Europe Trip

     It wasn’t the fare watcher that I live with who discovered the great price on a round trip to London, direct from Denver.  It was a former colleague.

     Before Joe got into the teaching and farming business, he worked for TWA.  He knows the ropes.  Joe also has ties to folks in Germany.  He likes to visit them every few years. 

      One day he called and suggested we all go first to London, then on to Frankfurt, Germany.  The price was right.  There was one hang-up.  When he added the flight to Germany, the fare doubled.  Joe knew his way around that.  By scheduling a separate flight, he got the cheap rate to London and a fairly good rate to Frankfurt.  How could we say no?

     Besides, what does one do in mid-February except wish for spring to arrive?  It all seemed so far off when the planning and booking took place.  February 15 really did come, hard on the heels of a day, February 14, of doing singing Valentines for the barbershop chorus.

     We left Denver about 5 p.m. and arrived in London the next day at 9 a.m.  We bought “tube” tickets that would serve us for the five days we were there.  We commenced learning the subway system.  In due time we arrived at Paddington Station.  Joe booked a hotel two blocks from Paddington.  It was the St. David Hotel.  It became our home base, Paddington Station, our springboard to adventure.

     We had been to the British Museum before, but I wanted to see again the Rosetta stone and all the Egyptian stuff the Brits “transferred” to England.  The first time I saw that, I felt they had done an injustice by removing so many artifacts from the country of origin.  This time, I felt thankful that so many things would be preserved, out of the hands of the IS “delinquents” who have destroyed so many antiquities in the Mid-East.

    We aren’t as young as we used to be.  After five hours of looking at stuff, we were done for the day.  Another three or four days would be necessary to do justice to all the things in the British Museum.

     Our second day found us at the tower of London.  We viewed the Crown Jewels.  They were presented entirely differently than they had been in 1990.  We passed on the Beefeater tour, so we missed a lot of things, like the dungeons and torture chambers and the chapel with its headless bodies beneath the basement floor. 

      Instead, we spent a couple of hours viewing famous paintings in a gallery nearby (can’t remember which one).  Not being a great appreciator of art, nevertheless, I felt the magnitude of greatness I was among by estimating the insurance value of each room we visited in the gallery.  Not for nothing have I watched Antiques Roadshow.

     Day three found us taking in the tower of Big Ben, which is closed for a year of renovations, but we still looked at its exterior.

     We also looked at Westminster Abbey.  It was Sunday and church service was in progress.  You can’t take a tour of the place on Sunday.  Visitors are welcome to attend the church service, but you have to wait for one service to end and another to begin.

     We looked at the Parliament building, too.  When the most recent idiot ran his car into pedestrians on the bridge near parliament and knifed a policeman, we all could say, “Hey we walked on that bridge.”  One of the things we noticed as we walked around the parliament building were the cement barricades separating street from walkway.  At the time I conjectured that they were intended to prevent a truck from crashing through the gates of parliament.

      When the London car-murderer hit the news, I thought, there is no 100% way to protect against attacks by idiots.  Even if we could develop a foolproof idiot-detector, I am afraid most of us would get caught in its jaws at some time or another.  It would be like in “Mayberry RFD” when Barney, left in charge by Andy’s leaving town, has the entire town’s population locked up in jail for various violations.

      As we were all very tired, we retired to the hotel for a nap.  We took care of a few details, such as taking our clothes to a laundry, scheduling a cab to pick us up Tuesday morning at 5 am to take us to the airport.  We visited Paddington main station, different from the tube station.  There we had an informal tea and did a bit of shopping for stuff like bottled water and ibuprofen to help relieve the cold I was starting to develop, or redevelop.

      Monday was the last day in London.  We visited the War Museum, mostly WWI stuff, though there was a small collection of WWII things.  We had enough of people killing people, so we took in the Tate Gallery.  Again, lots of famous paintings, not one of which I can remember, sorry to say.

    Tuesday 4 am wakeup call found me feeling really lousy with cold symptoms, but the show must go on.  Our cab driver was from Iraq, so we talked international politics at 5 am, all the way to Heathrow, where we had to clear security. 

     I could write a fair-sized article on going through airport security, starting with DIA where the TSA guy had me hitch up my jeans Herkel-fashion while he checked my pant legs all the way up to the point he determined I had nothing foreign in my jockey shorts.  Something about me arouses suspicion in the security people. 

     Some of our party of four got a pat down in the four encounters we had with airport security, but I got singled out and patted down every time.  Could it be my cocked eye?

      The first hurdle we had to clear at Heathrow security involved liquids.  All our liquids and gels had to fit into one Ziploc bag.  It took quite some doing for the Goodwife to get all her liquids and gels in one bag.  I took a couple of her things.  A kindly bloke working the assembly line in front of the metal detector machine helped me get my Ziploc bag closed around the bottles and tubes.  Perhaps he could see I was in pretty poor shape with my head cold.

     While this was all taking place, we got separated.  We couldn’t find Katie.  We looked all over before we went through the final security check.  Finally, we determined to look for her on the “other side”, and if we didn’t find her, we would have to summon professional help. 

      After my scanning, wanding, and pat down, I had to visit with another lady who wanted to take a look at my CPAP machine.  All was well there, and when we finally crossed the final bridge to the concourses, there stood Katie patiently waiting.  She had been hustled quickly through all the security checks while we were still struggling with liquids and gels and Ziploc bags.

    Finally, we had plenty of time to sit down to breakfast before catching our 7 a.m. to Frankfurt.  It was the first breakfast we paid for, every other breakfast being provided by the hotel.  (Two eggs, “bacon” we would call ham, two boiled tomatoes, a scoop of baked beans, plenty of toast, and coffee or tea.  We easily lived on two meals a day while in London, starting with the robust breakfast.)   

      Off to Frankfurt.      

     

Yard Light

February 27,2017

“SUBJECT:  Light Removal”

“It has come to our attention that you have an outdoor light currently installed on an MVEA (Mountain View Electric Association) pole.  Lights other than those owned, installed and maintained by MVEA are not allowed on MVEA poles.  This light will be removed and left at the base of the pole.”

March 11, 2017

Dear Ms. Smith:

       Yes, I do have a light attached to an MVEA pole.  It, or its one predecessor, has been there for nearly 65 years, since MVEA first lit up our life in the 1950’s.  Unless I am mistaken, the light was mounted by an MVEA crew.  (I could be mistaken, as I would only have been 5 or 6 years old at the time.)

     The light was strategically placed to light up the yard, which at the time included a chicken house and a barn.  On the south end of the barn, just about ten or fifteen yards away from the meter pole that holds the light, we had a basketball goal.  The light provided enough illumination for many after-dark one-on-one, two-on-two basketball games or games of “Horse”.

     Of course, it provided the light to get to barn, chicken house, milk house, or shop on early winter mornings or nights.  It also provided a beacon for tired harvest crews headed home after a long day in the field.  It welcomed us home when we returned from school and athletic practices in the dark.  It provided a goal for visitors finding their way to our house after sundown.  In a scrapbook, a photograph shows my father changing the yard light bulb standing on a five-foot ladder perched on a huge snowdrift.

(March 13, 1977)

    Times have changed.  The barn and chicken house are gone.  I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that the light’s nights are numbered.  Still, it seems that such a venerable institution deserves to have some type of “grandfathered” rights to continue to exist.  Perhaps it poses some type of danger of which I am unaware.    

       In reference to the offer you make in your note to me, I must decline.  It seems counterproductive in an age when we are trying to conserve electricity, and when much of our urban world is fighting a phenomenon known as “light pollution” that I would expend $12 a month to use electricity to add to light pollution.  One of the great things about rural living is being able to view the night sky, especially here on the plains where the sky extends 180 degrees from horizon to horizon.  I am not interested in any type of outdoor illuminating device that cannot be switched off or on.

     I am sure there is a very good reason for MVEA to make a rule prohibiting lights on MVEA poles, a reason of which I am currently unaware.  I am also sure that I will find other locations to place outdoor illumination, but for the immediate future, I will do without a yard light.  Since I won’t be using the yard light, my electricity use will be reduced by a small amount.  I guess that slight reduction in usage is in MVEA’s, and my, best interest.

We're here to serve you--on a platter.

Life in an R-V Park

     In January, an old man’s fancy lightly turns to going south, to paraphrase Mr. Tennyson.  It can get cool in the desert, but nothing like the freezing temperatures we experience in Colorado.  We have thought about going south for a while during January.

     Our trip to Tucson to take in the gem show also let us experience life as snowbirds, living in an R-V Park.  Jeri arranged for us to stay in one of her friend’s R-V.  She rented a space for the three nights we were there. It was a smaller vehicle, though far from the smallest we saw in the park.

       We were situated closed to the park shower, which we used rather than the trailer’s facility.

      We were quite comfortable during our three-night stay.  We didn’t spend much time in the R-V during the day, but I can see the place would get rather cramped in the case of inclement weather.  Getting accustomed to the smaller space will take some adjustment if we decide to try the R-V lifestyle.

      Limited space leads to other problems.  Rubbermaid-style containers stand in for garages and basements. 

       At night as we returned to our mobile bedroom, strings of lights around nearly every vehicle, trailers and cars, lit the way.  Still celebrating Christmas?  No.  Anyway, the lights weren’t colored. 

     Pack rat deterrent, we were told.  Everyone could tell a horror story about the destruction the rodents cause, chewing electric and water lines, not to mention the destruction if they find their way into an auto or R-V.  No need to tell us about that.  We know packrats.  I never would have guessed that the vermin would not cross a string of lights.  Many of the lights are solar powered, requiring small storage batteries, charged during the day to power the lights by night.

      Bob and Jeri had  fake rattlesnake under their trailer, the idea being that the fake reptile will discourage a real one that occasionally slithers into the park.  Other potentially bothersome wildlife include wild pigs called javelinas.  They can be quite destructive in their search for something to eat.  Be sure to get the garbage into the park dumpster—don’t leave it outside!   

      Coyotes also serenaded us on our nocturnal stroll among the R-V’s on our way to retire for the night.  For me, the wildlife is part of the charm of living in an R-V park, not a deterrent.

     We also talked about renting a home as with VRBO or Airbnb.  There would be more space, with no maintenance headaches that comes with an R-V.  But the R-V Park offers something we have lost in our lives in the city or suburbia.

     A sense of community.  Text messages, email, ubiquitous telephones, social media have replaced our sense of community.  The R-V Park offers a community, or communities, big time.  The park has various outbuildings, shower and restroom facilities, laundry sites.  There are also buildings where various groups meet or talented folks entertain park residents.  A bluegrass band performed on our last evening there.  We stopped to watch them warming up, but we were too tired from taking in the gem show to attend the concert.

      Another building serves as a library, which is maintained by volunteers (as are most of the activities).  Bird watchers, gourd painters, jewelry makers, card players, walkers and runners, just about any hobby you can think of all have their groups.  Don’t find the pastime for you?  Start a group.  There will be a place and time for you to meet.

      With the sense of community comes responsibility.  You must be a good citizen.  There are written and unwritten rules to follow.  The park is not exactly a democracy in spite of all the citizen input and volunteerism.  It is a sort of monarchy controlled by the park owner or manager. In “our” park, a sure way to be told (not asked) to leave is to have a yappy barking dog.

      Another way to be exiled from the park is to presume too much, to tell the manager that something is going to happen at such and such a place and such and such time rather than asking for his approval of an activity.  We didn’t witness anyone being deported.  I have only second-hand reports to support my conclusions.   

     All in all, the R-V Park has much to offer. We would miss out on all the activities and the sense of belonging they bring if we rented an apartment or house.  

     The big drawback for me would be the maintenance of an R-V, particularly in the offseason when it is far too hot to stay in Arizona.  (We heard horror stories of folks trying to reside there year around, paying $700 utility bills to keep cool during the desert summer.)

     A close second deterrent would be dragging an R-V around getting to and from the R-V Park.  I remember my dad saying he didn’t want to be dragging a trailer around behind a truck.  He had enough of truck driving.  I understand completely.  We would have to buy or rent a much bigger pickup if we decided to become R-V owners.

      The trip to Tucson gave us plenty to think about.  Going south in winter attracts.  The chance to meet interesting people, escaping bitter cold sings a siren song.  Owning an R-V repels.

     Maybe we can find an R-V, already in a park, we can rent for two or three weeks in January.

    

      

      

Gem Show

      The last couple of years, we have made a spring trip to Arizona.  We had a good reason—baseball spring training. 

     This year, we missed spring training.  Instead, we went to the gem show.  Rather than the Phoenix-Scottsdale area, we went to Tucson. 

    I’m not sure how it all began, but I think it was Aunt Jeri’s visit to Colorado last summer.  She must have let it slip that Tucson was a hotbed for gemmary come the end of January and the beginning of February.  Nothing for it, but we must go.

     Go we did.  Well, why not?  What’s going down in Colorado the last week of January?  Mostly the temperature.  Tucson offered some warmer weather.  It made good on the offer, the temperature being in the mid-seventies during our stay.  By contrast, when we stepped off the plane in Denver upon our return, we immediately saw our exhaled breath.  The mercury said 27 degrees.

     The gem show apparently runs for two weeks.  Two hours was a plenty for me.  The girls made two days of it.  One of Jeri’s friends had a sales tax license, which entitled her and her guests to attend the wholesale venue for dealers, jewelers, and such.  They spent five hours there and came home exhausted.

      The wholesalers dealt in bulk.  You couldn’t just buy one rock or one pearl or whatever.  You had to take stuff in bigger lots, like going to Sam’s Club instead of Safeway.  Bob and I had a leisurely lunch at a favorite local pub.  Two other “gem-widowers” dined with us.  We were quite content with our lot in life, especially when we got the blow-by-blow account of the day in the wholesale mart.

     The following morning found us taking a jaunt into the desert.  We had only to walk out of the R-V Park and we were in the desert.

     

      We were about a week ahead of the spring green up.  It had rained quite a lot two weeks before we got there, but the greenery that sometimes covers the desert floor was only just beginning to emerge.  Some things were beginning to bloom.

      It was a pleasant walk.  To appreciate it, all you had to do was think about what it would be like taking a walk back in Colorado.

     I had put it off as long as I could.  Attending the gem show was something I had to do so I could say I had done it.  We loaded up and headed downtown.  Our goal was a sports stadium, maybe a former home of some cactus league spring training facility. 

     The gem show was set up in the parking lot.  There were huge tents and smaller tents.  There were row after row of pop up type sunshades protecting vendors of all kinds.

  

     I saw all kinds of rocks.  I saw rocks I never knew even existed.  There were also jewelers hawking their handiwork.

     Among the vendors, there was one guy running a forklift.  Some of the rocks were that big, crystal geodes and the like, that it would take a forklift to move them.   One vendor told us, when we asked, that many of the geodes were from foreign countries and were quite expensive to ship.  If the thing doesn’t sell, they rent storage and keep it in Tucson until next year.

     Another fellow had a golf cart for hire.  He would take you and your merchandise to the parking lot.   The real shoppers had wheeled luggage like you see in the airport to  carry their loot.    

      We were there for two to three hours.  We barely scratched the surface of what there was to see.  There were seventeen or eighteen similar venues all around Tucson.  I visited one of them.

     Jeri summed it up best.  She said, “Well, I can cross that one off my bucket list—even if it never was on my bucket list in the first place.”  Ditto.

      Perhaps the real gem came when we got home.  It was cold, drizzly-icy.  We rode the shuttle to the parking lot on the west side of Tower Road.  I started scraping ice off the car windows.  The Goodwife said I’d better let her do it since she had on her winter coat and I only had on two light jackets. 

     We were four or five miles down the road when she said, “Darn!  I lost an earring.”  She wanted to go right back to the parking lot to look for it.  I said we wouldn’t even be able to find where we parked the car.  

      She called the parking lot, the phone number on our parking receipt.  Together, we figured out the bus we had ridden on.  The bus driver remembered us and where we parked.  Another employee went to the spot—and found the earring.

    By then, we were eight or ten miles down the road, but we turned around and went back, and sure enough, there was the missing earring.