Moving

Somewhere in Pennsylvania


Somewhere in Maryland


Somewhere in New Jersey

Twelve moves over 18 years. It never bothered me then and the flashbacks don't bother me today. A sudden remembrance of anonymous highways, gas stations and motels from over 40 years ago. Indexed as: Bliss to Sill. Sill to Bragg. Monroe to Carson...

Ft Monroe to Ft Carson:
A diner waitress in New Mexico. Her simple beauty known only to me. She smiled a special smile at me. I was sure. In her butterscotch uniform and white apron. I was 15.

Ft Bliss to Ft Sill: Small homes on a flat red dusk with their dark insides lit only by blue television light. At seven, I wondered who the people were that watched TV together in the dark.

Ft Carson to Florida retirement: Only two months of high school before I graduate. I thought the Panhandle was America's stretch of ass compared to the West. I kept count of dead armadillos on the highway and wondered what the people thought of us as we drove by their orange stands, body shops and car dealers.

I still do. A 6AM train from NYC to DC. I wonder what it's like to be someplace I'm passing through. The back of scrap yards, body shops and car dealers. Back to NYC on a 7PM train, and night shows me inside TV lit apartments with snipped pictures of bookshelves, green ferns and posters belonging to Philadelphia, Trenton and Newark.

Not much has changed.

Planes,

Ever notice how Americans order drinks on a plane? "I wanna a Coke." Or, "Gimme a Coke." Or, sometimes they just grunt, "Coke." Whatever happened to, "May I have...?" Or, "May I please have..." Flying today closely resembles taking a Trailways Bus. I took the bus a lot in the Army and in college. I liked it. You could sit in the back and drink beer and smoke cigarettes. But my shoes were not as nice as these. British Tan Tassel loafers made by Alden for Brooks Brothers. They are fitting for summer cotton suits and hop sack blazers with white trousers. I love 'em though I'm not sure why.

Trains

30th Street Station in Philadelphia. One of my favorite train stations in one of my least favorite towns. And like a lot of things I love - - I'm not sure why. Filled with fast food franchises it's beginning to look like a mall but it still has a charm about it despite a horrible taxi stand.

and Automobiles

No pretensions here. It's a station wagon with over 100,000 miles. The Brits call it an estate. They also call a back yard a garden and a tent a marquis. This wagon is full of crap for the month of August. This is a car that not only sucks up massive amounts of crap in the back but gobbles up highway miles, appears to be invisible to the police and thanks to the hunter green paint job, disappears on the highway at dusk. Still, I love it although I'm not sure why. After dealing with the Planes and the Trains - - it's nice to sit in, as my friend Wally calls it, "quiet elegance" while listening to the Clash on it's amazing Bose stereo.