I’ve worked here, if you use the word “here” in a non-literal way. It is one of a million offices from which teachers work. It might be a space in any old building anywhere in the world. It could be on any campus.
The small room is full of light from its single tall window, the papers and books protected from the sun by a tired Venetian blind. You know, even though you’ve never been there, that the room is too hot in the winter, but not cool enough in the summer. It’s never big enough for all the stuff that lives there, both the things that are physically in place and those that occupy psychic space in the mind shadows.
Just a tiny space cluttered with books and packed tight with memories.
Freeport, Long Island. It’s in Nassau Country, the closest county on Long Island to New York city. I grew up in the city … in Queens, which is a borough of New York. Each of New York’s boroughs has its own character and in many ways, is a city in its own right. Certainly people who grow up in Brooklyn identify themselves as Brooklyn-ites and if you come from the Queens, Staten Island, or the Bronx, you will always identify that as your “home ground” rather than just “New York.”
Between the picture postcard and our visit lay almost exactly a century.
People from Manhattan have a strong sense of superiority because they come from The City. For reasons that are hard to explain, but perfectly obvious to anyone who has lived there or even visited for any length of time, Manhattan is the heart of New York in ways that cannot be simply explained. It’s not just because it’s the center of business. In fact, that really has little to do with it. It just is what it is. Even when I was a kid growing up in Queens, when we said we were going “into the city,” we meant Manhattan. If we were going anywhere else in the five boroughs, we said we were going to Brooklyn or the Bronx or some specific neighborhood … but the city was Manhattan and no doubt still is.
I moved to Long Island in 1963 when I was 16 and had just started college. I never moved back to the city, though for many years, we went there for shows, museums, all the things available in a city and not in suburbs or other outlying areas. And of course, work.
A few years of my childhood, before I was 5 and moved to Holliswood, we lived in an apartment house — really, a tenement — on Rose Street in Freeport, near Woodcleft Canal.
In the late 1940s and early 1950s, the area near the canal was decrepit. Living “near the docks” was not a good thing, certainly nothing to brag about. My family was going through hard times and it was the best we could afford.
My mother hated it. It was the middle of nowhere and she didn’t drive. For her, born in Manhattan, a lifelong resident of New York, what was Freeport? Long Island? That was farm country where you went to buy vegetables at farm stands. My mother, an urbanite to her core, understood poverty but being poor in the country was her version of Hell.
My memories are limited but I see in my mind a big white stucco building with no architectural features. A large white box that didn’t fit into the neighborhood. It stuck out so that even by the less stringent standards of 60 years ago, it was an eyesore. It hasn’t lost that quality. It is still an ugly building, but I expect the rent is higher.
We drove down Rose Street to look at it. I was curious if I would recognize it, but I did. Instantly. I think early memories are deeply embedded in our psyches. Then, having satisfied curiosity, we found out way to the canal.
I shouldn’t have been surprised to find the canal lined with marinas and yachts. The road along the canal has the usual expensive restaurants featuring faux nautical decor. It was a trifle weird.
There were many huge Victorian houses in Freeport back in the 1970s that you could buy for almost nothing. A great deal if you had a lot of money with which to fix one of them up. Those grand old houses … there are still a few around there and here too, but restoring one is big bucks and maintaining them, even if you can afford the initial restoration, out of the range of most people. I’m glad that some have survived. They are magnificent, though even thinking about the cost of heating one is frightening.
You can’t go back in time except in your memory. Sometimes, if you treasure the way it was, how you remember it, it’s better not to revisit places. Keep your memories intact because then, the places you remember will always be the way they were.
Once upon a time, I built a teepee. I painted the door and filled it with things I loved. I made the poles, sanded each by hand, peeling the bark from each 16-foot sapling we had cut in our own woods.
Then I wrote a book about building it, and about life, transformation, and other things, some funny, some sad, some just whatever.
The manuscript for The 12-Foot Teepee took me about 7 months to write, almost as much time to edit, then a few more months to design the cover and the book. Getting it published, well … that’s a whole other story.
This was my teepee.
It stood, through all seasons for five years. This summer, the poles could no longer support the canvas, and the canvas itself was mildewed. Its time was over and it came down.
I don’t think there will ever be another. Building it was a rebirth. A physical teepee is nothing but a bit of canvas and sticks, the rest is spirit, love, and hope. I knew it could not last forever, and it lasted as long as any teepee could in this climate … especially since I left it up through the winter … but I miss it and always will. I had some of my best hours in my teepee … the only place in my world where I could always sleep.
My favorite time in the teepee was when the snow was falling and I was cozy by my fire. It was the most peaceful place in my world.
When you think of Gettysburg, you probably think “battlefield.” Military history. Civil War.
What does not likely come immediately to mind are “Ghosts” and “Ghouls.” However unlikely, that seems to be the most prominent theme of this historic town and its battlegrounds.
The shops are full of ghosts, ghouls, and zombies representing the dead soldiers. And, of course, there are tee shirts. Many varieties of ghosts, ghouls, and zombies, dressed in both Confederate and Union uniforms. Some, with no uniforms.
This is tourist central, but it’s charming and quaint and everything is nicely clumped together in a small area. Even for me, it’s not too much walking. That the temperature has dropped quite a bit helps too.
You can get a tee-shirt with the entire Gettysburg Address on it, with or without Abraham Lincoln. You can get a wide variety of Confederate, Union, or combination tee-shirts. Guns and knives vie with children’s toys as souvenirs.
The honored dead did not die in vain. They died so we could have cool tee shirts.
Starting the trek back home this morning. I logged a fair bit of jacuzzi time yesterday and now I can stand up without help.
Yesterday we did NOTHING except a trip to the pharmacy, a simple dinner of pasta and sauce, finishing off leftovers since we can’t take them with us.
Although I’m still hurting a bit from jouncing, bouncing, spinning, dipping, flipping and general mayhem, if I could, I’d probably do it again. I’m that crazy. Sometimes I worry me.
But I’m safe. Garry would NOT go. Unlike me, he prefers to not be crippled for love of roller coasters. He has a firmer sense of self-preservation than I do, obviously.
It was a good vacation. Friends, fun. Okay, old Williamsburg was a bit of a disappointment, but we ate great food, had some good laughs, I got a few nice pictures and we rode a couple of killer coasters … so we leave satisfied, if a trifle bruised.
We indulged in a pair of electric scooters for Garry and I. Pricey, but I am SO glad we did. It was hot, there’s a huge amount of walking and aside from feeling a little like the road-runner yelling “Beep beep” as we navigated the park, we actually came out of the experience feeling reasonably good.
What did we do?
Not as much as I intended, but for two senior citizens, probably more than enough. First of all, even if you aren’t walking, it’s still a lot of distance to cover from one ride to another, from one exhibit to another. That eats up a lot of time, so if you intend to try to do it all, plan on being there a long day. Or two.
We got there by noon and left around 5:30 and we only went on 5 rides, grabbed some lunch, and spent a little time looking at eagles and wolves. The eagles and wolves looked about as hot and sweaty as we felt. There was no wasted time. Except for the 45 minute lunch break, we were on the move the entire time.
Apollo’s Chariot has a first drop that’s pretty heart stopping, some twists, turns, and barrel rolls that do a pretty good job tossing you around. It is also a very short ride … maybe 3 or 4 minutes. Which is quite enough, thank you.
Loch Ness is another story. It is a long coaster, possibly the longest I’ve ever ridden. Lots of upside down barrel rolling loop-the-loops and nobody mentioned the long dark tunnel part. As we went around, tightly locked in, yet I somehow was able to emerge with what I think is a separated shoulder, a bruised patella, and possibly a permanently damaged left hip. Garry probably should be in a neck brace.
Interlocking loops of the Loch Ness Monster.
The train reaches the 130-foot (40 m) lift hill with a small and tight turn … bringing it to a 114-foot (35 m) drop towards the park’s Rhine River. A large upward hill crosses over the park’s ‘Land of the Dragons’ and trim brakes bring riders to the first of the two interlocking loops. After the loop, the train makes a turn and to a block brake, which then leads into a covered tunnel/helix.
Inside the tunnel, the train makes 2.75 circular turns before coming to the end of the tunnel. As the train exits the tunnel at the end of the helix a small brake run slows the train to ascend a smaller second lift hill.
The train makes a wide turn after the lift and drops downward into the second loop. It then goes uphill again before being brought to a stop by the final brake.” From Wikipedia.
I want to mention that the video on the Loch Ness coaster does not do it justice. It’s a lot more intense than the video would indicate. And longer.
We passed on the other four big bad roller coasters and though I feel I have somehow failed to meet my obligation to ride the most evil coasters available, I think that it may finally be time to accept that I am not a kid anymore. These coasters make the Cyclone seem rather tame. Except for the actual danger factor and that’s where the Cyclone takes the big prize because there’s always a real possibility that it’s going to kill you dead for real and all.
When you ride the Cyclone, it’s hard to not notice that it IS very old. It shakes. It’s rickety. In addition to whatever fear is generated by speed and dips and getting flung around, there’s the possibility that the thing’s going to just collapse with you on it.
Busch Gardens inspects each ride, each coaster, every 4 hours. If there is anything that doesn’t seem perfect, they walk the track, foot by foot, checking to make sure that everything is as it should be. This means that there are a lot of time outs for maintenance and you just wait while they double and triple check everything.
And that’s just fine. It makes the rides less scary in a real life way, but not less fun … or less painful. I’m pretty sure that the Cyclone wouldn’t make the cut. I think they inspect it at the beginning of the season and if a piece falls off (it happens, really, I’ve seen it) they check to see if it’s a critical piece or not. Otherwise? Roll on, roll on.
So here’s how it goes. Having survived the “easiest” coaster, Apollo’s Chariot with a nearly vertical drop, we proceeded to the Loch Ness Monster. Second coaster. Up, up, up, up. Boy, we sure are going up a long way. Golly. Then, pause. Look down.
Holy……AHHHHHHHHHH…..oooh …. ouch, there goes my right knee. Ow, ooh, damn, I think I just dislocated my left shoulder. Upside dooooown … holy sh*t … yikes. Hey, why is it so dark … what’s this tunnel? Nobody told me about a tunnel. Where the hell are we? Yeow, oh my GOD … upside down and twist and ahhhhhhhh…. ouch, ooh, other knee … did I just break that patella?
Let’s get some lunch, okay? Let’s visit some animals. Buy a tee-shirt.
After that, we went on a nice virtual airplane trip through Europe, and spooky Dark Kastle in Germany, something that spun around and was, for us, a kiddy ride, but people were actually screaming (wimps). And then, on our little electric scooters, we headed for the gate and back to the hotel. The old people have their feet up, reruns of NCIS on television.
Alive to tell our tale.
So if you are over 65, but nonetheless will be damned rather than not do that cool stuff, just be aware that there’ll be a few bruised parts and maybe a few missing pieces at the end of your day. Glad I did it. Not sure I’ll do it again.
To participate in the Ragtag Daily Prompt, create a Pingback to your post, or copy and paste the link to your post into the comments. And while you’re there, why not check out some of the other posts too!