Update 7-6-04

Hi,
A handful of notes, then some travel filler:

From Barbara Zingman Braunstein: SEPTA -- Special Education Parent Teachers Association.

From Steve Gootzeit: The only SEPTA I know is the Southeastern Pennsylvania Transportation Authority, which runs the trains and buses in Philadelphia.

From Ellen Epstein Silver: Attached is a photo of Janice Williams Teeuwe, her motorcycle, and me. Janice was an absolute delight. We caught up, and it was like we'd never been apart. She has a wonderful life in a beautiful setting with (mountain) lions, and no tigers, but bears, oh my. She says you get used to it, and the bears only eat out of the garbage pails when no one is looking. Janice also has a terrific family who enjoys all the pleasures of living in the great state of Colorado. We had a wonderful visit.

[Rich -- the photo's on the home page, under Photos.]

And the topical travel filler, from my trip around the country:  Sunday, July 4th, 1999, Carlsbad, New Mexico.
     As one of my dumber ideas, I thought we'd take the dog to the Fourth of July celebrations. She'd been alone all day, locked in a strange motel room, and she'd behaved perfectly, not even messing up the bed she'd been forbidden to loaf on while we were gone. Nothing was chewed or wet. What better reward than a night out?
     How about a night huddled under a mattress?
     Dogs don't like fireworks. I should've read her training book. But even protective Tom didn't know that, or he never would have let me bring her along.
     We'd gone to dinner first, without her, there being very few dog-friendly restaurants in Carlsbad or maybe anywhere. This was a different place from the night before, unfortunately with even less interesting food. "Where are the good fireworks?" I asked the waitress as we finished.
     Damned if she knew.
     Heading out, I asked the desk clerk the same question, the restaurant being conveniently located in our motel lobby. "Down by the river," came the answer -- which sounded Biblical, but made sense. If you're gonna set off sparks in a desert, at least shoot them where they can't burn up the place.
     "How do we get there?" I asked. And once the clerk made sure I wasn't joking -- this being a one-river town -- he drew me a map.
     Which didn't include parking. Or indicate all the people, from miles around, who'd come to see the show and had been picking out the good spots to sit while Tom and I were chomping mediocre chow.
     "Where should I go?" Tom asked, that frequent question even when we both were clearly lost.
     "Right," I suggested. Then right again. And again. The river was on our left.
     "It's getting dark," he pointed out. And over the river, we could hear popping.
     But we found a place to park, then located a spot on the river bank to sit. Then the festivities began:
KA-BOOM!
     And the dog was under Tom. Or trying to get under him. Shuddering at his shoulder. Quivering at his knees. I noticed immediately she didn't come to me. She knew instinctively who'd suggested this torment.
     KA-BOOM!
     KA-BOOM!
     KA-BOOM!
     "Should we leave?" I asked Tom. But since he didn't understand the relationship between dogs and fireworks, he didn't realize the problem was genetic. And, obviously, there were no other dogs around for comparison.
     "She'll be OK," he decided, stroking her ears.
     KA-BOOM!
     Well, maybe not.
     But you gotta say this for the mutt -- she was willing. Whenever the booms stopped for a moment, she'd peek out from under Tom's arm. Only to retreat at the next flash. She quickly caught the connection between light and sound.
     The fireworks were only OK. Mainly, it was the City on one bank and the Masons on the other. This was announced by dueling sound systems on boats in the river -- now that was the place to be. But neither side really had anything flashy or understood how to build to a finish -- or even a start. It was all very wham-bang, there were isolated ooohs, then long pauses filled by a distant high school band. Coming late, we'd picked the wrong end of the river. Though had we been at the right end, the dog might have torn out my throat.
     Still, I guess this was how small town America spent the Fourth, and it reminded me of a night in Cedar Rapids maybe 25 years earlier. Again, the fireworks weren't much, but the crowd in the park kinda made up for it. They pledged allegiance loudly and sang along with the dissonant band -- even the notes no one could reach or the words everyone had to mumble. The end of the Viet Nam war was still fresh, or sour, depending on how you felt, but for 15 minutes everyone watched the rockets and pretended they weren't bombs. Or maybe they knew they weren't and were just thankful.


The home page: hometown.aol.com/vssouth65








Rich