Florence H. Perez

Boy, if there are no typos here....

On the last day, we consulted with the doctors every step of the way. I have since learned that Albany Medical Center is one of the top five units for heart care in the US; however, one of our doctors looked all of sixteen and the other a cartoon character. The health care provided by the staff superb.

We sang. At Jennifer’s request, I asked the nurses to make copies of “Abide With Me” a hymn that only Jennifer and Darryl were familiar with. From my gene pool, I inherited many talents and skills. Florence has a beautiful singing voice but my Dad’s singing voice doesn’t qualify for American Idol. I got my Dad’s voice and so did most of my siblings. Nevertheless, by the third verse, we were hitting our stride and brought it home on the fourth. A family first.

We prayed. Throughout the day and into the evening, we shared verses in the Bible.

We discovered something mom did that left us wondering if Mom knew her end was approaching. Mike, unable to sleep a couple of nights ago, sat in the living room. Out of curiosity as much as comfort, he picked up Mom’s Daily Guidepost. She read it nightly; the bookmarker left on August 22, the day before the heart attack.

I have the same book. Each night in the space provided at the end of each month, I write a short note of some event, observation or thought that had given me a reminder of God’s presence in my life that day. Mom’s book was void of entries with two exceptions. At the end of August there was a 30th Anniversary Classic. Underlined were the last words and prayer of the entry: Face forward. Concentrate on what lies ahead…that’s the main thing to remember. Lord as I face the new year help me reach out to the challenging future, not look back to the unchangeable past. – Arthur Gordon. Then she wrote on the line for August 31st he found a message to remember – Look ahead, not back.

On September 2nd (obviously Mom was reading ahead) Mom who had a bad back underlined another passage. Seven miles, one step, one day, one miles, one ‘praise You Lord!’ at a time. …walking in the Lord’s place for us. In the blank to be filled in by the reader she wrote, Lord, I ask You to how me Your pathway to or not of - pain and anger. – Roberta Rogers.

She gave thanks for the reading on Sept 31, 2006: Thy will be done…—Matthew 6:10.

Florence H. Perez

WILTON-Florence Jane House passed away on Monday, August 28, 2006. She was born in Newton, New Jersey May 9, 1928. She was the oldest of three girls born to Sherman and Jennie House. Her sister Clara Belle Henry and her husband David live on Maui, Hawaii. Doris Ann is deceased.

The name Florence means vivacious and cheerful. Most people remember this about her, but few knew that she obtained her pilot’s license at age sixteen. When she was eighteen Florence was making plans to go to Alaska until her mother found out and nixed the plans.

On August 25, 1946 Florence married returning World War II veteran Manuel Luna Perez. Together they had five children. Michael Luna and his wife Margaret live in Scottsville, NY. Valerie Tonia lives in Tennessee, Robin Eileen resides in Bethlehem, NH, Mark Stephen and his fiancé Cindi Weldon come from Harrisburg, PA and Jennifer Maria and her husband Darryl Conte reside in Worcester, MA.

Her grandchildren are Elizabeth Schwemlein and her husband Daniel of Evergreen, CO who are expecting the first great grand child in November and Andrew Perez of Scottsville, NY.

She taught her children to be their own individuals, each acquiring a strong sense of independence, yet this was balanced with a great appreciation and respect for each other.

Florence spent her days doing the things she loved while raising five children. Her cooking skills were renown throughout the community. Florence’s apple pies were rivaled by none. She sewed her children’s clothes when they were younger and tended a vegetable garden from which she canned tomatoes, put up vegetables, made soups from scratch, and whipped up a delicious apple sauce. Her Old Black Witch blueberry pancakes were a morning classic. Mrs. Perez was fond of daffodils, lilacs and lily of the valley, making spring her favorite season.

When Manuel retired from The Saratogian, the two set off in their small RV and traveled across the country, serving as campground hosts along the way. She finally made it to Alaska and even had the opportunity to do some white water rafting in the Denali National Park.

Her love and compassion for cats and dogs led her to have two very special shelties later in life, Holly and Rusty.

Florence was a member of Trinity United Methodist Church of Wilton where she was an organist for many years and leant her singing voice to the congregation.

Florence’s wishes were to be cremated. The family invites her friends and others to a memorial service to be held at Trinity United Methodist on Thursday August 31, 2006.

All things dear left behind, we will not forget Bootsie, her cat. In lieu of flowers donations made on her behalf can be made to the Humane Society or to the choir of Trinity United.

The Special Moments

Robin and I drove home from the hospital. It was 3 am. Near the top of the hill illuminated by her headlights, in the intersection in front of Grey’s old house stood three young bucks. Carrying velvet racks, these regal animals were not spooked by the car’s approach. Robin and I admired their perfectly toned bodies with polished coats. They seemed like messengers. But I wasn’t sure what message they were bringing. Eventually, they floated into the brush along the side of the road.

It is the very thing I will miss telling mom about.

Footsteps

We follow the footsteps of those who have come before. They have left impressions; gifts given unconsciously. They can be anything. A wise word spoken, a smile shared, a special moment spent together. It could be a kind gesture, a certain mannerism or a particular expression. But most are as small as a child’s hand print gently pressed into clay. Nevertheless, they linger as memories and become a greater part of us, sometimes unrealized when lost beneath the clutter of our daily lives.

I have followed in the footsteps of two families – Boniface and Carmen Perez, and Sherman and Jenni House. The clans merged with the marriage of Manuel Luna and Florence Jane. Michael, Valerie, Robin, Mark and Jennifer walked in their footsteps. Mike’s children Elizabeth and Andrew followed. And this November the great, great grand son will follow.

The first generation and my father sat at a conference table in a private room of the Cardiac Unit. My oldest brother, Mike, sat at the head of the table across from the two cardiologists. The doctors wanted to know how the family saw the situation. Mike acted as spokesperson for the family, a role which to this point we have never needed. His role wasn’t designated by the fact that he was the oldest, or that he felt compelled because he is the oldest. It happened as a natural course of things and we accepted it. As a retired science teacher, Mike articulated the situation as we understood it. The doctors complimented him by saying perhaps he should be a doctor.

It does not look very good. Another twelve hours has past, no positive changes in mom’s condition have occurred. Conditions the doctors were looking for—relearning or a reconditioning of the heart, and elimination of the fluids that have been pumped into mom to maintain her blood pressure—they are not seeing. In most patients who are to make a recovery they expected to see some progress by this time. One physician stated he had never seen anyone take so much fluid—40 liters since Thursday and she has expelled a ½ liter in the last 24 hours. (The fluids keep the blood pressure up.)

Once all our questions had been asked and the doctors answered as honestly and candidly as possible, they left us to process the information. My father said a prayer and asked us to hold hands and pray. We were all holding emotions in check as Mike shared a prayer that our grandfather, mom’s father, recited at Thanksgiving dinner. As a kid it seemed impossibly long to memorize and just another moment of waiting before we could dig into the turkey, gravy and mash potatoes.

For the new morning and its light
For rest and shelter in the night
For health and friends
And all the gifts His goodness sends
We thank the gracious Lord
Amen

Footsteps. Footsteps.

Time is seeping away from mom. As a family and as individuals we are coping with the reality of this bleak situation. Emotions ebb and flow. Each of us must come to terms with the loss that will come if mom’s condition doesn’t change for she is doing nothing on her own. A pacemaker beats her heart, a respirator gives her breath and nutrition is slowly fed to her intravenously. We talk to her, stroke her hands and brush the thin hair on her head. She is sedated.

My family has come together as one. Strong and supportive, our independent natures have melted away as we seek comfort in the compassion and strength of our brothers and sisters. We are here for each other and for dad as we process the reality that while all hope is not gone (even in the minds of the doctors), we need a miracle. We believe in them, but acknowledge that even with a miracle mom’s recovery would not be whole.

Over the next couple of days, without improvements, we will need to make a decision. Perhaps mom already has.

I have asked God for one thing. I have prayed that she accepted Jesus Christ as her savior.

Waning Summer

Tonight, I am tired and almost lost for emotion. I have watched each of my siblings provide comfort to our father, offer encouraging words and demonstrate compassionate consideration to each other during this tough and uncertain time. I am so proud of my family, their love for each other and patient understanding.

Our mom is not dong very well. The heart attack was massive and is receiving no natural electrical impulses. It is confused and lost. She needs a by-pass and pacemaker, but is not stabilize enough to undergo the procedure. The next twenty-four to forty-eight hours will be critical as we all pray for some sign of improvement. She is on a respiratory so that her heart is not strained under the exertion of taking a breath. Under heavy sedation she shows no signs of response to our conversations.

I have held her cold and swollen hand, kissed her on the forehead and told her that before I left Mystic I saw a maple tree down by the river that had a touch of red in its branches, a sign of shorter days, cooler temperature and the waning days of summer. I pray mom gets to see the colors splash across the North Country and that she gets to see photos of her first great grand child. But honestly, it doesn’t look very promising.

I have not asked God to take her. Nor have I asked God to heal her. But I have asked that His plan be done and that I am able to bear His task and purpose.

Returning Home

I found myself trying to make a plan, but turned for guidance from above. I know darn well Mom would have wanted me to stay the course. I also knew dad, although he would not say it, would want me to come home. The decision would not be totally left up to me. But I did need time to think and there is no better place to let go of conflicting emotion than on the coast where land, water and sky come together.

This morning brought the promised weather of yesterday. As a drove to Narranagsett the off shore wind grew stiff and carried to land a thickening sky. By noon I had sold one book, gave away two and had felt a decision to return home. It might have been the rain, but I think it was something I recalled a few years ago. I was in Chili on an North Carolina Outward Bound trip and a few days away from a glacier climb to the summit of Orsono. It was a culmination ascent. A young man was part of the crew of thirteen. He received word that his mother was being honored by the queen of Spain for her work in films for the disabled. The queen was flying his mom and her family to Spain for the ceremony and he had to make a decision – climb the mountain or go off to Spain to attend the ceremony. He was able to talk to his mom and he conferred with the trip leaders and spoke to some of the group who were closer to his age. Ultimately he made the decision to stay and climb the mountain. He never spoke with me but I would have told him to go be with his mother during the honor. The mountain will always be there.

“Valerie, the road will always be there. Go home.” I was yearning to be with my family. That need called me home. The decision to cancel my two book signings did not happen until after I sold a book to some guy from New York who pulled up to the corn stand in a hot red convertible Mercedes. Without a salutation, a inquiry about the corns freshness or a comment about the weather, he ordered two dozen ears of corn. As Frank, the Corn Man was bagging corn he walked over to my table, picked up my book and asked what it was about. Considering his no nonsense manner I matched it with a short description. It is about sailing. He said me to sign one. I commented he did not even ask me how much it cost, but I guess if you drive up to a corn stand in a hundred thousand dollar car, the price of the book is not an issue. I gave him change for his twenty, personalized the autograph to Ted - Fair Winds - Valerie 6.26.06. That is right—wrong date. When he got back to the car he gave the book to the woman who was with him and they zoomed off as she read the back cover. Now my best hope is that he was some publishing hot shot from New York City and he just discovered me!

I hated to walk into the Bank Square Book Store. They had displayed my book so it was impossible to get out the store without seeing it and the announcement that I was going to be there. And yesterday I saw the announcement in The Day’s upcoming events. Annie was very understanding and told me to take care of my family situation. We could do a signing later. I thanked her for the consideration and the opportunity that she had given me. It began to rain when I left the store.

By the time I got to the Seaport Campground it was pouring. A book had been displayed at the cash register in the office all week and there was a poster up announcing the event on Saturday. I gave the book to Jessica, who is an avid reader and set out for home.

Traffic down I-95 was as thick as this morning’s clouds, but it was moving. I knew I had at least a five hour drive ahead of me to Albany Medical Center where Mom was being treated in the Cardiac Care Unit. The heavy rain wasn’t helping traffic, but I felt comfortable on the highway in the slower speeds. I settled in for the long drive, pushing “what if” thoughts from my head.

I left the coast and returned to the mountains. The rain stopped, but a heavy fog floated in the lower lying valleys and river beds as I passed thought central Connecticut and the Berkshires of Massachusetts. It was almost 7 pm when I found a place to park just down from the hospital. Darryl, Jennifer’s husband, met me outside and took me through the maze of hallways and stairwells to the Cardiac Unit where dad and I fell into each other’s arms.

Another Day

I slept well last night. I said my prayers, giving what would have been a worry to the Lord and fell into an easy sleep. I woke as I have been waking over the past few weeks. In the predawn the cats stir from their stations where I have tangled my legs between the two of them. Or maybe it is just hunger that causes them to roam around the RV, looking out every window, including the small portal near the top of my head. It is impossible to ignore their curious morning patrols.

But this morning my mind quickly found the thoughts of last night that I easily let go.

My dad said that mom joined the Rusty Club. It was a funny comment from my dad this morning given the circumstance. Rusty, a sheltie mom and dad once owned sported a pacemaker. Last night mom had a heart attack and suspected blot clot that required an air lift to Albany Medical. As I slept, Mom underwent surgery to place a stint and a pacemaker inside her. My dad, fortunately accompanied by a neighbor, drove down to Albany as Mom was winging it in a helicopter. Except for some reason which isn’t too clear, Dad arrived well ahead of the chopper. I imagined my feelings if I had been chasing a chopper down the Northway only to arrive ahead of it. The worst and the second worst would come to mind immediately—the chopper crashed and the patient died. Neither happened last night.

After talking with Dad, I called to each of my siblings. Mike, who was headed out the door for a doctor’s appointment, was home after returning from Colorado where he delivered baby-shower gifts to his daughter. Robin, also heading out the door, but for a change in her schedule was not working today. Jennifer who gets to the lab early, had called home to let Mom and Dad know she was planning to visit this weekend, instead heard the news directly from dad. Mark was on the job, painting the den before next week’s carpet installation. We all go through our day to day living and get hit with news that causes us to pause.

I tried to rationalize why I wasn’t driving home to look after both of my parents. Dad has not been doing well since I left. Three book events I reasoned. It did not seem like a strong reason to stay out here. After all, if things go well, I might sell ten books, so it is hardly a financially crushing opportunity lost. Nevertheless, I am staying put until the book signing on Monday. I will turn The Rig west on Tuesday morning and pick up the interstate system to get home sometime Tuesday afternoon. I’ll return to New Haven on September 7, 2006, but will probably make that a day drive in the Jeep.

Tomorrow is my parent’s 60th wedding anniversary. Happy Anniversary. I'll be home soon. And I love you.














Pluto

Had a bad day? Pluto is no longer a planet. Downsized. How embarrassing is that? 300 of the 2500 astronomers showed up for the vote, based on the definition which says a “planet not only must orbit the sun and be large enough to assume a nearly round shape, but must clear the neighborhood around its orbit.” Pluto, a planet since 1930, got the boot because it didn't meet the new rules. Once you’re in an exclusive club of nine, and one day a group of apathetic astronomers meet and decide your textbook status is through. Gavel down; decision made. Yes, Pluto it is cold way out there. I predict a new verb for business axings. “Joe got plutoed.” If you hear it, remember you read it here first.

Business As Unusual

It is not all open vistas and poking around old seaports. I spent the morning calling bookstores down the coast trying to arrange more book signings. I dedicated an hour to putting in phone calls, leaving messages, and most discouraging disconnected numbers and a bookstore going out of business. So I rethink my plight. I have a small inventory of books, I am not in business of selling books in one location and I can take the books to any customer, anywhere. I am doing okay.

I am glad I am not a book store owner, but if I was one, I’d pick a niche catering to those authors who are new and have not sold more than 1000 books. A self-published author with a marketing plan would be welcomed. I’d name the store We Knew’em When.

For the book buyer I would offer the best of the up and coming writers who are not supported by a huge publisher. I’d have to weed out the poorly written book, the trash and the book with little hope of gaining a wide audience. Subject matters pertaining to raising roses in southern New England, and raising goats on organic eggs in Oregon are out. The idea of having a book store – well has no appeal to me. Weeding out the obscure topics and the grammatically haunted books would not be fun either.

Anyway, I polished off a third of the stores on my hit list and got one. My trend seems to one store out of nine I can get one interested in an event. I work hard at theis and of course have invested a great deal in getting the store to entertain the idea, so when I get a book store owner to talk to me, I feel honored.

This morning I spoke to a few hired hands, left a few more messages and spoke with the owner of Hard Bean Coffee and Booksellers, Gary Amoth in Annapolis, Maryland. No firm commitments, but this has potential. At least Gary let me know that he was about 30 pages into the book which is sitting in his den. I imagined a dark little place, cluttered with books more magnificent than mine, a good reading light and a comfortable stuffed chair. And somewhere on the stand next to the chair under the light is The Last Voyage of the Cosmic Muffin. It is a chick book Gary, so 30 pages is good progress.

This afternoon I visited Bank Square Book in Mystic, Connecticut.
Rode my bike into town; it was a nice little cruise of about five miles into town. I asked for Annie Philbrick, but she was not in. However Jane, one of the other owners was. Seems we are all set for Monday’s signing at 5 PM. I got one hour to stir it up.

I will spend Friday at the Corn Bug in Narragansett. And on Saturday before the band plays under the tent at the Seaport Campground, I’ll be selling my book to the RV campers. I have a poster up and my book is displayed at the cash register in the office.

I might not sell many books, but I don’t want it to be said that I did not try. Yes, I still have not set up on a street corner, but the Corn Bug comes close. It is on a corner and it is the distance of the width of the sidewalk away from the street. A couple of calls to area farmers markets proved fruitless (vegetabless?).

We Love Donuts - Not Just Crumbs. Even Phoenix

Make the Donuts

If each store was considered a germ, the Nation’s security, health and welfare would consider this month’s expansion announcement as a forewarning of an oncoming pandemic. Now we have nothing against Dunkin Donuts except to say their lattes are weak and their iced vanilla coffees are great. Did they not use to claim that their donuts were fresh every four hours. Not the case the last time we ate a donut at 6 pm (don’t ask us why, ask Valerie), but it could hardly boast being made before two in the afternoon and it might have been a stretch to say it was made before 2 that morning.

A little back ground that is frightening. Dunkin' Brands Inc. executives plan to rely on multiple formats to rapidly expand to nearly 15,000 US locations by 2020, up from about 5,000 today. To say that Dunkin' is heavily concentrated in the Northeast is an understatement. For example, there are 1,100 Dunkin' Donuts within a 50-mile radius of Boston, or one for every 5,600 residents in that region. Actually it works out more like you can’t swing a dead cat and not hit a Dunkin’ Donut. If they put insurance adjusters in every store, you couldn’t have an auto accident without settling the claim in fifteen minutes over a good cup of coffee. They are on every corner, in every gas station, bank, Wal-Mart, Laundromat, and we swear Valerie was in one the other day and saw a Dunkin Donut store inside a Dunkin Donut store.

You can’t fix your own coffee, as the employee will prepare it for you. Sounds like full service? Not to us, it sounds more like keeping tabs on the Spelenda inventory. Now there is a store in Pawtucket that lets the customer add cream and sugar. It is a prototype. Guess the executives of don’t pay visits to Starbucks and Panera Bread to see that the customer can and is willing to put their own personal touches on their coffee drinks. Rival to Starbucks? Without cozy fireplaces, bulky couches and WIFI, we don’t think so. But it is a good and convenient place to grab a cup of coffee, especially if you like it black.

Why our comments about Dunkin Donuts? With a smaller footprint (like a cat's) and a warmer color scheme, that includes tans and browns, (more like a cat's) as well as the brand's signature pink and orange (a nasty color combination) the hope is that the prototype becomes the workhorse (ie. tiger) of the company's nationwide expansion. Beware, you may find one lurking in your shower one morning. Sometimes, that might not be so bad. You have been warned.

Travel Log

Which way is the wind blowing?






Corn 4 Sale

I was able to load one image last night. And why this one? Humm. I was on my way out of the little town of Narragansett, Rhode Island where I was impressed with the blue color of the water - is there anything more beautiful than blue water, black rocks and white surf?- when I saw this colorful little bug along the side of the road. It's a cornbug with "Corn 4 Sale." I pulled over and struck up a conversation with Frank, the Corn Man. He had been manning the open-air bug for a few weeks through waves of good business on weekends and so- so good business on the weekdays. He is a retired truck driver who loves riding motorcycles and dreams of writing his own book about his experiences as a truck driver. We talked about writing and in the back of my head I heard a little voice, "Valerie, you sound like some kind of expert about all this." Well, I am not, but when my audience inspired to write and I have, so I guess that makes me "an expert." Now if John Grisham happened to come by Frank's corn stand, he could talk to a real expert. Of course, John and I do share the same hawking the first book experience and both without overwhelming success. But I am hanging in there John! And Frank, but pen to paper and write your memiors.

By the way, Frank told me the corn was good and he even had me smell its sweetness. Last night I had three ears for dinner. Delicious!

Saying Good-bye Forever

And then after a long period of time, the photos from Point Judith popped up. At Point Judith, I watched the front move across the shoreline. By the time I got to Mystic the blue skies that warmed my soul in Newport had disappeared leaving me a little empty feeling.

An east coast surfer. He was coming out of the surf at Point Judith, picking his way across the rocks. There is a Coast Guard Station here. I watch three Coasties say good-bye to each other. "I guess this is the last time I will ever see you, " one young man said to his departing commrade, shaking his hand. They stood in the parking lot, with unknown years of experiences, adventures and lives ahead of them. I thought of those I once knew when I was in the Army many, many years ago. Only two of the many do I periodically hear from - Mike in Alaska and Tere in Oregon. It has been ages since I have seen either.



Early Morning

Last night four big rigs moved into the field next to my camp. It was after midnight. There head lights lit the field up like an NFL football stadium on Monday night. I watched them park in tight formation, and not in any designated camp site. If the tent campers had not evacuated in the rain the previous morning, they would have been squished. I gave up my post after one am and when I left the campground at 9 am the four rigs were sitting as quietly as moored boats in a protected harbor.

My first task of the day was to empty the waste water in The Rig. It is not an unpleasant task but a neccesary one, about on par with cleaning out the cat box, which gets cleaned every time the cats use it. They have learned to take advantage of the times I stop, although I have seen (by rear view mirror) Diablo use the box while I was driving.

Before striking out for Connecticut I stopped at Pet Smart to return a laser I bought to entertain the cats. I guess it would work if they were near sighted as the focal point was two feet or less. Both cats have taken to clawing the carpet near the door, so I picked up a scratching pad made of cardboard, a proven treat for both felines especially when it comes with catnap. The catnap was a cheap variety and I am glad I won’t be crossing any foreign borders as the stuff is being stored in the refrigerator and it looks suspiciously like an illegal substance.

The distance to Mystic from Newport is about 50 miles, a short drive, but one I managed to stretch into a four hour trip by poking along Highways 1 and 1A and stopping in little towns along the way. I realize I might not have the opportunity to drive with such leisure ever again. I discovered a beautiful Rhode Island coast line. First stop after crossing the Pell Bridge was Jamestown, where I got the hottest cup of coffee at the East Ferry Deli. I thought serving coffee this hot would be illegal after the McDonald Incident. I was driving and alternating the coffee cup from one hand to the other every few seconds.


The Towers is a historical landmark in Rhode Island that was built originally built in 1863 as part of a pier and casino. When it was designed the architects wanted a weathered look, so the shingles were placed in a wavy pattern. It is said that when completed the architect even got up on the roof and tore off a few shingles so the building didn't look too new. If I had been the builder, I would have killed him. On September 12, 1900 a fire gutted the place, so the shingles looked really weathered.It was rebuilt, but never had its heyday again, the Depression and all. And there was another fire in 1965, if my memory is correct. Despite all the conflagration the Towers still stand, roof and all.

I crossed over to Connecticut somewhere shortly after passing through Westerly. I could not find the bookstore there, or the state line and had to U turn in a dentist's parking lot as I lost 1A somewhere and found myself on Highway 3 heading north to I-95. The only clue that I was in Connecticut was the price of gas. In RI I saw it for $2.96. Connecticut takes $3.18 to 3.25 out of your pocket for every gallon of gas.










The cats traveled well today, putting up with all my stopping and sight-seeing. At one point Diablo could not even be bothered to wake up when I came into The Rig to open windows and the roof hatch. Phoenix still looks like I have abused her when she travels, but she recovered nicely in the afternoon once we settled in camp. And to show me who the boss is, she busted through the door about two minutes after I got the electicity plugged in.

Rain

I listened to the weather come in last night, lightly tapping on the RV’s roof. Little bands of rain brushing through the stillness of the campground. I imagined every tent camper pulling the ends of their sleeping bags away from the edges of their tents as they too listened to the rain and wished it would stop before daylight. It did just the opposite and poured as a dim light broke at dawn. The cats were already pounding on my head for food. Diablo crying as she wandered from window to window jumping on the counter tops, table top and back to my head. At last, she nestled down in the crook of my arm and tried purring to roust me from the sheets. It was the wind sending splatters of rain on my feet that got me to rise and close the window. I fed the cats, and fixed a cup of Vanilla Crème International Coffee, then negotiated my way through two cats eating breakfast and their water bowl back into bed where I did my daily Bible reading. It was from 1 Timothy 6:6 “But godliness with contentment is great gain.” So I listened to the campers pull up their tent stakes and the RVer’s lower their rigs from their levelers and smiled.

I came close to foregoing church for laundry duty, but made my way back to Newport’s Church of Christ, being one of three guests in a congregation of nine. We all came forward for communion in a circle and passed the sacraments amongst us. A special prayer for me for tomorrow I am back on the road.

I must remember to do laundry during the week when others are at work. I picked a laundry close to Wal-Mart and the naval station, so it was very busy. I noticed most dryers were empty and most washers were full, so I knew I was on the tail end of a wave of washers. I found a washer; colors and whites mixed into one huge washer and a twenty-seven minute cycle. I expected I would have some difficulty finding a dryer, but caught one right at the end of my wash. While the clothes suds up, I went to look for a decent ice tray. They came in a four pack for $1.05, including tax.

The sun was beginning to break through a thick layer of clouds by mid-afternoon, but in the distant I heard thunder.
A bank of dark clouds hurried up the bay and I thought it would stay to the west, but a shift in winds carried the pack overhead with a hard blow. I closed up the west side of the RV and hatch and watched the darkness creep eastward covering a still blue sky. Once again the sun is showing some promise. I am hoping the weather clears for sunset, as I would like to go to the marina and shoot some boats.

Sailing Alone

Before I left home in my parents’ RV, mom handed me an ice pick and suggested I’d take it with me. I tried not to roll my eyes when she said I might get into an ice storm. She knew all too well that I would have to hack through the ice in the miniature aluminum ice trays that came with the RV. The things are about as useless as a match in a wind storm and require more energy to break the ice for a cool drink as an ice breaker spends cutting its way across the Artic Ocean in a dark January afternoon. I made a mental note to purchase a small plastic tray when I finally discovered a Wal-Mart in Newport. However, my mental capacities for “hanging on to things” have not been up to par lately. I constantly wonder where I left the RV keys. I need to discipline myself more.

I have employed the ice pick in other applications. This afternoon I carefully poked a hole in the base plate of a childproof latch that I adapted to work on the screen door slide to prevent the all too smart cat Phoenix from escaping. It took me some time to figure out how to place it so I could still open the slide without too much encumbrance. All the while, Phoenix sat in front of the door feigning indifference to the project, grooming herself ever so purposefully, but I knew she was carefully watching me, calculating her next move. I have yet to figured out how to secure the screen door so she can’t just ram through it like she did the other afternoon. She is not much over eight pounds, but she has learned she can put enough force on the roller latch that it pops open. (Note: See that little Diablo sitting at the door?)

Knowing that tomorrow’s forecast is gloomy, I headed off to the beach, such as they are around here. I was able to park the RV curbside to the shore and in a good cross breeze that kept the RV nice and cool. Diablo watched sunbathers and sea gulls most of the morning. While I read Joshua Slocum’s tale of Sailing Alone Around the World. He was the first to successful challenge the experts who said sailing around the world single-handed was impossible. Captain Slocum presented the proof in an epic voyage, taking over three years to circumnavigate the globe in a 34 foot sloop named the Spray. That was done between April 1895 and 1898. Absorbed in the book I picked up at the New Bedford Whaling Museum,I got a little toasted on my toes and thighs. Since I was quite close to Flo’s Clam Shack (it was across the street) I decided to take a chance with the fried clams, hoping I wouldn’t have the same experience I had last week.

Found a mosquito in the RV the size of a plump red tomato on a good vine. If she got me, I don’t know where. If she got the cats, they might need a transfusion. I picked the little bugger off the screen and it did not take much to pop her.

I am beginning to plan my Connecticut Trip. Hopefully with more success with farmers markets and marinas than Rhode Island. And I must start calling on the bookstores down south.

Yep, did not work too hard today.

For the Record

Jon McCartan

A week or so back in time (on the road, it seems like a long time ago) I had the pleasure of listening to the Gordon Stone Band of Burlington VT. I posted the band’s photo and mistakenly identified the bass player. The master of the bass is Jon McCartan. You can check him out on his website. Jon forgive me. All the best to you and the Gordon Stone Band. Now that I stole this photo from your website, who should I give credit to?

This photo was taken by Robert Chapman.

Air Bags

Last night when I spoke with Dad he suggested checking the air bags under the rear of The Rig. These bags are shock absorbers. Dad recommended that I keep them at 70 pounds of pressure. When they need more air I have this huge potable air tank that I assume I could use for scuba diving if I had an inclination to suck some funky air underwater. I checked the bladders this morning and found the left bag in want of some air. It was a good time as any to conduct an experiment after yesterday’s flat tire episode. I thought I would try to add more air using my bike tire pump. I was able to pressurize the bag to 85 lbs without much effort. I released some of the air to bring the pressure back to 70 pounds. Now that I know I can use my bike tire pump, I like to ditch the tank when I return home in mid-September. It would save some room under the table.

Fresh Corn
Fresh corn for lunch. I am going to miss summer for more reasons than just the warm weather. Remember when corn at the farmer’s self service stand was a baker’s dozen for a dollar? I paid $3.00 for six ears. When my sister Robin and I were kids, Dad took us camping at Hearthstone State Park on Lake George, New York. We pitched the tent and dad dug a trench around the perimeter. That night two things happened. We cooked corn for dinner and it had to have been field corn, for it was the worse corn I have ever eaten-far worse than anything shipped to Micronesia on the boats pretending to be corn. It is a wonder why I even like corn after that less than succulent experience. Later than night it poured. Outside other campers scrambled around in the rain diverting water away from their tents, while we laid in our sleeping bags dry as cotton.

Book Promotion
I mailed a dozen books and poster to Atticus Books and Café where I have a signing on September 7, 2006. When packing the books, I pulled out two that had scuff marks on the cover from the incident in Boston when books went spilling all over The Rig. These books I donated to the libraries in Portsmouth and Middletown. Both Libraries seemed very appreciative of the gesture. I suggested that they let their books clubs know of my book. Slowly I am honing a skill that is not natural for me – selling.

Melville Ponds
The campsite I had been in all week was reserved for the weekend so I had to give it up for higher and more exposed ground. For the next three days I will be in the field with no shade. Thankfully it has been overcast today and there is a breeze on this hill. I also discovered the path to the ponds. I wondered were they were. The campground is named Melville Ponds Campground, so I assumed there had to be ponds someplace around here.

The trail around the ponds was no more than a path beaten down by those young fishermen who take trout out of these stocked waters after April. I had intended to bike around the ponds, but returned my bike to the camper after I reconnoitered the trail and determined it was more inline with my younger brother's exploits.

On my way out of the woods I was able to quietly approach an animal I have not taken sight of in years. A mink. His coat was jet black in the shadows along the banks of the small stream feeding the ponds. He silently slipped along the rocks and roots trying to allude me. When he hit a path of late afternoon sunlight his thick coat revealed its truer color, a deep rich earthy brown. I watched him disappear under the overhang of the stream's embankment. My glimpse of him was all too short, but precious.

A Long Walk
I marked the mileage I would have had to walk with my bike yesterday if I had not been fortunate enough to cross paths with Pedal Power. Six miles from the point I got the flat. It would have been a long haul back to the campsite. A good stretch of the road has no sidewalk or shoulder to walk on. It would have been a brutal trip that I am sure would have left me exhausted, sun burned and irritable. Expect when you are alone, can you be? Or does it matter?


Today's History Lesson
John Lester Hubbard Chafee (October 22, 1922 – October 24, 1999) was an American politician. He served as an officer in the U.S. Marines, as governor of Rhode Island, as the Secretary of the Navy, and as a United States Senator. This statue is in Colt State Park in Bristol, RI, a very patriotic town where red, white and blue literally runs down the middle of their streets.

Diablo
Life is good on the open road.

Photos Update

My book is being sold by other concerns and I don’t know how they got my book. A very good condition of The Last Voyage of the Cosmic Muffin is being so my Livrenoir a Bookseller out of Brooklyn and London. They want $32.00 for my book. I’ll sell it to you for 18.00 and I’ll even autograph it for you. If you check out Amazon you can find a very good condition of my book for $10.00 from Coastal-Village-Books.

And for all of you who live the Ocean State, you pick up you copy of The Last Voyage of the Cosmic Muffin at Barrington Books, in Barrington. Last night I sold four books at my book signing. Tony Allen set up a little table just inside the front door and I was able to greet their customers who came in after 7 PM until closing. Matthew from the Newport Church of Christ in Middletown, RI stopped in and bought a couple of books, one for the Church and one from a friend named Lynn who belongs to a book club. Happy readings and God Bless.

I spent some time speaking with a lady whose car was recently consumed by fire, torching everything but the watermelon in the back seat. Apparently the water content of the melon was enough to protect it from the conflagration. Among the loss were a couple of books her teenage son Peter was reading for school. She and her husband of sixteen years were in the store looking for replacements, since the library’s books were all checked out probably by kids who put the assignment off during their summer vacation.

And then there was an artist, insurance actuary ( I am not sure, but you might get the picture) who has been writing his novel for the past three years carting his laptop down to the beach to be inspired by the salt, sea and sand. What impressed me was the fact that he knew what a floatie was. He admitted he did not have interest in reading my book. I was okay with that, but suggested that perhaps his girlfriend would be. To that, this talkative gentleman had no response.

Tony kept two autographed copies and cut a check for the four I sold. It wasn’t enough to pay for the stay at the Melville campground for five days, but it buys another tank of gas. I think I will hang around New port through the weekend and begin my siege on Connecticut on Monday.

Phoenix

There is no reason in the world to have a smart cat and no good can come of it. It is undisputable that Phoenix is a smart cat. One only has to look into her eyes to see an intelligence that belies that of the dog’s reputation. It is no wonder why she constantly has her nose in the air. One might think it as arrogance, but it is a means for gathering information as much as a statement of her status.

I was awaken by the sound of her pawing. But before I could come to a full state of alertness she had once again managed to open the RV door slide and jump through the opening. By the time I got to the door she was gone. Earlier in the day, I had her out on a leash. She demonstrated a strong desire to just keep walking, without regard to her surroundings or a need for security found in hiding underneath the RV, picnic table or even the nearby bushes. Instead she heads for the road, as I am sure she has seen me do over the past several days.

For two weeks she has watched me open the slide to the door. For the past several days she has begun to paw at the same slide and the other day she got it open and jumped. It was well after dark and I thought for sure she was gone for good except she did fall for the “time to eat” ploy.

This time it was the middle of the afternoon. I immediately walked away from the RV so I could get a good view of its underside and a panoramic view of the road behind. Sure enough she was plotting some escape route from the far side of the RV. Surprisingly she came to me when I called. And again I tossed her back into the RV and she protested with a pathetic meow of abuse.
I have put duct tape on the side, leaving the tacky side out to deter her from pawing it. It is now no easier chore for me to get out of the RV and I must never leave The Rig with just the screen door closed.

Peddle Power, Middletown, RI
I was on my way to Newport on my bike facing a hard head wind. I kept up the ride for no other reason than I had nothing else to do this afternoon. After enjoying a thin shake called Awful Awful at the Newport Creamery I continued on into Newport riding the precarious route along the sidewalks for the two lanes on Route 114 are narrow and heavy with traffic. I did not make it out of their parking lot. I had a flat tire and it was a good hour ride back to the campsite. Fortunately, I had noticed a bike shop about a mile back on Route 114 and I was equally fortunate to bring my Chaos with me. I would not have to walk back in my riding shoes. I changed into my Chaos and began the long walk back to either the bike shop or the campground.

The bike shop, Pedal Power was open and the mechanic Paul fixed my flat, replaced my worn tires with a slicker less resistant tire and made some adjustments to the brakes and derailer. I don’t do any heavy trail riding and I needed a new rear tire ever since I left Hawaii last year. My ride back to the campsite I was very pleased with my new tires even when the wind direction changed.

Dead Mouse

It wasn’t all about rocks today.

It was a productive day, in part because it rained, and the need to make the most of these up coming book signings. With that in mind, I sent out notices of the book signings to sailing clubs up and down the coasts of Rhode Island and Connecticut. Then I sent emails out to newspapers – dailies and weeklies – with announcements and press releases. I contacted a couple of farmers markets and identified two more to call on tomorrow. I also scouted out Barrington Books. So glad I did for I got lost twice. (I swear there is something wrong with me. I can’t even go around a block and not get turned around and lost.)
I dropped off ten books and had a very pleasant chat with the owner, Tony Allen, Peace Corps 1, Philippines. For my final task, I prepared a package with a copy of The Last Voyage of the Cosmic Muffin for Joe Meyers of the Connecticut Post for his review. It is a long shot for a review as most newspapers stick to reviewing the Random House books and not small time Print on Demands. But I am coming to New Haven, so one never knows what might happen.

Since I was hard at work, I ordered a new battery from Dell to replace the recalled battery. I guess if I wish to make a grill cheese sandwich, my computer works better than a George Foreman’s Lean Mean Fat Cooking Machine. Just leave the top down for twenty seconds. My computer may not be dishwasher safe. (The cooker does look a little like a laptop.)

This evening the sun came out so I rode my bike down to the Eastern Yacht Boat yard and wandered under the boats propped up for repair, sale or storage. Need to return tomorrow with camera.

Threw out a dead mouse. The stiff carcass was discovered when Phoenix took a very strong interest in something under the sink. I became suspicious. Cats thought it was all fun and games. See photos at SouthBoundCats.

Cats

Phoenix jump out the little slide in the door about 10 pm. Shit, I could not find the flashlight quick enough. I don’t know if I accidentally left the slide open or if she finally worked it open. She has been pawing it for a couple of days. I immediately knew she jumped out because I felt the ever so slight movement in the RV. GONE. Yes, I was upset she got out, but not nearly as when Diablo escaped. With flashlight and food bag I went out after her. She wasn’t under The Rig. I always suspected she’d head for the hills. Since there were people on the far side of the RV, I figured she would not go that way. Calling her name and shaking the bag of cat food, I looked toward the road and sure enough she came sauntering back from some distance. She was reluctant to come get the food. I know she knew it was a trap. I grabbed her by the neck, she let out a tiny meow and I tossed her back into the camper. It will be a miracle if I don’t lose either one in the next three months.

A study in Rocks

There is a very good reason why I have been impressed with Rhode Island. Rock walls are everywhere.

Victory Day

I woke up early to write a few notes about my past two weeks.

This past Sunday morning I was on the radio with Raymond Brody of Campers Corner. His weekly radio show Camping in the Zone is featured on WNOX 100.3 Knoxville and The Zone 104.5 Nashville. Every few weeks Raymond has me on the show to talk about my RV experiences. This week we talked about how RVing is a family experience.

As a kid I remember camping in dad's canvas pup tent (I can almost smell the fabric). We'd camp in the front yard or on Hagadorn's Mountain. But I only once did I go RVing with my parents when they hit the road for 18 months after my dad retired. I flew to Mexico to meet them for ten days in Guadalajara.

Now my dad calls me every night to see how the trip is going. I have just finished two weeks on the road. One book signing, one farmers market, a sale to a book store owner and another book signing scheduled in New Haven, Connecticut September 7 at Atticus Book Store and Cafe. This doesn’t make the first two weeks very lucrative, but I did not expect it to be. I do feel like it is beginning to roll however.

The first week was rough with weather from Hell—so hot it was impossible to do anything but hole up in the shade of the pines at the campground and pump air conditioning in to the RV. The second week found me in a fruitless effort traipsing across the Cape, bogged down in tourist traffic, losing the cats, and searching for campgrounds.

I became more comfortable with the operations of the RV, although I have not fired up the generator or water heater. I don’t expect to encounter any problems with this. I’ve had to level the RV a couple of times and did so without any aggravations. The biggest headache is bottoming out the RV on tricky entrances into – well just about any place, including streets. There have been times I hit bottom when I don’t expect it and other times I don’t hit when I expect to grind the protective wheels in the rear against the asphalt. When it happens in envision pipes and sewage spilled all over the road. If this happens, I think I'll just keep driving as I'll be too embarassed to stop.

To sum up my biggest frustrations these first two weeks – not convincing enough farmers (if they run the market I don’t stand a chance) to allow me to set up, and maneuvering the RV in and out of places without hitting bottom. (It is a bad design on The Rig.) Oh yeah, I worry about frying the cats brains out or having them escape, and finding a decent camping ground, but so far that worry has been for no good reason. Worries I have to let go.

The RV on the road life style is both an independent and dependant way of living. I am not doing what most do - a vacation with a planned itinerary - drive and park. Instead I am trying to create a plan as I go-finding markets, marinas and bookstores along the way. Lots of ambiguity as I search for my venues which leave me wondering if I can find a convenient and available campsite near the places where I find a marketplace. Combine this challenge with the need to find security at night.

In the past while I traveled by jeep I felt less burdened. I have slept in parking lots of hotels, and casinos. I have pulled into hotel parking lots. I’ve parked in rest stops, truck stops, and malls. A vehicle like a jeep hides in these places. Once parked, the jeep becomes part of other sea of vehicles. I can go unnoticed. However, the RV presents a different challenge. It sticks out and I am concerned someone (police or thug) will come tapping on the window just to see if someone is inside. Of course, Phoenix and Diablo would peek outside the window to see what was going on as I hunker down out of sight.

The RV gives me my own bed, food and water supply and bathroom – all the conveniences of living a modest life. It is like being a turtle. Yet, I am dependent on finding places I can park – somewhat limited by the need to keep the place cool for the cats. (Unlike having a dog that could roam around with me on my excursions in town, the cats are better off to sit in the confines of the vehicle, but only if the temperatures are reasonable.) I can’t blend into the wash of the other cars and trucks, even if the RV pales against the huge motor homes cruising the roads.

Cat Episodes

I sprayed the RV’s doorway with Feliway, a pheromone spray to calm cats down. Diablo was growling at me this morning after I brought her back inside. I could not get the leash off her without having her either try to bite or take swipe at me. The rest of the day she calmed down and slept. Phoenix hid inside one of the cabinets. They both probably will dance on my head all night long.

History Lessons

It is Victory Day in Rhode Island. Rhode Island is the only state that still celebrates the day we won World War II.



On August 18, 1781 General Rochambeau (Commander of the French Army) left Newport to sail to the Hudson to meet up with General George Washington to begin the victorious march to Yorktown. The siege of Yorktown was October 6, 1781.


On May 13-14, 1775, the first naval battle of the American Revolution took place off the shores of Fairhaven, Massachusetts. Local militia, enraged that the British flag would fly on their waters, under the command of Nathaniel Pope and Daniel Eggery, sailing onboard Success captured two British sloops in Buzzard's Bay.

Tomorrow administrative duties call. I need to contact four newspapers in New Haven, find a half dozen sailing clubs in both Mystic and New Haven and send press releases to papers in Mystic. And I’ll have to figure out places to stay. I also want to scout out Barrington Books in the morning and hit the huge marina that is near by.

I also want to go on a rock wall hunting trip...

Did you miss me?

I’ll give you a summary as to where I am and the events of the last two days. But first, Hi Ra. I am getting a great bike tan as I put on the miles.

Phoenix, Diablo and I are tucked away in a no frill campground called, Meadowlark RV Park. No frill means the place doesn’t even have a bathroom or showers—not even for 50 cents gets you five minutes of lukewarm water which feels like ice water when the early morning carries a little nip of fall. But the place is clean, quiet; every site including parking is grass and town in three miles away. We are located in Middletown RI, a stone throw from Newport. I haven’t discovered what Middletown is famous for but Newport is known for money, mansions, and sailing, sailing and sailing and is the home of Flo’s Clam Shack & Raw Bar. The food is great, but if you are not accustomed to lots of fried food take it easy on the clams. Diablo didn’t have any problems but I took to them hard and unfortunately, I was in a campground without a bathroom. So for the first time I had to use the RV’s toilet for … well you get the idea.

We will spend the next few days in the area as I have a book signing at Barrington Books in Barrington, RI on Wednesday August 16 t 7 PM. Stop in and I’ll tell you a story!

Okay—let’s go back a few days. I went off the grid when I stayed at Horse Neck State Park, a beautiful seascape campground south of New Bedford. I finally broke away from Bourne Scenic Campground, but not before getting in one last 14 miles ride along the canal at the crack of dawn. I really enjoyed my stay there because of its proximity to the Cape Cod Canal. At first, when I learned it was located under the Bourne Bridge that spans the canal I was a bit leery of sharing a campsite with homeless vagrants and tolls-you know, they live under bridges and bypasses. We could be sitting around a fire built in a fifty-five gallon drum and passing the bottle.

I was pushing my luck when I drove to Horse Neck. I knew they did not have a vacancy, but thought I would show up on the slim hope some other camper got sick on fried quahogs and went home early. Chances were slim as the skies were clear, humidity low, temperatures near perfection and the fifteen dollar sites near the beach were much coveted.

The two boys with their New England/Boston accents manning the guard shack informed me that there were no openings. (One young man sported a New York Yankee hat while the other had a Boston Red Sox ball cap with the bill cocked 45 degrees off the center of his forehead. They seemed to be on speaking terms.) Not deterred I asked if I could pull through and stop. I wanted to come in and talk to them. As I parked, I heard my voice going through my head. I must have sounded like there mothers—‘I want a word with you, young man.’

The short story is that they let me enter the campground and park in a huge parking area with the hope that in a couple of hours a site might open up. Since I had nothing else to do and the beach fees were seven bucks I accepted their offer. I didn’t go to the beach, but fell asleep in the RV with the cats. After all, life on the road can be hard and tiring. For instance that morning I burned some energy staying out of a mix between a spineless group of farmers in Bourne and some huffy lady who stated the farmers had no right to give me permission to set up a display, while the farmers basically said, “Hey we just work here.” Figuring this lady with unknown authority wanted a fight and the farmers had no back bone, I hit the road.

While napping the boys came by to inform me that a site had become available. The Boston fan checked me in, while the Yankee fan took my debit card information (gosh, when was the last time I checked the balance?).

After leveling off the RV so the refrigerator was running off propane, I grabbed a copy of The Fisherman’s Son, by Joe Orlando, an attorney-author I met in Gloucester and headed to the beach to give his book a good read. Hmm, I use the term ‘beach’ loosely. After spending a few years in the Western Pacific and Hawaii, fine sandy beaches have spoiled me. Just beyond a field of rocks the size of baseballs and soccer balls laid the Atlantic Ocean. So much for beach. But enterprising vacationers had created little clearings of sand where they removed the rocks. Reminded me of fish nests in the bottom of a shallow lake.

I watched the sunset and thought of sunsets over the Pacific on a boat called the Cosmic Muffin.

The campground was a mixture of tents and self contained RVs. With no electricity (or water hook ups) camp life ground to a halt after dark unless the RV had a generator or the campers built a fire. I have a generator and fire ring, but decided neither the technology of firing up a generator or building a fire was something I wanted to fool with. Propane was keeping the mayo fresh and milk cold, so I went to bed. From my bedroom window over the cab, I watched the moon rise into a sky filled with campfire smoke.

Morning came early as I had been invited to the New Bedford Farmers Market. I sold three books.

Yahya

At age 13 he kissed his mother good-bye and struck out for the United States. He must have thought he could walk. However, the small boy departed from his home in Zanzibar with nothing more than a bit of change in his pocket and a dream in his heart. He saw Sudan which was then as it is now, Ethiopia, which is now as it was then and South Africa, which has changed very little. Without papers or documents crossing from country to country across the poor of Africa was far from a walk-about in Australia. Nevertheless, the boy worked, walked and worked some more until he made his way to Egypt. There he was a stowaway onboard a ship. Once discovered, he was arrested and thrown in jail. A look into his eyes told me it wasn’t a pleasant memory. Ultimately, he was deported back to Zanzibar.

He explained the political chaos going on in Zanzibar about this time. The British left the colony but offered protection to any who asked for British citizenship. Claiming to be a refuge he could not return safely to his country, but England refused him asylum. I concluded that the arrest had something to do with that. But all these details are not clear when the story is being told in a park.

Upon his arrival home, he went to see his mother and asked her to provide him with whatever she could so he could leave the country for America. She has very little of nothing but gave him what she could—her blessing. He stowed away again. When caught the captain employed him. Ten years after he struck out for the United States, he arrived on its land where he claimed he kissed the sweet earth he has lived ever since.

Under the cold shade of the maple in Clasky Park, he comfortably twisted his graying dreds. It was 1973 when his dream came true. I thought back to that year. It was the same year I joined the Army and went to Alaska. He worked on oil tankers and traveled the world for thirty five years. So when he saw this author selling her book about a sailing voyage across the Pacific in a tiny sailboat he bought a copy. Despite all his years at sea in the big ships and traveling for months to faraway places, he could not imagine being in a small boat.

He was impressed that I knew where Zanzibar was (I was thinking Arabian dhows and pirates and trying to remember some book I read about Zanzibar). Yahya invited me to visit. All I have to do is let him know and he’ll make sure I’d get connected to the right people and places. It is one of those places on my Life To Do List.

I met Yahya at the New Bedford Farmers Market in Clasky Park. I was welcomed to set up my table to promote my book. The morning’s cool air reminded me that summer is waning. But there was no alarm. After all it is the middle of August and I am slowly headed south. Confident that summer has not given up on the England States, the people of New Bedford contently enjoyed the coolness.

Rae-Elaine Tbearhugz4u277@aol.com

Her twin boys Shawn and Adam are in the Army. Shawn is presently serving in Iraq. Rae-Elaine approached my table in a wheel chair. She wrote the following dedicated to the American Soldiers. Printed here with her permission.

From the day you were born I knew in my heart
That you would begin a journey, we’d have to part.
From the beginning showing you right from wrong,
Teaching you many things to make you strong.
We shared lots of laughter and cried many tear
And even though you can’t see me, I share your fears.
Wondering what life would be like as you became older,
Little did I think you choose the path of a soldier.

Being there to protect all walks of life
Even if it meant being threatened with a knife.
Never knowing how the day may end
A scared little child makes a friend.
As the soldier extends out his hand
To protect him from danger throughout the land.
Many are ungrateful for things they take for granted
As the lay in a comfortable bed
Unlike the soldier-no place to rest his head.
No blanket to keep him warm or loved one to hold him tight
Ask yourself, "is this right? Would you do this every night?"
This is the price they pay for us to be free.

Remember, the brave soldier did it for you and for me
Many of them willingly have given their life-
Someone’s son, daughter, husband or wife.
Freedom has a price to pay.
Never forget the brave soldier and thank him every day.

Gordon Stone Band

What are three Vermonters doing in Buzzard's Bay? Jammin', pickin' and having fun. If you like your Blue Grass with a hip sound-maybe called NuGrass-you need to check these three guys out. Gordon Stone, pickin' a weapon of mass destruction on banjo and pedal steel guitar is accompanied by the raspy voice of Jimmy Ryan who handles a mandolin with the same ease and smoothness as James Bond drinking a martini while that handsome Rudy Dauth commands his audience's respect on bass. I never heard this kind of Blue Grass in Tennessee.

Okay, that is my review. Hey I liked these guys. After the Concerts in the Park at Buzzard's Bay the boys jump north to Lake Placid Tuesdays on August 15. Green Mountain College is in for a treat on September 2. On the 3rd Gordon Stone Band rolls into Turin, NY doing moe.down and then they finish up September at RIRAS in Burlington, VT. Lose yourself in a songs listen to Tiramisu. I almost found myself back on a boat! Thanks guys.