Stay Cool

 The temperature was 89° and it was still more than an hour before noon. I had a book waiting to be picked up at my local library and so, I decided to go over, get my book and soak up some of their air conditioning. On the way, I stopped for a while at one of my favorite spots, Pine Creek.

    There is a section along Bryant Road that has no businesses on it and only one house, almost hidden from sight. It passes a wide field and a section of Pine creek. Depending on the time of year, at times more of the stream is visible than others. The road has an almost roller coaster aspect to it and one spot has a bump that can almost get you airborne. A small swamp sits close by, separated from the stream by a barely used set of railroad tracks. Sometimes it is filled with water and at other times, thick mud. Flowers, shrubs and trees litter it and often herons can be seen sitting in the trees above it waiting for their food to make themselves known.

    Today, with over an hour before noon, I had the place to myself. An occasional car would slip by but mostly, it was only me and the sounds of the water in the stream. I had parked in the shade of a small group of saplings. The stream was calm and images of the hillside behind it were visible on its surface. Further downstream, a row of rocks broke up these images as the water flowed around them, the sounds coming back and providing a soothing backdrop to the hot morning.

    Birds were chirping and insects were exploring the flowers on the weeds edging the water. The sunlight coming through the leaves danced on my lap as I listened to the quiet noises of nature. Watching the stream my eyes got heavy and I soon realized I wasn’t watching anything, I was daydreaming, just enjoying sitting beside the stream and listening.

    Getting out of the car I took a short walk down to where the hillside provided a wide band of shade. The shadows crossed the stream and covered a small beach at a curve in the water. Birds flew back and forth landing on the logs on the far side. The stream beckoned me towards it, tempting as it was, I didn’t want to get my shoes and pants wet.

    I have seen herons here many times and deer frequently gather by the stream. Neither were visible today as I walked along the side. There were no fishermen here either; it was as if I was out in the wilds rather than a few hundred yards from the neighborhood on the top of the hill, located in the outskirts of Pittsburgh.

    Walking into the swamp, I visited there for a short time, the edges of it were soft and my footsteps sank in as I walked. The recent rains had filled it, creating a small lake. The next couple days of high temperatures will do their best to evaporate it once again. The cycle continues. Out of my sight, I could hear a bullfrog croaking. I looked in the trees to see if there were any predators near-by, if there were, I didn’t see them.

    Going back to the car, I watched a doe cross the road and pause to look at me before slipping into the brush and disappearing. Across the field, a hawk slipped of a branch and glided silently overhead.

    My spirits renewed, I started the car and headed over to the library and their “canned” air. Leaving this little bit of nature, I can only hope that it will remain here for years to come. I know many others stop here, to fish, take pictures and to hike. Sadly, there are also those who use spots such as these to drop their trash, lawn clippings and garbage. Luckily, these things happen rarely but they drive a nail through my heart when I see them. The words that come to my mind and flow out of my mouth will remain un-printed here.

    We all need spots of quiet, places to relax, unwind and be cool. This is one of mine; I only hope it remains!

It Started with a Motorcycle Ride

 It was a simple day in May, the weather forecast predicted sunshine, it had all the possibilities of being a beautiful day. I decided that this would be a perfect time to call in sick. I called a good friend and persuaded her to come along with me. Things looked excellent for a ride in the country.

    The day was just as I hoped, sunshine, a beautiful woman hanging onto me, with the wind in our faces. We headed south towards Greene County but in reality, we were going where ever the bike led us.

    I had a Kawasaki KZ400, a 2 cylinder motorcycle. It was brown and shiny, powerful enough to carry a passenger and to handle the highways. It was the first vehicle I ever bought new. It was reliable and treated me well.

    The day passed quickly, to this day I can still remember going past Canonsburg and the Meadows on route 79, and driving along curvy two lane roads past farms and meadows. Yelling at cows we passed and laughing at whatever tickled our fancies.

    All the wonders of the day quickly slipped behind me when I came back home.

    Getting off my bike, a neighbor came across the street enquiring about how I was doing. Curious about his concern I was surprised to hear that my father had been taken by ambulance to the hospital. This hadn’t been the first time this had happened but his tone implied more. Going into the house, my mother informed me that my Dad had passed on earlier in the afternoon.

    I had been on the road, enjoying the sounds and feelings of a motorcycle between my legs. We hadn’t given any thoughts to anything that might be happening back at home, we were out enjoying the day and life. There was no reason for us to worry; there was no difference between that morning and the morning that preceded it. We hadn’t mentioned to anyone where we were going. My mother had presumed that I had gone to work. When she called, they had no idea where I was.

    This was in 1976, long before cell phones and instant and constant communication. I came home to a world that had changed without my even knowing it.

    My father and I weren’t close in those days. There weren’t any serious problems between us other than a boy/man who was growing up and rebelling against the knowledge my father was trying to share with me. I was experiencing new things on my own, the opportunities seemed endless. Perhaps the idea that he was so close to the end of his life while I was so close to the beginning of mine might have played into it.

    Death was no stranger to me; my parents were a lot older than my friend’s moms and dads. My parents’ siblings were older than them and more than a few of their families had passed on. Funerals weren’t unknown to me as a child.

    The families lived far away and so we didn’t visit much. My cousins were older than me and so I didn’t have anyone my age to hang out with during visits. Funerals were boring, sitting in a room with a group of adults I barely knew. It seemed to take us forever to get to the funeral homes, all the while dressed in my uncomfortable “Sunday clothes”.

    Our motorcycle ride in the country that day has stuck with me for decades, almost five of them now. I have held a feeling of guilt ever since that day. There were things I could have done differently. I could have told my mother where I was going, I could have said a proper good-bye to my dad rather than just running out the door like so many times before. I might have been able to be there and help comfort my mother instead of causing her more worry. These and so many other thoughts are something I have to carry with me, this is how it happened and now it’s my burden.

    The saying goes, “You don’t realize what you have until it’s gone”. This is so true. Over the years it becomes more and more evident to so many of us!

Though gone nearly 50 years, my father still lives with me. I see him every spring when the flowers he planted in the yard start to sprout. Looking up at the night sky he is peering over my shoulder, lining up a shot with my camera, he shares the viewfinder. Opening a book to read, it is his example I follow. He taught me so much through example, I learned without even realizing it.

    I remember one time when I attempted to shave his face for him. Infirm, sitting upright in bed with a basin of warm water on his lap, I sat beside him and maneuvered around his unfamiliar face with my un-experienced hands, trying to remove the grey stubble from his cheeks without cutting him. I barely knew how to shave myself let alone anyone else. I didn’t want to cut him because of the blood thinners he was taking. I was afraid both of slipping and of being so close to him. It wasn’t something I wanted to do. I felt as if I was invading his space. I didn’t feel close enough to him to do this personal grooming.

    It was the ignorance of youth. I didn’t realize how important it was or even, how important he was! It is a shame I’ve carried for so long.

My dad, brother Ralph and myself

    If only I had that chance again, to spread shaving cream onto his face, to carefully guide that double edged razor across his cheeks, if only…I’d jump at the chance!

    Instead, I love and remember him fondly and wish I had been wiser in my youth. I imagine this is something many of us wish for, we all learn from our mistakes. Some of them are so much tougher than others.

Alleys

When going through towns many people tend to ignore the backsides of the buildings and stick mostly to the main streets, while I often find myself slipping back into the alleys behind.

    The main street through most towns and villages shows the best side of the community. The stores are painted nicely, the sidewalks are clean and there usually isn’t much litter along the curbs. The streets are well lit. The views are beckoning you in, inviting you to stop and stay for a while.

    This isn’t always the case for the alleys. Collections of trash cans and dumpsters intrude into narrow roadways. Unwanted furniture and electronics sit beside the cans with scraps of paper and bits of food scattered around. Occasionally the smells of the alleys can get a bit overwhelming. Rodents can sometimes be seen but most often they hide from us, the intruders.

    The road surfaces are filled with potholes, asphalt is broken and missing in places, bricks or cobblestone can be seen under the blacktop, evidence of the town’s past. So much of the alleys are reminders of the past. Loading docks and heavy doors line the alley along with stairways leading up to the floors above or to apartments and offices higher up. In older industrial areas, cranes hang out over the roadway to help in loading or unloading trucks. Ghost signs sit fading away on the walls.

    These back roads are often used as galleries for artist wannabes. Occasionally there are masterpieces hidden in the graffiti, artwork painted on the walls that few ever see. Sometimes they share the walls with ghost signs, they are both remnants of someone or something that was here before. Sadly, I feel that most of the graffiti is from people who have a desire to be remembered. Don't we all? It is amazing the efforts they must take to put some of these pieces onto the buildings.

    What was once the main road through town may have become one of these alleys. Now they are no longer seen since the town has expanded. Streams or rivers can be hiding behind the buildings on main street. Railroad tracks that once fed the businesses can be rusting away beside these dark streets, while in other places, trains speed past, no longer even slowing down.

    Alleys are like regular streets but they can also show the darker side of a town or city. There are some people who desire to stay out of sight, unnoticed, and prefer the less traveled roads. People with poor morals or bad intentions may decide to call these places their own. The chance for crime rises as we leave people’s sight and enter into the darkness. Common sense is important when visiting these or any unfamiliar site.

    Like the main streets, the alleyways of a town can show visitors a lot about the community. They aren’t always pretty and inviting but, in some ways, that is exactly what adds to the appeal of visiting them.

    We all have alleys of our own, hidden behind the façade we show to our friends, family and even ourselves. Our minds are filled with alleyways. Don’t be afraid to visit those alleys and if needed, do some cleaning. There are times that it can take some effort to brighten them up but it’s always worthwhile. Let the good and artistic things stay but clean up the garbage. We all know that once you allow trash to remain un-cleaned, the vermin moves in and none of us want that!