Happy Halloween??

People often ask me what the time difference is between here and Australia. My short answer is, I just don't know. I then give an example of a friend calling me at 4:30 pm when it is 7:30 am the next day by him. Just how many hours is that? 

One of the quirks about flying from the United States to Australia is that you jump over the International Date Line. We left on October 30 and landed on November 1. When I bought the tickets, I didn't realize we would be missing Halloween in both countries.

I have a love/hate relationship with Halloween. I really do enjoy seeing people in costumes and all the decorations, but I don't feel creative enough to put together a costume or decorate the house, after all Christmas is just around the corner. When Ashley was little I enjoyed creating costumes for her. When she was in first grade, we went to Disneyland where she went Trick or Treating with the Mad Hatter.

Then there are the years when Halloween did not go as planned.

In 2011, it snowed.

In 2012, Superstorm Sandy squashed Halloween in New Jersey.

Then in 2016, Don had open heart surgery. I think that's what put the final nail in my enjoyment of Halloween.

Much to my amusement, parents' weekend at our daughter's college lands on Halloween weekend. I enjoyed seeing students walking to parties in costumes. The students did not enjoy having their parents around.

Last year Don and I walked the boardwalk instead of facing trick or treaters. This year we beat that avoidance by jumping the International Date Line and completely skipping it!

It was odd landing on November 1st and seeing remnants of Halloween, but not Halloween. In the Rocks section of Sydney they had a ticketed Halloween party, and there were candy stations set up as a scavenger hunt. In random places (hotel lobbies, restaurants) we saw leftover Halloween candy for the taking. But it wasn't Halloween.

Since Halloween didn't happen in my universe, I don't even have any pictures to share. 

Airport Number 3

As we landed in Los Angeles the pilot asked everyone to stay on the plan a few minutes longer so they could handle a medical emergency. Prayers to the passenger and the medical team. What the pilot didn't tell us was once we landed, we still had a 20 minute drive to the gate, which was further delayed by having to inch to the gate, possibly because of the logjam caused by the emergency vehicles.

After we finally got off the plane, we were more than a little nervous about having to race from the domestic gates to the international ones via the underground tunnel. Imagine our surprise when we were told we would be boarding the same plane at the same gate in the domestic terminal. Had I realized that, I would have chosen the same seats, too. Too bad we couldn't keep our stuff on the plane.

We grabbed a salad. Having left our day at 8:45 am, it is now midnight on the East Coast. Don ran to the international terminal to visit the LEGO store, only to find it closed. I'm happy to sit at the gate and stretch out my legs.

By the sounds of the cheers emanating from the bar where we ate dinner, I'm guessing the LA Dodgers just won the World Series.

The East Coast people around me are much more subdued. 

Boarding begins in 40 minutes. We knew this would be a very long day, and it is. Good thing it was a cheap flight.

Let the Trip Begin

The other day I counted the number of flights we will be taken on our 2024 Escape from the Election Adventure. I broke flights into legs because each leg brings its own adventure.

The number is 12.

Seven hours after leaving home we have finished our first leg. At 90 minutes, our shortest leg in the air.

The fault was our own. We arrived at PHL more than three hours early. After waltzing through the airport and hiking to the far back gate in Terminal D, we were still there three hours before our two hour leg to Atlanta.

I took an hour-long stroll from D to F, and back to A. I was reminded just how much I love airports. No, I mean that seriously. On this Wednesday morning, PHL had more people working at the airport than traveling. Airports remind me of the best of Main Street USA. There are bookstores in each terminal, dining ranging from take out to sit down, shopping ranging from tacky souvenir shops selling $20 sweatshirts to Chico and Brooks Brothers. 

There is public art on the walls. A relaxation spa. A cozy spot with rocking chairs to sit and relax. A mini museum exhibit dedicated to the history of the airport dating back to when it was called the Benjamin Franklin Airport.

The coolest thing I saw was a place where you can push a button to receive a story. I took a couple so I'd have some extra reading material. I was only able to take one book, but I have others lined up on my phone. When I finish the book, I'll pass it on to someone else.

It could be the middle of the afternoon or the middle of the night, the florescent lightning won't tell you.

As I sit here in ATL waiting for the next leg of the
trip I am facing a Spanx, Pandora, and a currency exchange office. There is a food court with options ranging from Nathan's Hot Dogs, McDonald's, and Arby's to TGI Fridays and a sushi and wine bar. In-between is a counter selling healthier, heartier fares and a vending machine selling salads in jars and a standalone Boar's Head sandwich shop a step above a vending machine, yet below a counter. The salad jars were actually in Philadelphia. Now that I'm two hours away I'm longing for it.

Across from us sit two women heading from Alabama to Atlanta to LAX to Sydney. We'll be with them a while. They are taking a cruise from Australia to New Zealand cities. Sounds like there are no stops in Australia. They are going a few days early, so I'm not sure if their cruise leaves from Sydney or someplace else. What is standing out to me is they opted to fly from Alabama to Atlanta (a 36-minute flight) and have a 4-hour layover rather than drive the 2+ hours to Atlanta because they hate driving in Atlanta. 

May we nap on the ATL to LAX leg since we know they won't be feeding us. Since it is 4 pm and we ate hearty homemade sandwiches on the last flight, we are not hungry now.

Almost time to board. 

2024 Thompson Street

Nine years ago we were exposed to the Halloween magic that takes place on Thompson Street in Bordentown, NJ. For years the house near the corner with the fenced in yard facing the street spearheaded the transformation. Through a news report I learned they used to work backstage with professional theaters. The decorations were enormous, extending over the street. Nearly everyone participated. One of the men had a connection to a Mummers organization, hence Mummers paraded up and down this tiny street crammed with tiny houses that used to belong to fishermen. Talking to one of the neighbors this week he said in the heyday they had a band on either end of the street.

We returned in 2016, 2017, and 2018. Then the organizers decided to take a year off for kitchen renovations. In 2020, it was deemed unsafe to gather that many people together, even though the event was held outdoors. 2021 was another off year. It returned in 2022 with an under the sea theme. It was cancelled again in 2023.

Last week one of the neighbors told us the street still wanted to keep the tradition alive, even if the head organizers were not up for it due to health concerns. The street chose a Tim Burton theme. They hope to return fully in 2025. For now, many of the decorations were the same store bought posters of Jack and Sally from Nightmare Before Christmas. At least one person brought out their Alice in Wonderland decorations, likely from the year they had a Wonderland theme. 

I applaud them for bonding together to do something fun for the greater community. After all, after living here nearly a quarter of a century, I only know a few neighbors, and not that well. 

Here are our pictures:

Escaping Election News

Just over a year ago, Don and I took what I thought would be our only trip to Australia. It was a place I wanted to visit ever since I in high school and I dreamed of being a Rotary Exchange Student in Australia. They sent me to Belgium, which often felt like the next country on the list alphabetically. I had a wonderful experience, and even dated an Aussie for about a month, but three decades passed before a different Aussie wore me down with pictures of their "winter," and I accepted his hospitality.

I quit my job and Don asked for six weeks off from work. His request was denied, but they told him he could have three weeks. Less than a week into the trip his last week was denied and he saw the handwriting on the wall.

Fast forward to the summer. Election news was scary. It was set to be a rematch between Joe Biden (#46) and Donald Trump (#45). By June I knew I did not want to be here on Election Day so when I saw an airfare for under $1,000 round trip to Australia, I booked it.

A month later the match changed to Kamala Harris vs. Donald Trump, but the feelings of divisiveness remained, as did my desire to be someplace else on Election Day. Someplace where dogs are used to chase away the seagulls so you can enjoy outdoor dining. Someplace where a deadly stabbing of six people makes international news. Someplace where you can leave your bag unattended and it is still there when you get back.

We voted yesterday. We leave in three days. As I did last time, I will post updates as time permits, likely in airports as I wait for a flight. The complete update will happen after we come home.

Our itinerary:

October 30-November 1: fly to Sydney via Atlanta and Los Angeles
November 1-4: Sydney
November 4-7: Uluru (Ayers Rock)
November 7-8: Sydney
November 8-10: Canberra
November 10: extended layover in Melbourne to go to church and have lunch with a friend
November 10-14: Bali
November 15-18: Brisbane with friends
November 18-20: Sydney
November 20: fly home via Los Angeles and Atlanta

This feels like the second half of the trip we did not take last year because his company would not let him take off for six weeks.

Planning has been less overwhelming than in 2023. I spent a few days in Sydney last time and known how to get around the city, including how to navigate from the airport. We spent a week in Melbourne, so we know how to get to church. When I dropped Don off at the international terminal in Brisbane, I took the shuttle to the domestic terminal, so I know I can do the reverse which will put us within walking distance to our hotel, which is walking distance to our friend's office in Brisbane.

I still have to learn how to navigate Canberra and Bali. For Uluru I booked tours via Viator, just like I did last year. It all worked out magically in the past, and will do so again this year.

Meanwhile, Ashley will be home feeding the cats and taking care of the house.

Time to finalize some plans and PACK!

One Last Archaeology Post

The Wednesday digs at Newlin Grist Mill are coming to a close for the season. This Wednesday will be the last one until Spring (well, unless there is nice weather and Keith decides to dig again). Our stone paths will be covered with layers of sand, tarps, and backfill so it will be easy to open up again. We discovered it is a nice warm, flat space that would be good for school groups to gather. It not, however the right place to build the log cabin on that they acquired. Keith is happy we made as much progress as we did, after all the season started with just him and Ed (a septuagenarian with super human upper body strength) and has expanded to about a half dozen of us on any given Wednesday, with me being the youngest in the group as well as the one who travels the farthest. 

On our last day of digging Paul carefully extracted the most unique find of the season -- an intact bottle circa 1880, similar to this one selling on eBay for $9.99.

Archaeologist Keith looked at the bottle and said the body was made in a mold because you can see the line down the side, but that the top was hand made. He also said it is not a ketchup bottle, but rather would have held Worchester sauce. The bottle was clear so purchasers could see the quality of the contents. I suspect once cleaned up and catalogued it will be added to the collection.

On my last day, Keith taught me how to map out the site. In one case we did this just before removing some rocks to see if anything else was beneath it. In another case, it is to document the formations before it gets covered over. As much fun the digging is, my passion has been the behind-the-scenes work. 

After mapping, I swept the areas clean so Keith could photograph them with his cell phone. I had flashbacks to being in Israel and not being able to get the dirt floor clean enough. Fortunately, Keith is less exacting. Though it was frustrating that after I got it clean, he would see something else he wanted to uncover before photographing it, which made me want to clean it again. 

This autumn has had some magical weather, especially on Wednesdays. Though it is a long drive, I've fallen in love with my Wednesday escapes and look forward to returning again in he Spring.

Voting!

Last year I was so excited when the Board of Elections announced New Jerseyans could vote early in a number of polling places, with my local library on the list. I told everyone who would listen how easy it is to vote this way. 

I found out yesterday just how well word of mouth spread when for the first time in my life as a voter, there was a long line of other voters. As I walked up to the line I asked someone how long she waited. She said she got in the line at 10:17 am. It was 11:43. Nearly 90 minutes to wait to vote!

Long waits to vote is something I have heard about in the news, especially when people are banned from giving voters water as they wait. That is something that might happen in big cities, but not in surburbia. It is something my family in Ohio has faced, but not us in New Jersey.

That's why I was so surprised to see the line wrap around my library, and even start to go down the stairs as it was starting to switchback.

I had groceries in the car, so I left. After all, the polls had only been open a couple of hours. 

Don and I went into Princeton. We heard Dan's band play in Palmer Square, ate some bent spoon ice cream (baked apples and roasted pumpkin), and went to the Princeton Municipal Building to vote. Before entering we asked someone who was leaving how long it too for him to vote. He said 10-15 minutes.

The line went down the hallway, but not outside. Don and I chatted with a Princeton alumnus who wanted to get home quickly to watch the Princeton-Harvard football game on TV. Further up in line I saw a dad with his 6-year-old son dressed as an action hero. The voters ranged in age and ethnicity. All were patient, excited to do our civic duty. They even gave us stickers to celebrate that we voted (another rarity in New Jersey).

The process is more cumbersome than it used to do when we had the hanging-chad kind of machines. First we meet with a poll worker who looks us up and checks our ID by scanning the back of our drivers licenses. He hands out a receipt. Then we wait in a slow line waiting for one of the five caped voting machines to open up. Inside another poll worker feeds the receipt into the machine and like magic our ballot appears. Even though I was voting in Princeton, the ballot for Lawrenceville, including school board candidates, appears. Make choices. Click go to the back of the ballot for school board candidates. Click a button to review. Click another button to cast the vote. 

This is where it gets cumbersome -- the ballot prints and we leave the curtain, with the ballot in hand, to feed it into a machine that eats the ballot. I suppose this is so there is also a paper trail, but the printing of the ballot is what seems to take the longest.

I'll admit to misting up in the booth as I cast my vote for who I hope with all my being wins.

All in all, it took us 30 minutes to vote. Well worth it!

We came home to see a postcard addressed to Ashley asking her to vote. After writing and mailing about 70 postcards, it is nice to see firsthand that they actually do go to real people.

  

"You don't understand"

"You don't understand."

Words every parent hears at some point, but are never quite prepared to hear.

In this case, it was "you don't understand what it is like to work two jobs."

Deep breath.

I realized in that moment, my daughter doesn't understand me. I also realized I've made it easy for her.

What I want to say is, "No, I don't understand moving back home from college into your childhood bedroom and have two people willing to drop everything to make your life more comfortable. No, I don't understand what it is like to have everything stay as you want it. No, I don't understand the security you must feel. No, I don't understand having someone do my laundry. And my dishes. And offer to pick up groceries for me. No, I don't understand the luxury of only having to work two part time jobs and not also having to take care of a house."

My life has not been hard by most standards. I do have two loving parents, but parents who always worked multiple jobs to make sure we had what we needed and wanted. I also had two younger siblings whose needs I felt always came before mine. I remember having a meltdown after dear daughter was born and as I was grasping my last straw I called my mom for advice. She couldn't talk because Dad was trying to sleep. The next time she couldn't talk because a call came through on call waiting. I never felt so alone. I promised myself I wouldn't do that to my dear daughter.

When I graduated from college and was about to leave the country to study abroad my parents asked me when I came back if I wanted to share a bedroom with my middle or younger sister. The other would be moving into my bedroom. I moved to the pull out couch in the family room when the exchange student arrived a couple of days before I left so she could be settled. I knew her life had just been disrupted as mine was about to be.

For the next five years, I moved 10 times. Three in Belgium. The rest into various dorm rooms before moving in with my fiancé. I didn't have much -- a few suitcases of stuff -- so it was easy. During those years, I did not feel settled. Nothing felt like home. Even moving in with my fiancé didn't feel like home because it was his before it was ours.

At the time none of this hurt, but it became part of me.

So when my daughter said to 55-year old me, "you don't understand," I realized I have kept much from her. 

I kept one of the reasons I left working when she was born was so she would always feel safe. I took odd jobs that did not interfere with family life so she could have security. Someone was always available to pick her up from activities. The few times I could not be there, I felt I failed her. I failed hubby. I failed myself. 

So, no, dear daughter. As I gaze into the bedroom you have had your entire life, the one I lovingly stenciled flowers on, I don't understand what it is like to be 22-years old and know my parents always have my back. Even when my car doesn't start, or when I hit a racoon late at night, or when I am too sick to drive home and they offer to pick me up.

* These thoughts happened after our trip, but burying them because I'm not sure I don't want to hurt my parents' feelings, but I know my mom has issues with both her mother and (likely) her amazing daughters, but she would still be hurt to read them. At the same time, I need to say them so other mothers and daughters understand they are not alone in their mother/daughter struggles. Mom and dad, I know you love me, but 35 years later I still miss having my own bedroom to curl up in to feel safe when the world is crashing around me.

Vision Board Update

In January I attended a session in Marge's home on creating a vision board. The year was unfolding in front of me like a blank slate. How would I fill the year?

Marge laid a bunch of magazines in front of me and I picked thoughts for the year.

Tonight as I was thinking about the board, I thought of the large word dominating the space: ARCHAEOLOGY. At the time I thought it meant I should look for an trip that would take me someplace exotic to dig for buried treasure, similar to my experiences in Israel in 2019. Instead, the word led me to weekly digs at a site 80 minutes away in West Chester, PA where I have gotten to know a group of older men who I probably would not have talked to otherwise. I have met members of the public and become more confident talking to strangers.

The stack of books in the upper right hand corner is small compared with the many volumes I have read this year (I am on track to read over 100 books again this year). 

The camera on the left represents the 3-week photography class I took.

HOPE is an emotion I am clinging to this election cycle.

J'ai Me likely represents the volunteering I have been doing with the local chapter of Alliance Francaise, though I thought it was going to mean speaking more French.

A "great escape," "off the grid," "dream spring," and likely "magical" all relate to my return trip to Australia. When I made the board I was dreaming of Europe, possibly a biking trip, but instead Australia's Out Back beckoned louder.

"Creative, Adventurous, Inspiring, Confident, Innovative, Bold" was something Marge saw and thought of me. Great thoughts, but more her vision board feelings for me than my own. She noted nothing on my board indicated a new job or career. I didn't realize how much of my year would include volunteering.

The one part hard to see is it says "Still Standing." That, too, is accurate.

I'll keep dreaming. Maybe I'll even make another vision board in 2025. For now, I'm going to continue to enjoy this year's ride.

Colonial Bread

Saturday I returned to West Chester, PA for the monthly public archaeology day at Newlin Grist Mill. I've become the designated public face person, a role I was more comfortable with this month as we had less visitors and they asked less questions. Also helped that Keith was back to his usual healthy self. 

The day went as before ... strong arms dug piles of dirt for the public to sift. I stood with the public and helped point out what we are looking for, and praise the children when they find a piece of colored glass or pottery. One child's had such good eyes, he found a rusted metal bar just under the surface of the path we use, the one we all walked over dozens of times without seeing it. The bar was at least a foot long, my guess is it was used with farm animals, likely part of a cart.

Another child succinctly summed up our findings: Bricks. Nails. Mortar. I laughed because it was perfect. Toss in some random bits of pottery, glass (colored and clear), a button, and other pieces of metal and you have the idea. It is not glamorous. It won't change our historical recollection of the area, but it enhances the narrative. 

The weather was stunning. We have been blessed this fall with many warm, yet low humidity days. The kind you want to bottle for when it turns in the winter, or is too hot in the summer, or we feel like building an ark because the rain won't let up. 

We continue to make slow progress on trying to determine the footprint of the former barn / shed / garage that burned down in 1957. In the past 65 years, the stones were reclaimed by nature. It is only a few inches below the grass, but interspersed with many rocks that are not part of the story. Maybe the farmer added a small stone path near the door? Maybe the stone walls collapsed into the barn when the fire took place? Maybe years later someone working in the park moved a bunch of rocks there? In any case, we are using pick axes more than trowels and working muscles that are normally at rest. 

I love it!

Best find of the day: a piece of Wawa milk glass

This month we had a nice treat at the end. Interpreter Laurie demonstrated how to bake bread using 18th century recipes and a replica 18th century oven. Either due to not being allowed to share with the public, or simply the timing of it being that they finished after the public left, us volunteer archaeologists who stayed until the end were placed in a taste test.

Which recipe make the best corn bread? Which one do you like best?

A) Martha Washington (lower left corner)

B) Ben Franklin (lower right corner)

C) 1826 "receipt" calling for all cornmeal (upper left)

D) 1826 "receipt" modified with a half and half recipe of cornmeal and regular flour (upper right)

I was in the minority voting for the crustier Martha Washington recipe as my preference. Ben Franklin won the contest. The 100% cornmeal batter was crumbly, it needed the flour to hold it together. The upper two would be great with chili. The lower two could stand on their own, especially the sweeter Ben Franklin.

Thank you for sharing!

Rocky Horror Picture Show

Some theaters have an annual tradition of performing "A Christmas Carol," Bucks County Playhouse's annual tradition is "Rocky Horror Show" performed every Halloween. Until Ashley was hired to be on their Deck Crew, I had no idea their version had a cult following. 

Hearing the words Rocky Horror I am transported back to my high school and college days when Sylvia and I would go to a sticky movie theater in Bergen County. My memory is saying it was in Fair Lawn, but it could have been Ridgewood or Glen Rock. Something in that area.

Being geeks, we did not dress up, bring things to throw, or scream the anticipated call outs first. We laughed and enjoyed the scene.

Years pass. We introduce the movie to Ashley because it is has such a cult following. Clearly, it is not as entertaining as a movie with your parents.

Then Ashley gets asked to work backstage on the show, so, of course we buy tickets to support her. 

The theater has a bag check policy to make sure people do not bring in contraband items they'll have to clean up later (rubber gloves, water pistols, candles, etc.), but they want to keep it fun so they provide a small kit for each person entering the theater: a bag of rice, a newspaper, and a playing card. I'm sure they also look for real guns and knives, too.

The show runs about 90 minutes without an intermission. The script is nearly identical to the movie. There is a group of loud males shouting the expected lines at the right times. 

I laugh as I reminisce, and try to remember what is said next.

They add in a line about the eccentric mansion looking like a home in New Hope, and I laughed extra hard. 

We threw our rice. Covered our heads with the newspapers. Sat back and watched the insanity unfold as we continued to hold the playing card. 

The lead is a Muhlenberg alumnus, Frankie Grande (brother to Ariana Grande). I remember when he came to the school a couple of years ago the students were excited. The parents were clueless. I'm still not sure what to make of him. He was the only one allowed to break the fourth wall and interact with the audience, which he seemed to love to do.

The highlight for those returning is at the end of the show we are invited onstage for 45-seconds to dance the Time Warp. People are ushered in and out based on the tag on the back of their chair. We were in the Magenta Group (the second to last one). When I got on stage I shimmied to stage right to be closest to Ashley. She stayed professional and ignored me.

I could see why people return again and again, but at $75 a ticket, I don't plan to return. 

The true highlight was having dinner with Ashley after the show.

Union Street in Lambertville

With tickets to see the Bucks County Playhouse's annual rendition of "Rocky Horror," and a glorious fall day, we headed into Lambertville to see the Halloween decorations. We know Halloween is still 11 days away, so we were surprised to see many favorite displays already up, including retired art teacher Dolores Dragan's masterpiece. Having written about the scene only last year, this post will be mostly pictures.

The weather was still stunning after the show, so we strolled the block again to look at them at night. By Halloween the area will be impassible, especially if the weather continues to be this perfect.

 

At night:

We are hoping to return before Halloween, but if not, I'm still happy I had a taste of Union Street's decorations this year.