It Was Time

About 15 months ago Don decided to grow a beard. I subconsciously told myself I wasn't going to cut my hair until he got rid of his beard. I also decided I was tired of paying a lot of money every six weeks to maintain the color and shape. As I'm not working, I have no one to impress.

It ended up getting out of control. He shaved his beard in March and I forgot to cut my hair in celebration.

I liked the length, but it was getting knotty (and a little bit naughty), and the ends were splitting. It was time.

Rather than going to Christine my long time hairdresser whom I ghosted in March 2025, I headed to the Great Clips where Don goes. Seeing absolutely no line I walked in and asked for a haircut. Luce had me in a chair with a drape around my neck before I had a chance to second-guess the decision. Fortunately I love it.

I'm getting a new drivers license photo taken in a week and wanted to look a little better.

Channeling Dad During the Mission Project

I didn't really know what to expect, but I felt a voice whispering in my ear that I should go on a mission trip. The voice has gotten louder over the years until it became too loud to ignore this year.

Here I am, Lord.

Is it I, Lord?

I have heard you calling in the night.

I will go, Lord.

If you lead me.

I will hold your people in my heart.

And so goes the hymn. 

Thirty-three of us traveled from New Jersey and Pennsylvania to Farmington, Maine to work with MATE (Mission At The Eastward) as an intergenerational mission team.

Another voice I heard in my head was my dad's. Before anyone worries, he is still alive. His voice was crystal clear as we waited an hour until we were given our orders for the day. In my head he said it's the hurry up and wait game. 

Yup, dad, hurry up and wait. We had to rouse at 6:30 am to have breakfast at 7:15 am to meet in the lobby at 8:45 am to be at the church at 9 am. We thought we were driving someplace, only to find out our half of the group was to stay put and pull weeds and scrape paint. The other half drove to a different site to do carpentry and install cabinets. I.e., non-skilled vs. skilled labor groups.

The second time he reached out to me was as I was on the scraping paint part of the project. I was reminded that each summer, growing up in Paramus dad scraped the paint on the wood siding. The house that saw the most sun was painted annually. The other three sides were painted on a rotating basis. Or so I remember.

I don't remember him ever inviting us to join him to scrape the house -- a skill I wish he had imparted. We live in a house with aluminum siding that has never needed to be scraped. 

On the other side of the property we also pulled weeds -- a task I procrastinate for as long as possible at home. Another task dad used to do. I could hear him say: make sure you get the roots.

Thought of him as we scraped paint off the 1920's house. Tomorrow some of us will paint the house. Not sure what my group will do, but we know it will be useful.

I wonder what advice he'll stick into my head next.

~~~

I wrote this on Monday night. Tuesday he was rushed in for emergency surgery. He was stable on Tuesday night. He was stable when my mom checked in at 6 am on Wednesday. A half an hour later he coded, was revived. I was told at 6:53 am to drive home. As I was driving home Don called to tell me dad passed away surrounded by family.

More dad-isms bounced around my head:

On a long highway drive, get behind a truck and let him lead the pace.

Always bring a book, because you don't know how long mom will be (or how long you'll have to wait).

The funeral will be Friday, July 24 at Allentown Presbyterian Church followed by internment in Paramus. We will be hosting two informal gatherings to honor dad that weekend. The first will be at our house on Saturday from 3 to 6, the second on Sunday at my mom's house also from 3 to 6. The obituary.

Driving Home from Maine

The past couple of days have been a whirlwind and I want to type out some thoughts on the internet before they fully float into the ethernet.

Last Friday I stopped by the rehab center to visit Dad before I left for a mission trip to Maine. There was no real reason to stop by. He and mom had spent the day traveling from Hamilton, NJ to the UPenn hospital for a meeting with his surgeon. He was given a clean bill of health. Told to keep working on his rehab to gain strength to be able to go home soon.

Still, this little voice told me to stop by before embarking on the 10 hour drive. Forgetting about his appointment in Philadelphia, I stopped by in the morning. I told mom I had popped in, and to let me know when they come back. I knew he'd be tired, but that itty bitty voice said go anyway.

He was tired, which was to be expected. I stayed about an hour, but still had to pack and get my head in the mode of driving the next day. The checklist was long ... pick up rental car, pack clothes for painting, pack clean clothes, pack tools, pack bedding for the dorm, finish a couple of things around the house so I could leave with a clear head, etc. etc. I started to leave, but turned back to give him a hug. I'd like to think I said "I love you," but maybe I only thought it. He knew.

When I heard on Wednesday morning the end was imminent I reminded my mom I made my peace a few days earlier. I left knowing it could be the last time and left anyway.

Before I left Maine, the church group wanted to "pray me out." Honestly, I was so torn. On the one hand my head was racing. Pack up room, shove stuff in car, make a sandwich for the road, grab the sandwich I packed the night before for the work site, fill a thermos with hot tea, put ice cubes in tea so I don't burn my tongue, don't lock myself out of my room (again), hand in the key, go to the bathroom one last time before heading to the car, etc. etc.

On the other hand, I knew it was right to pause. The group needed to feel like they were doing something. I needed their prayers for a safe drive home. We all needed the peace.

I let some students load the car, and allowed an adult to make me a sandwich and fill my thermos. Tasks I could have done, but part of the process is letting others do for you. After all, it was a mission trip. I didn't fully appreciate the car loading until I came home and had to unpack it myself. The sandwich I appreciated as I ate it while I drove. I thought of the love both tasks were put into those simple tasks.

I felt the peace they prayed into me as I drove. I didn't have a single hurdle until I hit New Jersey at rush hour. After stopping at the first bathroom break on the Garden State Parkway the GPS asked if I wanted to take a faster route with tolls. Umm, I was already on the Parkway which has tolls, but sure.  

It asked a second time, right after I paid a toll.

Curious, I said, sure.

Rather than letting me stay on the Parkway to the New Jersey Turnpike (or to I-95), it routed me to Route 17 in Paramus, down some back roads, to Route 4, to Route 80, to the Turnpike.

It was the John Koetting This is Your Life Tour.

As I drove to the last house he lived in (Robbinsville), the path took me near the home where he raised us (Paramus), past Teterboro Airport where he worked for four decades, and near Hasbrouck Heights where he grew up, and near Little Ferry where he and mom lived when they were first married. On the drive I saw a train (albeit Amtrack and not a freight train) and had airplanes fly overhead as I passed Newark Airport. 

What a tribute!

How did the GPS know I needed the (slightly slower) route past these sights?

I cried most of the drive home. I heard bits and pieces about his last day. He didn't wake up on Tuesday. Sent to the hospital Tuesday night for emergency surgery. If he survived, he would be on a ventilator while he healed. I didn't like the word if, but I was told to wait until the morning to hear the update. No one wanted me driving 10 hours in the dark. After surgery he was stable. At 6 am on Wednesday he was stable. At 6:30 he was not. 

Mom, Don, Ashley, Melissa, Chris, Hayden, and Aimee gathered around his bed to say good-bye. Rebecca and Danny arrived a few moments later and said their good-byes. I continued to drive. And cry.

People at home were worried about my driving so long. Honestly, I didn't have any issues. Those prayers really worked.    

Not sure how to weave this in, but I stopped at the halfway point to visit with NCB (New Cousin Barbara). Her grandmother was raised by my great-grandparents (or maybe even great-great grandparents) on my dad's side. I refer to her as my ancestry.com relative. She enveloped me in a hug and gave me the break I needed, as well as some ice cubes because I didn't put enough in my thermos after all.

Three Show Day

I remember nearly a decade ago when I went to my first Broadway double header. I felt that was the ultimate in decadence. Since then we've come to appreciate there is a cost to going into New York City from Central Jersey, so we might as well make the most of the day. In other words, we actively seek out two shows in a day.

After seeing Suffs a couple of years ago I met a woman from out of town in the Stage Door crowd who said she once saw FOUR shows in one day. To be fair, one was a late night jazz cabaret, but still a performance. So when the opportunity to see THREE shows in one day, I decided to jump on it.

The primary purpose for going into New York City was to see the award winning revival of Ragtime. Even from the last row, it was obvious Joshua Henry really earned his Tony award.

After we bought our tickets we learned that 59e59 was hosting their annual East
to Edinburg festival where playwrights have the opportunity to try out their shows before they go to the Edinburg Fringe Festival in August. 

After seeing Ragtime, we dashed to the Whole Foods on the Columbus Circle for a sandwich before racing past Central Park to arrive at the theater. It was quite impressive how the pieces fell into place.

Our first fringe show was A Play on Words. During the pre-show announcement the audience was told the actors may call for "line" because the show was being rewritten that afternoon. The show is about two middle aged men who are great friends with each other. They have a one hour debate about the most minute semantics in such a fast-paced dialogue I have no idea how they could learn the lines, especially ones rewritten hours earlier.

Our second fringe show was The
Misfortune of a Spy and Her Mystic starring three women: a spy, a mystic, and the spy's supervisor. The show ended a bit ambiguously, which led Don and I to talking to the playwright afterwards. Unlike the first show, which I felt at an hour felt too long, I can see this show being fleshed out and performed on bigger stages.

In any case, if either of these shows make their way to Broadway (or any larger stage), we'll be able to say we saw it at 59e59 first. 

Fireworks

Fireworks round up for 2026.

Princeton Reunion Weekend in May. As it was raining, we watched from the parking garage near the WaWa.

Hopewell: perfect viewing place atop the hill, watched from inside the convertible.

West Windsor: LEAD festival in Mercer County Park, bonus fireworks as the B Street Band performed Springsteen hits.

Lawrence: Rider University campus, Ashley joined us.

Ewing: behind Trenton State College/TCNJ, Ashley joined us again.

Bad picture, but they had these fireworks
that then transformed into pink dust

Washington Crossing (Delaware River): lucked out with getting out of the parking lot in record time. Started 30 minutes early due to an impending storm, and were only ten minutes long. Great spot.

 Cranbury's were postponed until August 4th due to the threat of thunderstorms. 

Happy (?) 4th of July

Well, that felt like a bust.

I vaguely remember 1976 and America's Bicentennial Celebrations. 

Well, not really. I was only six years old. 

Anything happening that year did not seem anything different from any other Fourth of July. I had a younger sister, who was three at the time. The youngest wasn't even born yet. My aunt had not met her future spouse, which is important because my parents have spent many Fourths of July in Bexley, Ohio where they really turn on the small town charm. They even have a street with stars painted in the pavement indicating the annual parade route so potential buyers are warned.

I've been to Ohio a few times for the Fourth, but I like being home for the holiday. I like bouncing between different towns for their fireworks displays.

This year was supposed to be extra special, after all we were celebrating the Semiquincentennial, or half of 500 years. My friend, Mike, was organizing a parade to pass the Battle Monument and end up on State Street near the Old Barracks. The Old Barracks, which has been closed for an extensive renovation, was set to reopen on the Fourth to much fanfare. 

That last one at least happened. The parade was announced it would be postponed to a later date when temperatures were forecast near 100 degrees, with the heat index even higher. Fireworks in Cranbury were put off until August. The fireworks in the Delaware River between the two Washington Crossings (Pennsylvania and New Jersey) went off a half an hour earlier when the dark clouds appeared to be heading in our direction.

I also headed to Bordentown to her Thomas Paine's Common Sense. Unfortunately it was moved from near his statue to inside an arts venue, and the venue lost power taking lights and air conditioning with them. It seemed like an apt metaphor for the day.

I then braved the heat to hear the Declaration of Independence read in front of the Clarke House at the Princeton Battlefield. It is powerful hearing the words read in public, the way the colonists would have first heard them. 

In other words, I really tried to get into the spirit of independence 2026-style.

In the days leading up to Saturday the Fourth we enjoyed fireworks displays in Hopewell, West Windsor, Lawrenceville, and Ewing. The beginning of the week had perfect weather, and the end felt as if we were in an inferno. Things were being canceled or postponed.

It is not just the local scene. The weather in Washington, DC was even hotter and more miserable. 

In general, no matter how much I tried, the vibe was not there. I saw some 250th merchandise in Lexington and Concord, MA (their big celebration was a year ago in honor of the Shot Heard Round the World), but none in Mercer County.

In the leadup 1976 there were 912 televised Bicentennial Minutes. Don recorded them each night. I suspect the recordings are in our basement someplace. They were designed to educate the general public about United States history.

My mom remembers when the fire hydrants were painted to represent patriots. She wishes she had taken pictures of them to be able to share now.

Flags and red, white, and blue bunting were all over the place.

The air was electric.

This year it felt like any other Independence Day. We saw firework displays that were nice, but not any nicer than past years.

I heard a story on NPR that said the 100th and 200th were huge celebrations, but not the 150th (1926).   

Blame it on the heat or blame it on the current political situation, but we will not be waxing poetically about the semiquincentennial. May the country do better by 2076 and the tricententennial.

Hard to believe it is over. It went out with a whimper and not the bang I was expecting.

I suspect these were to be
handed out along the parade route

A decorated mailbox in Princeton

Bunting in Trenton

Cheap Date Night ... and more

I debated about what title to give this post as the night started with seeing a local Springsteen knock-off band, and ended with honoring a recently deceased carny worker.

Tonight we went to Mercer County Park to see the B Street Band play at the annual L.E.A.D Fest State Fair. LEAD stands for Law Enforcement Against Drugs and Violence. Over the years I have heard about the event, but it wasn't until I saw a Facebook post on the Spring-Nuts page that I was enticed to attend. 

For $5 we could hear the B Street Band, the world's longest running tribute band. Or, as I thought of them, the poor man's Springsteen concert. Looking at their website, they perform quite frequently in the area driving distance to Asbury Park, NJ. The lead singer is great. If you closed your eyes, he sounds a lot like The Boss. We had a great time. Hopefully they were not too disappointed to only be performing to a couple of dozen fans. As a bonus, there was a great fireworks show as they were closing out with "Born to Run."

After the show we walked through the carnival. Carnivals have never quite been my scene since I started thinking about the safety of rides I see being transported in pieces down the highway. There used to be a carnival that was connected with my parents' church. They would take the grandchildren to it, while I adopted a "what I don't see won't hurt me" approach. 

Thank goodness there never was a problem. 

The weather was perfect. No hint of the heatwave coming later in the week.

As the event was not that crowded, leaving would not be a challenge. Still we took a stroll through the carnival side and compared things to Disneyland. 

Fireworks. Check!

Mousetrap ride=Mickey. Check!

Carousel. Check!

Then I noticed the lead horse, which is Jingles at Disneyland, was turned backwards and had a sign attached to it. It took me about a split second to identify that as a tribute. Game over. No Disneyland equivalent, but my curiosity was piqued.

Gloria passed away two days ago. She was traveling on the road with Reithoffer Shows up until she was 93 years young. Carny tradition is that the lead horse is turned around as a tribute. Someone with the parks was able to answer our questions about the tribute, and tell us it is an industry tradition, which then made me wonder about other carnival traditions.

May her memory be a blessing.