are walking miracles."

There is still hope.

The next day he was slated to be on a panel at Newark's Bethany Baptist Church's Courageous Conversations about the role of the church in our 250th years. Once a month they sit together in worship and people talk about what matters to each other.

To find hope he teaches a course on Baldwin each spring semester. "Love shines through. Hatred must never have the last word." As one of his students wrote in her paper, which he was granted permission to use in his book, "Hope is our insistence to tell the truth." 

Go and feel inspired.

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.