What is Up with People?

In an effort to not park my car directly behind a driveway, or block a mailbox (even though it is a Sunday), I inadvertently blocked part of a driveway. Mind you, it was a double wide driveway in the suburbs, and my car overlapped with it by only a few feet. There was plenty of room for the cars in the driveway to get out.

What would you do if you had noticed my car?

A) Knock on your neighbor's door to ask them to move the car

B) Call the police

C) Maneuver around it

My first instinct would be to carefully drive around the car and assume it wouldn't be there forever. I'd probably park on the street (I was not blocking any cars in the driveway, I hadn't realized it was as wide as it was). If my car was blocked, I'd knock on my neighbor's door. After all, this would be faster than calling the police and I would get on my way faster.

Of course, said person called the police who came knocking on my friend's door. My first instinct when he asked about the owner of a light blue Corolla (it is not a Corolla, but after what happened to my car last summer, I thought someone hit my car. Again.). I was glad I only needed to move my car up four feet.

I vented my frustration to the homeowner's husband. His reaction: of course the police should be called. People need to learn how to drive. He recalled a situation a couple of decades ago when high school students moved their trash cans and blocked their mailbox. 

He called the police on them. And is still carrying a grudge, even though in the meantime they have designated his street as requiring a permit during school hours. 

I asked him if it was a repeat offender. He said it was often the same car. I asked if he ever left a note explaining the situation. He said it was not his place to teach the person how to drive. The student got a ticket. Fortunately, I only got a lecture from him. The police we pleased I moved my car quickly. I think even they could see I wasn't blocking much of the driveway. 

As he shared his oft-told story (the wife had also shared the story with us) I just stared at him like he had three heads. I knew he'd never see my side. Perhalps he never makes any mistakes.

What happened to kindness? To not bothering the police for petty things? What happened to empathy? They know their neighbors. Sounds like they have at least a pleasant relationship with them.

The situation brought back to mind the time our neighbor called animal control because our cat sat on her front porch and used an empty patch of dirt as a litter box. After complaining to us about our orange cat doing this, we kept him inside. He soon died. Then she called animal control over the white and grey cat. Guess she felt she needed to elevate the situation because we didn't take her concerns seriously enough? The relationship has not been the same. I say hello when we pass. Don ignores them.

A second frustrating situation happened last night. We gathered for a friend's milestone birthday. As there were nearly 20 of us, we were seated at two large tables. The menu was pricier than Don and I normally eat, but we were told the portions were enormous. We were encouraged to order family style. Most entrees were around $35. The birthday boy's was $140. His best friend (who we all met for the first time that night) ordered the $205 surf-n-turf. Three of us ordered $35 entrees and shared. One person did not order a meal. The bill came. The extra large dessert split between the two tables was on our tables' bill, as was the birthday dinner. 

The friend paid for his $205 meal separately, then divided the rest of the bill -- including all drinks, the birthday dinner, and the large dessert among the other seven at our table. Rather than thinking we'd spend about $100 to go out (still more than we ever spend when the two of us go out), we were each told to cough up $68 ($136 per couple). I will be steaming about this a long time. The friend should have paid separately for his $205 dinner, then divided the rest by eight, which would have worked out to $53 each. I'll never see this person again, and will likely assert myself strong the next time we meet with our friend. Set clearer ground rules. At least the others didn't order alcohol and appetizers. When you are being treated, don't order an entry five times more expensive than everyone else at the table. We went into it knowing we were splitting the bill, but still did not budget that much for the night out.

I know, in the grand scheme of life, $36 is not that much money. It is more the feeling of being taken advantage of.

I feel better just writing all this down. I hope the people referenced realize I tried to keep identifying factors off. Writing helps me heal.

Newlin Grist Mill Spring Finds

The weather has been all over the place this Spring. We have 80 degree days, with the wind forcing 30 degree days. For the first time in at least a decade, the snow lasted the entire winter. As someone said to me, "it was a real winter." I'm happy with less real ones.

Around the equinox we were able to start the digging season at Newlin Grist Mill. As I turn down Cheney Road in Glen Mills, Pennsylvania the anxiety of driving on I-95 fades away. I park on the hill next to the Trimble House and walk to greet the trench team. When I finally make it I am greeted as warmly as Norm was when he stepped into Cheers. This week I was greeted with "I'm so glad you are here, you can help Keith with the measurements." 

Our core group bonded through our crash archaeology class last winter, about six months after I started digging there, and is slowly starting to grow. We've added Courtney, Brian, and Logan as regulars. Tom and Bob are planning to return soon. Ed, Martha, and Mike are there nearly every week. Dan comes when his job allows. We seem to have lost Paul over the winter. Most live within the greater West Chester area. I am travel the furthest. Courtney travels 45 minutes to an hour in the opposite direction. She is our youngest team member. Martha and I are thrilled to have another woman on our team.

Keith is our leader. Keith is the site manager at NGM, and a professional archaeologist. He is looking for clues that fill in the unwritten, undocumented stories at the mill. He rejoiced the loudest when a basement wall and floor were discovered. He long suspected the Trimble House had a side basement, but there was no real proof. It turned out the wall was TWO INCHES away from where we had been digging our five foot by five foot unit. It is a beautiful wall made up of large stones that ends at a solid stone floor. 

I get excited by the artifacts we find. I also enjoy
making site plans and filling out reports. I do enjoy washing the artifacts because it feels like magic when they come to life. Digging is probably my least favorite part of archaeology, which is probably good because I compliment those who only like to dig. It is at the point where Keith has to prod me to go into the hole. It is backbreaking work. Lifting weights at Planet Fitness this winter has helped me gain the muscles needed to be an asset on the team.

Before the season gets too far ahead, I wanted to share pictures of some of my favorite 2026 finds:

Look at those layers!

Finds from Fort Mifflin--Spring 2026 Dig

Last fall I learned about a dig taking place at Fort Mifflin, in the shadows of the airplanes landing at Philadelphia International Airport. Each Friday in October was nicer than the one before. I felt as if I was among my people. Max led by example, and encouraged us on our journey.

For reasons outside of my control, the dig continued in March instead of waiting for full Spring. The old saying is "March comes in like a lion and leaves like a lamb" is meant to give us encouragement on those early days. Truthfully we had some beautiful days in March. Days when I drove with the top down on my convertible. Warm enough for daffodils, tulips, and buds on trees. Unfortunately with the exception of one Friday, those warm days did not take place when I was digging. 

When I showed up, Mark pointed to me and invited me to his team. As someone who was almost always chosen last in gym class, it felt good to be claimed by the first trench captain. We were out in the wind. 

I learned how to dress for forecast, instead of dressing for the calendar or activity. The first week I thought my toes were going to fall off in my wellies. Martha offered glover liners to everyone, and like a fool I did not accept her offer. The few who turned out told me about the two pairs of socks they were wearing, along with fleece-lined pants. That day turned out to be the only day I did not enjoy archaeology.

As we dug, the 103rd Pennsylvania Regiment was preparing for their decommissioning ceremony, which took place in the early afternoon. The guard was founded by Benjamin Franklin. It was about to be merged with another, or so that was the impression I was given. I tried to give them their privacy as we did our work. Afterwards a couple of soldiers came over to see what we were doing. Their timing was perfect as Max had just told us to move a huge pile of dirt to a better location. The men were happy to help. As the rest of us are old enough to be their parents, we were happy to let them.

That day's sole photographed find was a button.

From the first week

I returned the following week wearing alpaca socks, flannel-lined jeans, and more layers. I accepted the offer of disposable black plastic glove liners. Despite the weather being warm enough to dig in shorts at Newlin Grist Mill on Wednesday, two days later the weather turned sharply. It was cold enough that most of the other volunteers suddenly found other things to do, but the core group are my people. We enjoyed working together. Mark took on digging the mud out of our trench. Martha, James, and I combed through the mud (I'd say sifted, but that word feels wrong even though we used screens) and found a few treasures. Meanwhile, Dan was behind the building, below the herringbone brick patio discovering what was there before the patio was laid. I ended up not taking any pictures that day because my fingers were too cold without the gloves. We ate inside huddled around the space heater that was inadequate for a space with doors that were constantly opening. Still, it was better than nothing since the historic building does not have central heat.

On the third week the weather was stunning. We had four trenches open and fully staffed. I was tasked with helping the Monmouth University group as it was their Spring Break and only two students turned out instead of their usual half a dozen or so. It was also moved from Saturday to Friday. The sun was shining. The wind was mild. I smiled as I met new people.

I found lots of pieces of metal -- including a J-hook (as in J for Jacquie), the top of a hand-blown green bottle, and my first piece of pipe stem. The next day (in a different trench) they found an almost intact pipe bowl. It was feeling like archaeology season hit its stride!

The following week, the cold weather returned. In the meantime I had stopped by another Eddie Bauer store as it was closing and scooped up waterproof fleece-lined pants and non-plastic glove liners. As I was sifting in the back on the patio, I could wear sneakers instead of wellies. The sneakers offer more support, crucial when standing for so long. I was hitting my wardrobe groove. Unfortunately, I did not find any treasures that week.

We took off for Good Friday and returned this week to wrap up. It was back to the core Trench Team. Max gave us commemorative t-shirts for us to wear as we do archaeology in other places. I found my first piece of possible pre-contact material (a flint). Some animal bones were also found.

 

I love the image of the modern airplane
captured in an old windowpane

Trying to identify where
to dig next

Unlike Newlin Grist Mill, Fort Mifflin has a hard cut off due to permits and other factors. Our trench team parted. I look forward to seeing many of them at Fort Mercer in Red Bank National Park in June when we'll be complaining about the heat.

Two Show Day

It has been awhile since Don and I have seen two shows in one day, or what I call a double header. About six months ago we purchased tickets to attend the first preview performance of "Schmigadoon." Meanwhile we started seeing shows at 59e59 and their musical "How My Grandparents Fell in Love" caught my eye. Unfortunately their matinee performance was sold out. As this is a really small Off-Broadway site with at least four different theaters. We were in the middle-sized one. I was not very optimistic, still I called. The box office was very encouraging. They said often people cannot make performances and they resell the tickets at the last minute. 

I kept checking. On Friday afternoon I snagged one seat. As I was more interested in the show than Don was, he convinced me to take it. About 90 minutes before showtime another ticket opened up. He called and purchased it. 

Our seats were not next to each other, but once we arrived at the theater my seat mate graciously agreed to swap his aisle seat for Don's so we could hold hands during the show. As you can imagine from the title, it was on the mushy side.

The show was charming. It takes place in Poland during 1933. Charlie, who has been living in the United States repairing shoes since 1923 returns to Poland to find a bride. He meets Chava, a stunningly beautiful salesclerk at a hat shop. They are smitten. Spoiler alert: the return to the United States, start a family which includes the playwright. Yes, the show is a romanticized version of a true story.

The show is charming. They sing about Hoboken in a way that the local crowd really enjoyed. Much of the audience was Jewish, or so I suppose since they laughed at the lines said in Yiddish. As someone who grew up in New Jersey, I know a smattering of Yiddish, but not that much. It was nice hearing laughter.

The best part was learning the the playwright's family was in the audience. Not the grandmother who has since passed away, but his mother (or was it mother-in-law?) and her friends. She knew  the original Chava and Charlie. She remembers their home smelling not of Lipton Tea (which is a reference to the song "Hoboken"), but of Maxwell Coffee which was brewed in their neighborhood. 

She added, the actor playing Charlie looks and stands so much like the real one. Cary Gitter captured the essence of his grandparent's love story. Almost to be expected, no one else in her family survived the Holocaust. This is also a love letter to honor their memories.

After spending the afternoon at Roosevelt Island, we saw "Schmigadoon." The campy musical is based on the Apple TV show of the same name. Basically they took the highlights from the six one-hour episodes, took out some extra stuff, and turned it into a two and a half hour musical. 

The house was packed! As we walked past the long line of people entering the theater we noticed women wearing calico dresses, and others cosplaying. The thing about seeing opening night (we also saw "Smash" on opening preview night), the audience is ELECTRIC! Much applause for each person as they entered the stage for the first time. Much laughter. There was so much laughter from the woman next to me that the man in front of her glared at her during intermission and said he was leaving because she was laughing too much. Too loudly. I assured her she was not. Who does that man think he is to squelch her spark?

When we saw "Smash" we were given posters on opening night that are collecting dust because they are not that meaningful to us, nor do we know anyone who would really enjoy one. For "Schmigadoon" they quietly slipped postcards in each Playbill. The postcards are written by different characters. As we collect extra Playbills to share with Ashley and Hayden, we ended up with four different postcards: Carson (the boy who announces everything), Melissa Gimble (the doctor with musical theater dreams), Josh Skinner (the doctor with a chronic case of hating musicals), and Emma Tate (the tap-dancing schoolmarm). They are true to the character, down to the handwriting. Very clever. Here is a link to 11 postcards being sold on eBay.

It was a fun day of theater.

I am looking forward to True Spring arriving when one outfit suffices for the day, and it does not involve a lot of layers.

Roosevelt Island: FDR's Wish for Our World

Between seeing "How My Grandparents Fell in Love" at 59e59 and opening preview night for "Schmigadoon" at the Nederlander, Don and I traveled by overhead tram to Roosevelt Island. When we stepped into our first theater the skies were blue and temperature was near 70 degrees. It was a perfect Spring Day. The cherry blossoms are in bloom. I'd seen on social media that the tram to Roosevelt Island is a perfect way to see them.

Two hours later the temperature dropped at least 15 degrees, the skies clouded over, and there was a threat of rain.

We went anyway.

The tram is only a 10-minute walk from 59e59. It is on 60th Street and 1st Avenue. The line was long. We chatted with a woman taking her injured bulldog out in a stroller. The line advanced, but we missed the tram by about five people. Seven minutes later another tram was ready to be filled. By being in the first group, we had a front row spot, next to a woman who had freed her father from his nursing home on Roosevelt Island for the day. She gave us advice on what to see in addition to the cherry blossoms.

We headed to the left, the shorter distance to the end of the island. After passing the crumbling, creepy looking 19th century Smallpox Hospital, we entered Four Freedoms Park. Note about the hospital: its architect James Renwick also designed St. Patrick's Cathedral on 5th Avenue.

Behind a statue of FDR in a wheelchair standing next to a little girl is a lot of marble. Engraved in one are the Four Freedoms for the entire world as identified by him:

(Paraphrasing)

Freedom of speech

Freedom to worship God as you wish

Freedom from want

Freedom from fear

A small group gathered to read these wishes. As we left, a woman said to her companion: whenever I read this I am struck by how he said it on January 6 (1941). 

Oh the irony. FDR wished for all this for the entire world during his lifetime. Instead we've moved quite far away.

As we rounded the corner to walk on the other side of the small island we came across feeding time at a cat sanctuary. It brought me back to our trip to Lima.

The temperature was quickly dropping. Wearing a sleeveless dress, leggings, ballet flats, and a denim jacket I was not prepared for the weather. With the exception of the jacket, it was the same basic outfit I wore in sunny Peru. We had dinner on the island at Granny Annie's Restaurant and Bar.  As someone leaving the restaurant said, it is "adequately average." 

After fortification we hustled to the northern end of the park. The crowds were definitely thinning. We made it to the Nellie Bly Park with the sculptures of Girl Puzzle Monument and the tiny lighthouse. On a nicer day we would have lingered longer. 

We tried to take the ferry back, but it filled quickly and the next one was nearly 30 minutes later. We suspected that one would also fill, making us even later to the show. Instead we took the subway to 42nd Street and hustled to the Nederlander theater. As I told Don, we walk faster in the rain.

Our trip to Roosevelt Island was brief. Our ferry ticket is good for three months. We look forward to using it on a future trip to New York City.

Princeton Protest Bubbles

A few months ago a activist group in Princeton announced they would host monthly protests on the first Friday of each month from 4-5 pm. I went a couple of months ago on a cold day. For once I did not blog about it, so I don't remember if I went in January or February, but I do remember it was brisk. It feels good to be standing outside with like minded people. It is a chance to let your guard down and feel comfortable saying what you truly believe about the state of the nation and the world without having to temper those thoughts until you know if the other person agrees with you, or if you'll hurt their feelings by saying there are problems in this country, and I am willing to fight for things to change. 

After months of protesting in bitterly cold weather, sometimes with piles of snow, today was a joy. The 70 degree day was warm enough to stand outside in a t-shirt and capris. About 50 of us stood in front of a grove of cherry blossom trees showing our signs. 

Each time I protest I see less people who "Flip Me Off If You Support Pedophiles" and more voicing agreement with thumbs up and friendly honking.

People asked each other which protest they went to last weekend. Not, IF, but WHICH. Many went to Princeton. One woman said she went to Washington, DC. Lawrenceville was an acceptable answer.

Today two high school aged girls drove by blowing bubbles at us. They then parked their car and joined us, telling us this was their first protest. They were enveloped by people in my age and demographic loaning them a signs and a giant American flag. Some asked about the bubbles, where to get them? Do they always have bubbles? One woman in her early 60s said she carries bubbles in her car and blows them when she is stuck in traffic with cranky people. It lightens the mood. After all, it is hard to be cranky when there are bubbles.

An hour doesn't sound like a long time. It is something I can do to show people feeling they are alone in their displeasure that we have their back.

A benefit to protesting in Princeton is that our governor will be moving into Drumthwacket, located about a mile from where we stand. There is a good chance she will see us. Last weekend she stood in this Princeton park and addressed the crowd at No Kings 3 sharing her vision for change. I was not there, but I heard it was powerful.

A Tale of Volunteering at Two Events

I was recently given comp tickets to two events in exchange for helping out. I gratefully accepted since I enjoy attending events more as a worker bee than as an attendee. As I explained to someone recently, I like to be helpful. Even without the comp ticket, I'll be figuring out ways to help.

The first event was a meet and greet with author Susan Choi. The poised author graciously read excepts from her newest novel, Flashlight, which has been shortlisted for the Booker Award. The event was held in the elegant Erdman Center at the Princeton Theological Seminary. With its high ceiling, arch between rooms, parquet floors, and enormous 18-panel windows painted in what might be Benjamin Moore historic paint colors, I felt transformed just stepping into the room. It is a sharp contrast to its modern brick exterior. 

Photo credit: Tim Sexton

The event was lovely. I wish I had asked for a guest list ahead of time so I would
have been more prepared at check in. I would have noted the names of the board members, for instance. Guests were kind and patient and it went very smoothly.

Afterwards I was sent a lovely thank you note from Debbie, the organizer, praising me for my help. She said every time she looked over at me she saw me smiling and knew I had everything under control. This allowed her to relax, not worry, and focus on the event. I am paraphrasing, but that is perhaps the best compliment I have ever received. She also gave me a copy of the book and made sure I had it autographed, and also encouraged me to have a good time. I was to also feel like a guest. 

This weekend I was asked at the last minute to step in as the second in command at the gala I used to organize. I had already been asked to sell raffle tickets at the event, but now I was being asked to run check in, check out, be the banker, and help in all ways possible. 

Of course I said yes and smiled my way through the event, even as I learned new software and procedures on the fly. Wearing high heels, stockings, and a brown dress I wore to my first board meeting with this organization I slipped into the role as comfortably as if I was wearing my usual leggings, wool& dress, and ballet slippers. Though in a new venue, I felt at home as I greeted guests I have not seen since I left the organization. I made small talk as I looked them up and navigated the many screens necessary to assign bidding paddles. As someone else said, I was the only person who could have slipped into that role at the last minute.

An hour into the event, I tidied up and slipped away from the registration table to eat dinner and listen to speeches. I recharged in the "bridal suite" while bidding took place. Then I jumped back into action as people gathered their winnings, all while smiling and making small talk. I was handed a lot of cash throughout the evening and no paperwork to balance the amounts. I put the bills in the proper banking order and zipped them into the official envelope. 

Before leaving I did a sweep of the ball room scooping up bid paddles to use next year, and the flash drive in the laptop that belongs to the venue. After I left the room, someone else did the same as a sanity check.

I limped out of there (why, oh why did I wear new shoes to this event -- oh, because they matched the dress) shaking my head all the way to my car. The next day I made notes, then followed up with someone at the non-profit. 

A few days later and there is no thank you text or email from the person in charge of the event. Considering she did not ask me to fill in, I shouldn't be surprised she has not found time to reach out to me for saving the event. She might not even realize how much I did. Others have, including people who never told me I did a great job when it was me in charge. Still good to hear years later.

I am purposely leaving the names of the organizations off so a Google search does not flag these when people are searching for information about them. While the one is glowing, the other is less than. 

I thoroughly enjoyed both experiences for different reasons. I like being the person who is solving problems behind the scenes so attendees and organizers feel the event runs smoothly. 

There is a part of me who would love to be paid to be the onsite event trouble shooter. On the other hand, I wouldn't want to do that so often it becomes stale or I become blasé. I want to continue to only wish success for the organization no matter how big a train wreck is happening. 

If you know anyone who needs this type of skill at an event, and is willing to pay me more than a comp ticket, reach out.