Two Mornings, a Study in Contrast

On my morning commute, yesterday, things went bad. It started at what is called, locally, the Fifth Avenue curve. A gentle sweeping arc that sends you from a warming southern drive seeming soft and kind casual and kind to a more western orientation looking at the tall buildings of business gone mad. Things get serious. You can almost hear the crackle and pop of an interspace communication. “Red Leader, assume attack formation.” Everything seems to start on the curve.

Yesterday, after passing 5th Avenue things slowed down. Slowed to a crawl. A crawl broken by stretches of a complete stop. Eventually, I made it past Leonard Avenue, the first exit west of 5th Avenue. A police car came screaming up the east bound freeway, crossed on the overpass and went accelerating down the westbound lanes. I could hear the roar of the engine over my music,  Summer in the City by the Lovin’ Spoonful. Which is one of my favorites, so it was kind of loud. I knew it was bad, then.

And it was. There was a horrible accident, multiple cars, multiple injuries. I didn’t know how bad it was, but it was obviously so bad my first thought was a silent prayer. Not the usual disgust for people who have to drive carelessly and wreck, ruining my commute. In fact it was so bad they closed the freeway, and I was forced to exit and wind my way through the downtown streets crowded with frustrated, detoured commuters.

The sun came up. It was weak, hidden with dark clouds. There was no rain in the forecast and none in the clouds. But, they were dark, ominous, heavy with something. Anger, sadness? Maybe they wanted to shed a few tears for the poor souls. Nothing more painful than impotent sorrow. It was a very uncomfortable morning. And, I have never been so glad when morning ended and the skies finally gave a little break. I know, occasionally, I see things for more than they are, and I am sure this was one of those times. It doesn’t take much imagination to make the connection, though.

I looked online and it doesn’t seem as if anybody was killed. But, once the traffic is cleared it doesn’t seem to be news anymore. Though, I imagine those involved would feel differently. 

This morning, though, I am comfortable, alone, with a cup of coffee, an iPad and my thoughts. I am mapping out the Nancy/Tim Casino Extravaganza. We are stopping at Jungle Jims, in Fairfield, the Party Barn in Louisville and a used bookstore in Dayton.  We may have to stop at Jungle Jims and the book store both ways.

I love used books. For one thing they are cheaper. More important, though, it is sharing a treasure with someone, somebody you don’t even know. In a way you have both lived somebody else’s life. Enter stage left, a new character, three people. Maybe several people owned and read the book.  It is a whole village, really. All sharing a story. I know people who only like new books, hard cover, fresh from the factory books. I like books with character, lived in books, loved books, hated books, books that have been around the block. Like me.

I have two books I have been looking for. It is a quest. I could buy them off Amazon, or Barnes and Noble but where is the thrill in that? They have become my grail. I am almost afraid I will find them. What then? There is always another foolish adventure, another pointless chase through aisles filled with the forgotten relics of modern life. It might be a book, it could be a Bluetooth keyboard for an iPhone, possibly a coffee cup with a particular companies logo. But, it is out there and I will find it, or at least look for it. 

So, next week we are off to spend a couple of days in a casino. Not really in the casino, but in a room in the same building as the casino. We will go hiking through a state park. And, hike through the casino as well. We might even drop some coin on a game or two. Why not? And we will hike through the grocery store, and the used book store. You have to stay active, right? We love to hike. 

And, I will hope the people in the awful wreck yesterday are ok. But, I probably won’t know. And I guess I can live with that, too.

Next Weekend, All Planned Out.

“Kindled by the dying embers 

Of another working day,

Go upstairs take off your makeup,

Fold your clothes neatly away, 

Me, I’ll set and write this lovesong 

As I all too seldom do,

Build a little fire at midnight

It’s good to be back home with you.” *

Goal, Relaxation

One week from today, actually one week from last Thursday, we will be at Shawnee State Park in southern Ohio. It might be a little premature for a kayaking trip but we can always light a fire, open a bottle of wine and relax. Sometimes it is good to just stop and take a breath. Life can seem like the episode of Star Trek with the tribbles, everything piles up too quickly, and you are buried under small, insignificant tasks. Life can be strange sometimes.

It is a small cabin, which, from the pictures on Instagram and Trip Advisor, is almost exactly like the cabins at Lake Hope. Small, comfortable, and wonderfully adequate for a couple of days of leisure. Ohio Department of Natural Resources really did a great job with these small treasures scattered around the state. When you look at the world from those windows you see the world, our country in a whole new way. The sense of isolation is palpable, just the two of us, in the wealth and glory of Nature’s splendor, and there is less than 100 feet to the next cabin.

Preparation

To make sure we have all the information we need I put the Shawnee State Park in Entune on our Tacoma. I installed Portsmouth, the nearest real town, on the weather app on my phone, and check it often. Thursday is predicted to be 58 with a chance of rain, Friday cloudy and 53, Saturday sunny and 49 and Sunday cloudy and 60 degrees. It has changed several times in the last week. But, any of those days might work for a quick paddle around either lake. Or, they might stay in the back of the truck. We will be prepared though. 

Plus, I know exactly where the Kroger is in Portsmouth. My wife loves Kroger. She says they have the best deals and the most polite employees. She is a coupon clipping machine, and shops the sales with a keen eye for detail. I always check for a Kroger, anywhere we go. If the pictures are any indication the Portsmouth Kroger is much nicer than either the Athens or Nelsonville Kroger. It might even be as nice as the Kroger Marketplace in Gahanna, but I am not holding my breath. 

We will do some hiking, too, on the trails running through the ancient forests, with all of their secrets, and smells, sounds and natural mystery. But we will also walk along the river front and hike through downtown Portsmouth. Every town and city we have walked through had a story to tell, and it was always a good story. A tale of survival, struggling through difficult times, enjoying the wealth and warmth of economic growth. America lives and breathes on those streets, America will walk with you as you walk down those streets.  History at a relaxed stroll.

One of our favorite ways to find out about a place is to try appetizers at small local restaurants, local delicacies, born from legend or need, growing with the times, evolving from simple origins. You are what you eat, and you are definitely what you serve to people who happen in and ask what is good.

Taking a Detour

On the way home we are going to swing by Cincinnati and stop in at Jungle Jim’s (also installed on the navigation app in the pickup). It is a place we have to stop by whenever we can. It can be crowded, the help can be a little testy at times, but the place is spectacular. If it is food, and it isn’t at Jungle Jim’s it probably isn’t really food. They have miles of rows of shelves. We find things we can’t find anywhere else. Plus, it is just fun, wandering the aisles, looking at the selection, and thinking this is a crazy grocery store. It is a destination, we can kill several hours just looking, and we always find something we want.

Sometimes, I think we spend too much time walking through grocery stores. Maybe it is our way of reaching into our long lost past, hunter gatherers, making our way through life, harvesting our food, preparing to meet the challenges of the tumultuous week ahead. Work, alarms clocks, traffic jams, lunch in the break room, coffee in a mug you found in the the cupboard, it might be anybodies, the tension of the potential, “Hey, that is my coffee cup,” ringing through the building, everybody looking. So much tension, so much stress. Preparing for the awful requires dedication and calm. Zen and the art of grocery store browsing. I’m a subscriber.

* Fire at Midnight by Jethro Tull.

A Safari, sort of.

We went to Jungle Jim's in Cincinnati, actually it is in Fairfield, a suburb. Since geography is so painful we will just call it Cincinnati, and since Cincinnati is so hard to type we will just say "We went to Jungle Jim's."  Though it doesn't matter, at all.

Jungle Jim's is a super market, a really super market. You can find almost anything.

In the section where they sell candy there is an automaton of a dog standing behind a fence, holding a guitar and singing "You Ain't Nothin' But a Hound Dog" by Elvis Presley. For some reason that makes me happy. Elvis is still cool, even after all these years.

And, they have a big canned soup guy, kind of a guy, kind of a big soup can, on a swing over the
canned soup aisle. And it talks, of course, almost everything talks at Jungle Jim's. Sometimes, though, it starts feeling its oats, and it starts talking trash. "Hey, you in the hat, the Red's hat, how would you like me to come down there and kick your ass?"*

"I'd like to see you try." No guy, no matter how mature, no matter how comfortable he is with himself, no matter how at peace he is, is going to take that from a talking soup can.

The soup can jumped down from his swing and swaggered over to the Reds (I should point out he was a baseball Reds fan, not a fan of the movie Reds movie starring Warren Beatty, though he might have liked the movie, I'm not sure, and it doesn't really matter) fan and shoved him into the olive bar.

No guy, no matter how peace loving, no matter how centered, no matter how spiritual, is going to take that. He jumped up and grabbed the Soup Can guy and tried to wrestle him to the ground. He probably thought punching a soup can the size of a barrel, a soup barrel if you will, was a bad idea.

Soon they were rolling around in the oil from thousands of olives. The counter person was screaming and jumped on top of both of them, cursing, and trying to gouge their eyes. It was an awful mess, and I decided to bust a move on out of there, I didn't want to have to explain that to my wife.

We love going to Jungle Jim's. You never know what you will see.




*Not really, I have never witnessed the Jungle Jim's soup can guy behave in an aggressive or hostile manner. He is always respectful and polite. I just made this up for the sake of a blog post, and I apologize to Jungle Jim's, the Cincinnati Reds, Warren Beatty and soup loving pacifists all over the world.