Return to Chi’ (or) I Didn’t Even Change Shorts — part C

I awakened about 9:30 after one of the best night’s sleep I’ve had in months. The location was Peter and Byung’s office-turned-guestroom on the ground floor of their condo, a scant 15 feet from the guest bathroom with the night light above the vanity. I had said my goodnights to my hosts and their friend Chris, a delightful woman whom I thought might go out with me if two of us lived in the same city. She was so charming that before I toddled down to the guest room with a final nightcap of all the Sauterne wine I could pour into a medium-size glass without likely spilling any, I gave her a copy of my book Confluence of Legends. It was third of three I parted with during my visit, the second of two I gave away.  I was so at peace with the world that I almost forgot about the pair of shorts (Fruit of the Loom if you must know) I had packed for the excursion. I did, in fact, think of them. I considered the circumstance. I hadn’t perspired much over the last day. Everything in the shortsall area was commendably clean and un-offensively scented. “What the hell?” I said to myself. “I’ll save these shorts for Monday.” And I did

!Peter had invited me to come upstairs to their living room and read when I was ready to meet the day, explaining he is a “night person (as is Byung) and would not likely join me until pretty well into the morning. I was fine with that. While waiting, I finished the Mozart biography I had started the day before on the train. It was a small book. Peter and I were munching sliced apple and sipping coffee by 11.

Then it was time to roll. I can’t remember the names of the main roads traveled but I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that if Peter had not taken a liking to me when I recited at Vachel Lindsay’s house in October 2010, I would have passed to dust having never shared this vista on a Sunday morning in Chicago. I consider Peter to be the A.J. Foyt, the Mario Andretti, the Sterling Moss of high-speed driving!

The second picture here has been slightly retouched.

First stop on the day’s itinerary was the Chicago Zoo.
This part of the zoo is a small farm which is there to educate children of Chicago who will never see a farm: denizens of the city deep, who will never travel to rural USA far removed from a four-lane highway. I know this because Peter is a Chicago historian and tour guide for hire among other laudable attributes.
 

We parked in a free parking curbside area near the lakefront. “On a clear day, you can see Indiana from here,” he explained. I was happy to see the lake; mad a memo to self to see more of it after the weather warms.  The zoo was closed for the winter, but the walking paths we well engaged by many on foot.

From this board walk, visitors in summer rent paddleboats to putter around a large, sheltered pond close to Lake Michigan. This area is part of Chicago’s Lincoln Park.

One way to be certain you’re in Lincoln Park is this statue of Ulysses Grant on horseback close to the lake. At Chicago’s Grant Park, they boast a fine statue of Lincoln so visitors will know they’re in Grant park. This is a long telephoto pic, and I would looooooove to spend an entire morning or afternoon roaming this territory and getting close to Grant’s statue and beachfront.

Another way to know you’re in Lincoln Park is this statue of Benjamin Franklin. That’s Peter posing for a picture he probably never thought would appear in this blog. The morning was chillier than I looks here. We were walking into a moderate headwind. It was good to know that the return to the car would be helped by  a tailwind.

Mr Franklin was in good spirits. Must have been his hardy Boston lifestyle!

We were heading for the Chicago History Museum, a major attraction which should be on every visitor’s itinerary. It’s across the street from a major evangelist’s church, a beautiful brown stone complex with a sanctuary that seats about 3,000, Peter explained. He knew that the Sunday service had concluded shortly before we arrived on the museum side of the street, and he was curious about the place. So was I. There were still many attendees exiting the building after socializing, and the atmosphere was incredibly warm. Not a frown to be seen. We had no trouble entering that famous sanctuary and taking a few pictures. No one approached us and asked who we were or the purpose for our visit. Everyone was focused on their reason for being there; not ours.


I could have spent an hour photographing the sanctuary.

This is the view of the Chicago History Museum from the front of the church.

Photography inside the museum is a challenge because of  the contrasting bright lights and moderate overall ambient light. Human eyes adjust to it better than cameras, but the displays are a real “tour de force” not only of Chicago, but of the culture of the USA as well.

The woman is reading a very interesting, nutshell chronology of the land and the city. I knew the instant I saw her that I wanted to photograph her, but she was moving to the right faster than I hoped.  I neither know nor care what the door is on the right, and I know it’s a visual “ersatz element in this picture, but I did not want to interrupt her to ask her to “pose” for a picture more to the left.  I would have lost the authentic moment, and I do like how she stood at this fleeting half a second as she read the text on the wall.

My true “photo harvest” from the museum came as we approached the stairway to the ground floor.

The second picture is from the same position at the top as the first, but I stood closer to the edge to reveal the poster.

Looking back up in the direction from whence we came.

A final savoring of line and form.
Visible to the right of the fountain (closed for the winter) is the Chicago History Museum. Across the street is Ellie’s where we ate a fantastic lunch. It was terrific.

A last look at a memorable museum.

I had a train to catch (that would depart Union Station) at 5:15, and we wanted to be arrived at the station with plenty of time to spare. En route back to Peter’s car — in fact almost across the street from it in Lincoln Park — we encountered this steel sculpture, another amazing presence . . .

A pose of the wayfaring folkslinger (photo by host Peter). With Peter’s talent at the wheel, the trip to the station was a breeze.
Live long . . . . . . . . . . and proper.

Coming next on Return to Chi’ (or) I Didn’t Even Change My Shorts,  I have a picture perfect return to my home town as a sobering story unfolds before my ears. Look for it Sunday.

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Return to Chi’ (or) I Didn’t Even Change Shorts, part 2

Visiting the Windy City the second time by Amtrak is a lot easier the second time than the first.  I knew that wherever I exited the station at street level, if I turned right or left and kept the station on only my right or left side, walking around the block, eventually I’d see the familiar CVS Pharmacy across the street at one of four corners I knew I would encounter,  and that was the corner where I would wait for Peter. The night before, I had explained in a brief phone call that I had shaved off my mustache, but I had kept the rest of the manicured full beard.  It was conceivable that without that advisory, he would have driven by that guy with the brown leather jacket that looked like the one I wore last year when I visited . . . and the same guitar . . . and the same dress slacks . . . and not stopped because I was missing a vital element above my upper lip. Happily for MOI, he recognized me. The time was about 10:40. The rain was light.

One of the first subject to come up after stowing the luggage and instrument in the trunk was lunch.  Peter assumed I had eaten on the train. He wasn’t hungry and he didn’t expect to be hungry for a while. It was 10:40 in the morning and I hadn’t touched food since 7 last night. I wasn’t famished-hungry, but my body was telling me it was time for more. Even so,  I can miss a few meals, and not have to buy new pants. Besides, I had not come for the cuisine, I had come to see the city. Soon we were barreling down a major avenue in the direction of a silent auction fundraiser at a visual arts gallery/studio which had been a beautiful large home in ages past in a healthy-looking neighborhood in the general vicinity of University of Chicago.  We arrived about 11:10 when they were taping yellow silent auction forms to a wonderful variety of creations already placed. More was on the way. Peter knew Laura, the director of the event, had taken a course at this house. The arts organization that had rented it for years had lost their lease, and the auction would raise funds to help the move to a new location if they could find a new location. I felt I was visiting a funeral home before the “guest of honor” was wheeled in and the chairs had been arranged. The event  — the silent auction — would begin at 1 pm, but we were welcome to look around, even go upstairs. There was a lot to see: within and from within. Former fireplaces were focal points in every room on the ground floor. I would have loved to have seen the large portrait that must have hung above the piano room pictured here. What was his/her name? Occupation? What had happened to the painting? It’s obvious in the picture that one honkin’-big painting had presided over that room possibly in the early 40s but not likely much later.

We strolled past the piano room into the room where the wine would be shared. Everything was very much “in process.” I believe the hanging fabric was an artistic creation, but I didn’t get close enough to tell for sure.
I paused to take this picture before we drifted up the stairway to the second floor . . .
  In addition to the gift shop at that level were rooms which had been studios, maybe living quarters for artists. I could imagine being inspired by the natural light  and perhaps sitting for a portrait in the room pictured left.
The view from a window in the “gift shop” revealed a Unitarian church just down the street we would soon  walk by it on the way to building that might have served as home to King Arthur.

On the way back to the stairs, I noticed the Soft Room with the door slightly opened. It was a fascinating concept. The “no shoes” warning was an excellent touch. If we had visited on a sunny morning with a little more time, I would have taken off my shoes and gone inside.

Peter told me about the place we were walking to, but I didn’t have my digital tape recorder, and I wasn’t taking notes.  It was much more than a meeting hall on the University of Chicago campus. The few pictures I took inside will say only what they can say . . .

This was the central gathering  area. Forward here took us to a lecture hall if I remember right. To the right was a hall to other rooms and to the left was a stairway going up.

View from a landing halfway up to the second floor shows a tastefully garlanded hand railing. I imagined this space in the 30s before plastic event registration tables and folding chairs contributed a touch of garage sale ambiance to the otherwise Harvard-esque tableau. It was time to go.

  The Smart Museum of Art, also on campus was next.  It was the highlight of the day.  I could have spent two hours here solo with a camera, pen and paper for taking notes.  The incredibly spacious lobby — big as Texas — featured a coffee shop with baked snacks, table and chairs. I seldom eat when I can avoid eating, so I had coffee, and it was excellent.

This is the view of the lobby. A welcoming greeter is behind the desk on the right, refreshments behind him and tales and chairs in the center area. The large mural is a black & white composite photograph from Czechoslovakia (if I recall correctly)  created on a  fabric hanging that came together from four separate pieces, each about as big as Vermont. The photo above shows natural color photograph.  The mural is very interesting; lots going on  For the fun of it I created a colorless rendition from my original.

This is the ‘grey scale edition.

By fully saturating the picture with my computer’s photo software, I “hyper-colorised it.

I gave the same treatment to a closeup of one of my favorite parts of the wonderful mural.                                                                   The following photos are shared for the most part with no information about the art. I was floored, knocked out, by the variety and quality of what was displayed . . .

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                         Here, my friend and generous host Peter reads about the table and chairs designed by Frank Lloyd Wright.   It was approaching 2:15: time for lunch.

Here’s the view of the opposite side of the enclosed yard as we departed for the excellent walk back to the car. There were people on the sidewalks walking places. No one got in the way. Faces were focused forward . . .                                                                                                  

       a closer view

Peter recommended a place called Steak & Egger. I was in no mood for breakfast, but I was game for anything but a filet of sole with the name Floursheim embossed into it.

Located in a former very high traffic location during the industrial age, the territory around was still busy after becoming home to many newcomers of Mexican and Spanish origin. Even so, the menu was in English. It reminded me of a Steak & Shake with a long counter overlooking the major part of the cooking area and surrounded by a wide “U” of tables and chairs. There was a lot of convivial patter and chatter, smiles everywhere and surprisingly busy for mid-afternoon. I was absolutely delighted with Peter’s taste in restaurants! After a delicious fried chicken special with mashed potatoes, string beans and a nice dinner salad. The owner kindly wrapped the thigh and breast I had not eaten in aluminum foil. I intended to savor the leftover for dinner  after I returned to Springfield. I honestly and truly recommend Steak & Egger to all friends and amigos y amigas visiting Chicago with time to find it. Peter took my picture outside before we headed for his condo about 4:15. You see here a satisfied man!
After unpacking at Peter’s and Byung’s I sat in on some Ph.D candidate students’ informal gathering with Professor Byung whom they addressed by her unmarried last name — Professor Soo, I believe. They were all deep into paperwork and final projects. most planning  to graduate next year.  The field was school administration. The friendly repartee between professor and students was as between colleagues focused on great mutual affection and respect and shared goals. After the conference, the students departed and friends began arriving for the Christmas party where I had been invited to play and sing.

It was a most terrific Christmas party!

Live long . . . . . and proper.

Next time on “Return to Chi’ (or) I Didn’t Even Change Shorts” our hero and his exceedingly kind host Peter visit Lincoln Park, the Chicago History Museum and during the long day’s journey into night, I listen to a marriage come apart as my seat mate argues with his wife about their coming separation on his cell phone. Stay tuned.

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                         

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Approaching 65 — #28 — Grey and Satisfying

I procrastinate. Most of the work I do is done to avoid doing something else. Still procrastination pays dividends.  I used to often find  myself delaying attention to my lawn, often on nice cool days only to finally wheel out the lawnmower on the hottest day of the week . . . . and enjoy cutting the grass, not paying particular attention to the temperature! Same thing with journalism. I had two and a half weeks to produce my story about local food trucks for the September Springfield Business Journal. Absolutely critical (which is like saying “each and every”) to my stories are the photographs; interviews less so.  Just as I know I will cut the grass, I know I will write the assignment. There is never any doubt of this. Still I procrastinate and wallow, for days, in the self-imposed SHAME that I manufacture for myself from the process. By the time I must put words into play, I’m comfortable. The words come easily as apples from the low branches of a tree.

So it is, as well at the airport museum where I’ve been since 5:30 this morning. I’ve been on a “marathon,” on my feet filing away in the Research Room, fully focused for easily 11 of the 12.5 hours I will have been here when I leave at 6p. I had no breakfast, nor lunch, nor snack during this time  because I didn’t have a penny in my pocket, I”m running low on checks, I didn’t want to leave the museum to drive home where I have food, and equally importantly, I knew food would slow my pace, and today, I was pushing myself. I liked the challenge, and I knew I would have all the food I wanted later.  I was grateful for the coffee and water I’ve consumed during short breaks to check e-mail and Facebook — about every hour and a half.

Bombardier CRJ of United Express takes off from Abraham Lincoln Capital Airport, Springfield, Illinois, September 1, 2012.

So I’m going to head upstairs and close a door, turn off some lights and head home.

The day has been good to me, and I have been good to the day.

Live long . . . . . . . . . and proper.

Once, as I was filing I noticed a United Express Bombardier CRJ airliner taxiing to the end of a runway, realized it would be passing nearby as he rose from the runway, and was where I needed to bne for some decent pictures I posted on Fb within minutes.  That kind of diversion made a lot of the fatique disappear, and the afternoon has whizzed by.
I’m savoring, as I write these words, the contentment that comes from knowing when I have posted this installment of the “Approaching” blog and posted notice of it at Facebook, all I have to do is go upstairs and turn off the fan and lights and close one door to be done with the day.

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Approaching 65 — #24 — A Surprising Anticipation

At 6:45 am when I arrived at my museum office, a realized how strange it was that I was looking forward to dinner. I wasn’t hungry, and as things would transpire, all I’d have between  last night about 9 and tonight about 7:30 would be a Payday candy bar from the pilot lounge vending machine. What I would be having for dinner was a “pleasant cloud” sailing serenely through my consciousness like a memory of Shari Lewis and Lamb Chop on Saturday morning TV at 9:30 and I’m eight years old. What do you suppose I was anticipating; steak? I haven’t brought intact beef into my home since the late 90s. Sausage? Yes. Chicken? Yes. Processed fish? Yes.) Is an apple pie waiting for me? If I could afford it, you bet. But no pie tonight.

I can’t wait to leave my airport office early tonight. Not because I am hungry. I am beyond hunger. Most of the time, food holds no particular allure for me. Several years ago, I ate no solid food for two weeks after saying goodbye to a beautiful woman who “itemed”  next to me socally and in the shower. I drank lots of water and probably some wine. But I was working very little and moping a LOT. Only the ripening of tomatoes in my backyard garden returned me to sanity. I would not let them rot, and I would not give them away.  Few things approach “food of the Gods” like fresh, sliced tomatoes between whole wheat bread spread liberally with Hellman’s Mayonnaise. To be honest, I knew that much more of my protracted POUT could do me more harm than good, and the tomatoes were a handy “rationale.” When I am busy and reasonably content, food is an option; not a requirement for up to 24 hours a stretch, and to a large degree I go along with it because I know I can always purchase food. If I could not purchase food, I’d be pretty miserable. I AM my married mother’s lucky son! But I can’t purchase steak and I wish I could eat more pie. And ice cream.

Tonight I will savor a Chef Salad packaged in plastic, that was prepared by and offered for sale from a refrigerated bin in the deli department of Shop ‘N Save on North Grand, just a slight diversion east en route home from the airport. I am looking forward to this salad more eagerly than anything I could bring home from that store. Why? Because I know I am doing something that will work well for my body and outlook seven days before I mark the BIG SIX FIVE.  It’s a nicely presented salad that will sate my appetite. Cost of the salad was just over $3.50 when I purchased three of them two days ago.

It’s a well-prepared meal with lots of adequates: shredded cheese. turkey, lettuce, half a hard-boiled egg. Every salad, including the store’s prepared sea food salad, turkey salad and chicken salad used to include two cherry tomatoes.

The ones I brought home have three cherry tomatoes. I’m not a “cherry tomato person.” I eschew cherry tomatoes. Last week I started placing the cherry tomatoes into am empty Jiff Extra Crunchy Peanut Butter jar. As the jar is filled with these I will empty the jars full into part of my back yard next to a hurricane fence, and it cherry tomatoes start to grow next spring, I will give them to everyone who wants them.

For past few months, I’ve been eating more and more of these salads, always with Kraft Catalina dressing. At the end of this week, I will have enjoyed three of them, gladly and gratefully. When I run out of Catalina, I”ll start exploring more dressing flavors: Ranch, Russian, Thousand Island and others. What is YOUR favorite salad dressing?

I am easing away from serious activity here at the museum after even just three hours at Stone Circus. My outlook, even after a good day there, is pretty tempered which is not to say “riddled with resignation,” though I concede the possibility.

Had a long day at the airport, from 6:45 until 1:45 before leaving for three hours at “le cirque de granite.” Before I did, I welcomed a couple a Cirrus SR-22 charter pilot and the pilot of a NetJets-operated Cessna Citation. The latter escorted me out to the parking ramp where I took a picture of his beautiful flying machine.  Here is the best of them . . . .

Cessna Citation X business jet

Live long . . . . . . . . and proper.

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Approaching 65 — #22 — Sunday Scene at My Ohm Awayfra Mohm

donated 1942 newspapers from central Illinois

It’s been a productive day at my airport “home away from home.” This time last year, I wouldn’t even be awake at the time I arrived, even though by this time last year, I had moved in everything I “had” to move out here. A year ago, I didn’t feel the hand of “Destiny” on my shoulder, and this year I do  . . . . not a heavy hand, not a wussy hand, but a hand.

Probably 10 years ago I walked into the office of Illinois Times to pick up a paycheck for an article of mine they had published. On a table in the reception area I saw something of a “mishmash” of old newspapers, and I asked Brenda (her real name) about them. She explained an IT reader had discovered them as flooring contractors were removing the floor boarding in the house they were restoring. They had been there a long time, judging from the most recent date of 1961 on a Sunday funnies magazine supplement. Others dated back to early December 1942. The papers had been placed between what was then the structural joists (I think that’s the right term() and a new foundation material in a 1961 floor improvement project to even the level of the new floor throughout the room. The people who brought them to Illinois Times thought they might have historical value. That value was INSTANTLY apparent to me, and I could not believe my ears when I asked, “May I have them?” and Brenda happily assented.  Home they came!

Club Rio gave Springfield’s Lake Club serious competition

For years they remained in a corner of a large table in my home office after I gently examined each piece of paper. About five years ago, I took a more critical eye to reading each piece.  Any item of LOCAL value was set aside for future reference and separated by notes on new office paper that identified title and date of each series of saved articles. Local business advertising was saved along with important news of local people and Sunday newspaper comic strips. I knew I would preserve the “goods,” but the timing was bad. Three years years ago, to keep them away from direct sunlight I stowed them under my bed. About two months ago, with things gradually settling down at AeroKnow Museum at the airport, I brought them out to the “Processing Room” upstairs. Today, the 26th I began processing my treasure.

the original Rocky, perhaps, circa December 1942

Who remembers THIS strip? I sure don’t. I suspect it was a spin-off of the incredibly popular Alley Oop. I worked five straight hours on these, and I’m not 5 percent toward DONE with the project. There are many clips I’ve saved that are about local involvement in World War II, people who were participating, a young man Louis G. Bender, Mt. Pulaski’s first “casualty of the war” who died in a plane crash, a flight training accident at Foster Field, Texas. The aviation clips will be shared as time permits at my AeroKnow Museum blog.

The pictures shared in this post were taken with my Sony Cyber-shot digital camera. All clippings saved for future reference were scanned on a professional-quality scanner as shown in the first picture. They are preserved in a .jpg format that allows their enlargement and optimization of color. Some of the scans will be preserved as colorless black and white; others will be preserved as color images but edited heavily to maximize their legibility, readability.

It’s been a rewarding Sunday, including the time for this blog because it allows me to share an offer to readers. If YOU have newspapers from any central Illinois publisher before 1970 that you will consider sharing (loaning or donating) with me so that I can scan and save articles and photos of special interest, please respond to this post with a comment. Or call me — I’m in the Springfield phone book.

Today I have also started to move my local and state aviation files upstairs because I’m running out of room for them here next to the computer on the ground floor.  But that’s a story for another blog.

Have a terrific week, readers!

Live long . . . . . . . and proper.

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Approaching 65 — #21 — Concerning Airplanes

Job Conger, a few moments during the summer 2004

This post is being “dupli-posted” at two of my four blogs, starting with Honey & Quinine. The other post is at my AeroKnow Museum blog  –  http://aeroknow.wordpress.com 

The most recent post at the AeroKnow Museum (AKM) blog was July 3, 2012. I am way late with an update due to other priorities, and I’ve been sharing a LOT at Facebook which is becoming my cheap narcotic way to be a socialperson, especially with my “Approaching  65″ series on Honey & Quinine. If you are reading these words at the AKM blog, please visit Honey & Quinine for more about me as a hummin’ bean and not a garden-variety aviation history enthusiast. The blot is at http://jobconger.wordpress.com

My purpose in posting at both is to see if there is a significant response to “aviation” at either blog. Significant response to the AKM blog will soon generate more aviation photographs and news there while I reduce my injecting  so much cheap narcotic into my Facebook aviation photo albums.

The six pictures starting here are a small piece of my activity at AKM.

Cessna Conquest

Piper Tri-Pacer based at Springfield’s airport

SPI scene

Canadair 601 Challenger

Challenger 601 galley

This is an exercise to see how things look in final presentation on the Web.  I will likely re-arrange them on the AKM dupli-post.

The point of the  H & Q post is to acquaint you with the real passion of my life that doesn’t wear a bra. The point of the AKM post is to let you know the museum is growing by the day.  Before I head for home about 6:30 pm, I will have been at the airport from 6:35 to 9:50 and from 2:20 until 6:30, blessed by the fire that gives me the motivation to “do what needs to be done.” Sunday I will be here from probably 5:10 am to about 5:30 pm, doing more of it. I am still the poet, the folksinger, the showroom manager at a great metropolitan stone fabricator, but until I meet “Miss RIGHT” my heart will be here at the airport. During the times I’ve dated seriously — and I’ve had my share — there has never been a day in the life of “Couple US” that I have considered aviation more important than the relationship. That’s how it’s  always been, but as Carly Simon sings, “The river doesn’t seem to stop here anymore.” and that is okay. That’s life. Que sera sera. And “Don’t cry for me Argentina.”

Live long . . . . . . . . . . . and proper.

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Approaching 65 — #14 — A Significant Blurt

Today ground was laid for what portents to be a near-term departure from the employer I have frequently nicknamed “the jibbering marmoset.” At Facebook I have ranted about the circumstance. I will try to be more civil and charitable here . . .

My employer — I’ll call him Simon — has an uncanny ability to treat all of his employees as though the year is 1860, and his last name is Legree.  Look it up. Every day is a contest with him. He has the diplomatic finesse of a sledge-hammer in his consistent disparaging and scolding of his employees and disregard of obligations to customers after he has taken their money. He has ignored at least one firm he has owed money to since last January will cavalier dismissiveness. When talking to first time visitors to the show room, he is a fawning, smiling, convivial veneer of engagement, a patina of civility over a foundation of fetid, festering insolence to those who owe their employment to him. I’ve worked for him for about four years. Before that I was a journalist and substitute teacher. I stopped substitute teaching when he promised me daily employment. At my urging, be began opening his store on Saturdays, and my obligation to him since I started AeroKnow Museum has been a knife in my hindquarters, even though I declare time off on Saturdays when I have obligations elsewhere.

When my car threatened to be a serious safety concern due to horrible brakes and other problems, Simon loaned me a pickup truck which I have driven  since 2009. My car, a Ford Escort I inherited from my deceased father in 1994 was partially restored by a friend who bought it from me as was, and he eventually sent it to a junkyard. I purchase the fuel for the truck, but Simon pays the license and insurance fees. Recently he had to purchase two new tires for it. I would have purchased them myself, but could not because I do not earn enough to buy tires, or insurance. I soon may have to.

Simon hasn’t paid me for a month. This has happened more times than I can count. He says he doesn’t have the money. By the grace of God, I have income from the upper half of a duplex I live in on the ground floor and basement while renting the upstairs. I also make a little more than a hundred dollars a month, sometimes less, never more than $300 from journalism.

Today Simon became upset with my asking when I would be paid, and he reminded me he wonders why I’m making a big deal about it since (according to Simon) I don’t need the money. He thinks I’m getting rich from journalism. Many people do. They are mistaken and I’m too proud  of being paid for my writing — anything at all — that I’m not going to burst their bubble of respect for me (there ARE bubbles of respect evident from some) and compromise my appearance of pride in this “profession.”

Today I told Simon I am having a hard time working so many hours that I cannot take time off, and even if I could FIND a better employer (which seems horribly unlikely only 11 days away from turning the BIG SIX FIVE) I am sure Simon would tell me to leave my key to the pickup truck on the showroom counter while he calls me a taxi and awards me a 10-spot to pay for the ride home. Without a vehicle I could no longer develop the museum at the airport. I am afraid to risk FINDING a better job since I would not be able to work (with no transportation and yes, I know about busses and taxicabs) after I was hired. I have seen  Simon behave ivengeful.. In the course of this “significant blurt” of frank discussion, he told me he would not do that.

He said he knows that working in a stone fabricator’s showroom is not my “job.” Simon said, “Working in the arts, being creative, writing, poetry, history, photography, music, that is your job. I know you’re just getting by. THIS is not your job.”  Simon is correct.

So the table is set differently now. We don’t know if the one-time girlfriend who was working twice a week at the showroom for Simon will EVEN BE AN EMPLOYEE after scho0l resumes and her beautiful kids are occupied, allowing her to work and give me the time I HAD for a few months earlier before summer  vacation time to write and maintain things. If she doesn’t come back I will be asked to work more. I am not ready to do that. I must find a way to convince an employer with some sense of humanity and fairness, who is sharp enough to recognize my potential, someone who will HIRE ME as a communicator and/or photographer.

The writhing is on the wall, splattered all oooooooover the frikking wall: red, yellowy, purple — what’s that brown goo? OH! Don’t tell me; I just sniffed it, I know what it is, and I know what it is not.

It is not the aroma of hope.

Live long . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . and proper.

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Approaching 65 — #13 — 3 Airplane Pictures and More than You Probably Want to Know About How I Took Them

I have never gone looking for luck, but sometimes luck comes looking for me. Today we connected, and I’m a happy man.

prelude to the three pictures; not one of them

The C-47 here has been restored to depict a Vietnam War special version designated AC-47, complete with “gatling gun” rotating guns that don’t work (they say), bristling like stingers out of windows on the left side of the airplane. Google “Douglas AC-47″ to learn more about the bird; this post is about how I took the pictures that follow.

The airplane belongs to a Kansas aviation museum. There it is maintained and spends most of the year when air shows aren’t a part of the national aviation celebration during warmer weather months. Often, a Springfield area pilot and Facebook friend — former pilot with some major airlines, nice fellow, flies the ’47 to air shows and parks it at Abraham Lincoln Capital Airport’s east general aviation ramp. Staging (placing an airplane at an airport closer to its next scheduled destination) saves fuel and wear on the airplane. The ’47 has been here about two weeks; not open for tours inside, but visible from the hurricane fence that separates the airplanes from the “hoi and polloi” — as Ernest Gann never ever said.  I knew that today the bird would be departing this city for its next air show appearance a few southern states away, and I was a mite sorry because I believed I would not witness the departure because I would be serving the employer who keeps me in Burgundy wine and Jiff Extra Chunky peanut butter. . . . . . . . . What can I say? Luck found me.
As I approached the airport a little after 5 today, I saw the airplane taxiing into the run-up area at the end of Runway 31. This is the place where pilots rev the engines to maximum power, briefly, to be sure they will generate the power needed to successful rise to the occasion, so to speak. They also test the controls and receive takeoff permission from the air traffic controllers in the nearby control tower.  In less time than it takes to type, I revved my vehicle to something approaching maximum power to arrive at my parking place near my museum office at the airport. I would have an excellent view of his departure IF I COULD get stopped in the parking lot on time.

If I had not come to a green light when I had to turn left and had not had to wait for oncoming traffic to pass before turning left onto the airport drive, I would have missed it. If I had not had my Sony Cyber-shot camera WITH ME, I would have missed it. If I had decided to run into my office to grab my larger Canon SLR camera, I would have missed it. Instead I RAN near-instantly after parking to a special elevated position I use for pictures of departing airplanes using Runway 31. As I arrived there, I heard the sound of engines rising to their full power at the start of the take off run.

It was hard to find the airplane through the view finder. I was looking INTO THE SUN, and virtually into the shadow. The right side of the ’47 facing the parking lot fence and me,  was NOT illuminated beyond the natural ambient light in shade.  By the time I saw it in my camera, I HAD to steady my hand and concentrate. Still it was hard to see him, thanks in part to the camouflage paint applied to the airplane and thanks to the dim background of trees and hangars in shadow. Already his tail was off the ground.

tail is up and acceleration to lift-off speed continues

I did not get a full view of the airplane because I could not see it very well and I had no time to properly frame it. Still it’s a passable picture that shows the general aviation t-hangars across the airport and a Piper Cherokee sitting outside one of them. I did not crop the picture here. This is as I took it.

The delay of about three seconds while my Sony Cyber-shot “point-and-shoot” camera processed the image onto its memory card seemed like thirty seconds. I could not see the airplane while the camera was doing that, and I had to search for it all over when I was able to see through the camera again. AGAIN I was concentrating mightily on moving the camera up and down as little as possible. The Cyber-shot has a stabilization capability in the side to side, and I once I FOUND him, gently panned the camera as he moved. I saw the control tower come into view, waited another whole second or so to take picture number two.

gently, gently, allowing the speed to build, plenty of clear space on and beyond the runway, no reason to rush the ascent to cruise altitude

I consider this the best of the three. Visible is the illumination of the sun on the wings. Note the landing gear had not yet started to retract into the wings. AGAIN I WAS BLIND while the camera processed! I had to start searching again, and I was running out of time. FINALLY I found him! No need to compose the picture. The plane was surrounded by sky.  I would snap the picture as soon as I could while holding the camera as steadily as I could. I just did not want to blur the picture because if I did, I would LOSE the picture!

sucking up the left

A few minutes later, in my office, I “composed” the picture with careful cropping of a LOT of sky around a relatively small airplane. For an image processed on my computer at 300 dpi and about 5 x 7 inches the picture is okay. It shows me (and perhaps you) that the landing gear on the left begins to retract first. It’s a matter of how the hydraulic system is arranged.  Many airplanes have a similar “left strut first” sequence.

I walked to my office and processed the three pictures. It took about 20 minutes, and I posted the middle one on Facebook for my Fb friends.

Photographing airplanes in motion is especially rewarding to me; a lot like going fishing or hunting is, I suppose, for my friends so inclined. I never know, really, what I have “brought home” until it’s time to dress it out by the kitchen sink or backyard gutting table, or office computer. I, for one, am happy with the result of my visitation of luck, and I hope you are too!

Live long . . . . . . . . . . . . . and proper.

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Approaching 65 — #12 — A Busy Week

I would be a satisfied social being if I had one evening social commitment every week away from AeroKnow Museum. Most weeks, that’s exactly what I have. But when the calendar goes a little crazy with coincidence, so do I. Take this week, PLEASE. 

The neighborhood association I helped organize more than 10 years ago and served as president (twice) vice president (twice) and secretary, thrice, was beginning to draw me back to it. A deletable explitive (I’ll call him Bill, his real name) was no longer at the helm, and I thought I might enjoy working with the new president. I was wrong. He’s as big a pain as the other one. On the other hand, both worked/work hard for the association. I had decided the meeting on the 13th would be my last for another few years, but I was mistaken. More important than personalities in a neighborhood association is the need to be an element of cohesion, rather than division. Personalities must come after organization prioriies. The horse’s patoot who appears to have left his or her brain at the door can still be an ally if I share a common goal.  I’m still on the fence with this crew. I will try to attend for the rest of the year if I last that long.

The second commitment this week was to the poetry organization I’ve been a part of since before 1994. I’ve run hot and cold with this crowd.  I have nothing left to prove as a poet or reciter of poetry  I intended to attend as a goodbye gesture. I wore the “amazing technicolor sportcoat” I had worn when I emceed an open mic downtown . . . . just one last time I thought. Two things happened that put me on the fence again. A friend, a neighbor from across the steet and I chatted in a way that includes “respect” and approaches the  affection and appreciation of “friendly” for the first time in a few months. All in all, it was the most enjoyable evening of this kind I’ve attended in about a year. I did not TEMPT FATE by ordering food this time. The last two dinners from the previous two months — sub-par, majorly: a sandwich that was dryer than the Saranghetti in summer and a chef salad with diced, rather than sliced meat and enough water from a fast wash and poor drainage of the lettuce to float a canoe.  Last night I took no chances; I ordered no food.  I savored three Samuel Adams bottled beers for $12 and a $3 tip and they were fine; just right.  Next month when I am the big SIX FIVE, I will likely have more, but I had had my last meal there.  I immensely enjoyed a prepared chef salad purchased Tuesday night from Shop N Save en route home from the museum.

I also didn’t take my camera, and I intentionally did not sit in my usual across-from-microphone-central seat where I had the best view for photography. Instead I sat with my friend, former Pacific War LST helmsman, then school teacher then school principal, the honorable Ken Sibley whom I respect more than any man alive today. I also respect women, but that’s another Honey & Quinine.  In the past, I’ve never photographed people whose ways with a microphone made me want to puke in my salad b0wl.  I decided it’s better to encourage participants by not distract any of them: ”the good, the bad and the ‘does the zoo keeper know you’ve escapted?’” So I didn’t even bring my camera to the evvent last night. THAT was a good move. One fewer distraction for me as well. And I tried EARNESTLY to HEAR and APPRECIATE the poetry the people were sharing. I enjoyed most of what I could hear. At one time in the evening, before I shared from microphone central,  I planned to gurgitate my HUMBLE OPINION that I would rather HEAR BAD POETRY than NOT QUITE HEAR Springfield’s newest Shakespeare. I kept that opinion to myself. I was satisfied with what I shared and I think most of the audience was as well. I did not mention my birthday and did not mention that Wednesday was probably the last time most of them will ever see me. No need to generate concern for a circumstance that probably won’t happen anyway. If I am around on the third Wednesday of September, I will likely attend, participate, and try to be nice.

Today, all I want to do is go home after maybe a half hour at the airport museum. It’s been raining a lot of the day (THANK YOU oh BENEFICENT SKY!) and I’m perspiring in high humidity and moderate heat like I’ve been moving furniture all day, which I haven’t. I’m tired. I want to watch a ball game, eat another salad from Shop N Save and swallow me some Burgundy. But I’ve deccided to be a friend to a friend. I promised him last night I’d attend this event tonight and take pictures of him and his music group Bosso Azul. I was invited by an organizer to recite poetry between music acts. I was one of the music acts (guitar and folksinging and my own songs too) at the July event, a regular ThirdThursday gallery gathering/reception/arts marketplace at Floyd’s Thirst Parlor downtown.  I’ve decided I will work at the museum through the early part of the event downtown, I shall take camera and books of poetry to the event with cash for a few bottled beers and I shall be sociable for an hour and a half. I can do this much. The museum at the airport and I will survive (or as country folk frequently say “will both survive”) to live an other day . . . . “good Lord willin’ and the creeks don’t rise.”

Live long . . . . . . . . . . . . . . and proper.

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Approaching 65 — #11 — Growing Pennies in a Burgundy Bottle

When I took the last sip of Carlo Rossi Burgundy in the duplex I was renting in about 1989, I had no inkling that I”d have that bottle with me in a duplex I owned 22 years later. It moved when I moved: from 326 S. MacArthur to 521 S. Glenwood to 1213 Interlacken to 428 W. Vine, and today it moved to my WELCOME Room office of AeroKnow Museum at the airport.a bottle of good cents

a bottle of good cents

It came to the airport  because the thought of someone breaking into my home and stealing this investment of time and memories was more than I wanted to live with. At best the burglar would have taken it. At worst, he or she would have dropped it to the floor from where it sat on my bedroom chest of drawers since 1997 and left me to filter the valued metal alloy from the shards of broken glass — pretty much what I’ve been doing recently, metaphorically speaking, as I approach the big SIX FIVE.

It came to the airport also because putting every penny I brought home from purchases here and there was not filling the bottle fast enough for me. I was determined that I would not go to a bank and exchange a $20 bill for the equivalent in pennies. That would be cheating.

At this time in the blog I concede there is nothing artistic about the process, I do not intend to write a poem or folksong about it, proclaim the name of Cheeses (when I talk to myself I call myself Cheeses as in CHEESES, that was stupid of me!), talk about restaurants, silver dollars,  Facebook, how much I love Chicago or Fort Monroe or Ft. Wayne, Indiana or Manitowoc, or the Shymansky family (my sister Dorothy’s side) Johnny Appleseed or Vachel Lindsay, Virginia, Washington, Wisconsin and yardcare. I’ve been ticking off these items on my categories list so I can suggest to readers this post is about them . . . . . and thus court additional readers who pay attention to blogs when these categories are mentioned. NOW . . . . . . . where was I?

the bottle and the barefoot boy with cheek of tan

Oh, yes, I remember. . . . The photograph of the boy behind the bottle is of the same boy ahead of it when the picture above was taken.  If I was three years old, the year was 1950. I will post more about the picture as I approach September 5. Suffice to say now that I show that picture to darn near every visitor to AeroKnow Museum. My goal, starting this morning, is to give visitors who don’t care to share heavy dough-re-mi with the museum will lighten their pockets of pennies. I want to fill this the bottle by my birthday.

There’s a nearby donation jar for those who care to be extra-nice with larger coins and folding money.

So if you find yourself of mind and spirit to see this bombastic enterprise in the weeks ahead, please bring pennies. The dollars . . . . almost . . . . won’t . . . . matter.

Live long . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . and proper.

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