health – Streaming thru America

Lavender Is Not Lavender

August 20, 2021August 20, 2021Posted in Adventure, Art, Food, health, hiking, landscape, Nature, Photography, Poetry, travel, wanderlustTagged B & B Family Lavender Farm, botany, herbs, holistic medicine, Lavender, plants, Purple Haze Organic Lavender Farm, Sequim WA, Washington Lavender FarmLeave a comment

Lavender is not lavender-- 
it blooms in different colors and hues,
regardless of the calendar.

Lavender is a lovely, fussy color, 
often confused for purple, 
but just a sight duller.

Lavender is a flowering plant
with several root uses, 
and highly regarded for its scent.

Lavender is an aromatherapy 
for calming body and mind 
while using a fragrant remedy.

Lavender is a culinary herb 
that turns into a tea 
or a gastronomic plate superb.

Lavender is an ancient medicine, 
with oils known to alter moods 
when rubbed into the skin.

Lavender is cultivated in Sequim,
and as "Lavender Capital of North America"
it's the perfect pseudonym.

Crystal Blue Persuasion

July 27, 2021February 22, 2023Posted in Adventure, Airstream, health, landscape, Nature, Photography, travel, wanderlustTagged Crystal Crane Hot Springs, IdahoLeave a comment

Leah and I needed a useful midpoint between Bruneau Dunes and Bend to divide the drive if we were heeding my tank-of-gas rule. And because I draw the line at driving no further than a full tank of gas will carry us, we were limited to a 350-mile range. In many ways, Crystal Crane Hot Springs offered the perfect locale: it was geographically convenient; it provided full hook-up; and it was also therapeutic.

We arrived at 1:30 PM and Leah entered the office to check-in.

“I’m afraid you’re too early,” said the clerk. “Check-in isn’t until 3:00.”

“But we reserved site #6 and it’s empty now. Why not allow us to pull into the space?” Leah asked.

The clerk was unmoved. “Our policy is that check-in is 3:00—no sooner—so, no, I can’t let you into your space at 1:30. However, you’re welcome to buy a guest pass for $10 if you want to use the facilities while you’re waiting.”

Leah returned to the truck with the news. “Are you kidding me!?” I exclaimed. “I’m cooking out here, already. Why in the world would I want to marinate in a 98° hot spring when it’s 102° outside? All I want to do is hook-up the electric to the Airstream and sit under the air-conditioning.”

“I tried,” said Leah, “but we need to wait another 90 minutes.”

“Ridiculous!” I remarked.

This stop was always intended as an overnighter, so there was never a need to unhitch—just plug and play. Meanwhile, the Airstream doors and windows were opened wide to circulate fresh hot air into a cabin that had already reached the outside temperature and cooling the space would take hours.

At 2:30 PM, I entered the climate-controlled office and approached the counter where a large, buxom woman with a mole inside her dimple was standing behind a plexiglass barricade. Rather than argue my case, I flattered her to the point where she conceded, and gave us access to the space a half-hour early.

With the sun setting and the day’s heat dissipating, the spring had become a hive of activity. It was finally time for us to ceremonially cleanse ourselves of all the dust and grime and sand that followed us through 5,000 miles of travel between New Mexico, Colorado, Utah, Wyoming, and Nebraska.

Hot Springs is Hot Again

June 18, 2021June 18, 2021Posted in Adventure, Architecture, culture, family, geology, health, hiking, History, landscape, museum, National Parks, Photography, Science, travel, wanderlustTagged Arkansas, Arlington Hotel, Bathhouse Row, Hot Springs, Hot Springs Rehabilitation Center, Ral City, Samuel Fordyce1 Comment

Humans have been taking baths for millennia. The practice of releasing toxins in hot springs dates back tens of thousands of years to the Neolithic Age, when nomadic tribes would soak in thermal waters they accidentally discovered when seeking relief from winter weather.

And there is archeological evidence from the 1900’s from Pakistan, where the earliest public bathhouses were discovered in the Indus River Valley around 2500 BC.

In, fact, every known culture around the world has demonstrated a special bathing ritual with roots in therapeutic cleansing of body, mind and soul.

No doubt, Native Americans enjoyed the 147^o F waters that flowed from the lower western slope of Hot Springs Mountain in Arkansas. This area was first occupied by the Caddo, and later the Quapaw, who eventually ceded this territory to the U.S. government in an 1818 treaty.

70 years before the National Park Service was established by Teddy Roosevelt, Andrew Jackson declared Hot Springs the first federal reservation in 1832, intending to protect this natural resource.

Scientists ran measurements and evaluated the springs’ mineral properties and flow rate. In journaling their finding, they numbered the springs and rated them according to temperature.

Immediately after, bathhouses began springing up around town to indulge the many guests who would travel to Hot Springs to avail themselves of the water’s restorative powers.

But trouble was brewing closer to the mountain. Ral City emerged as a community of indigents who had no use for fancy bathhouses, and subsequently dug pools beside the springs so they might enjoy the thermal water.

But not before the government put a stop to that and instituted policy that “preserved” and regulated the springs. Fearing contamination, the reservation superintendent ordered the pools filled in, and the transients relocated to a distant spring to appease the bathhouse owners in town.

Enterprising businessmen like railroad magnate, Samuel Fordyce saw potential in Hot Springs, and invested heavily in the town’s infrastructure. He financed construction of the Arlington Hotel in 1875–the first luxury hotel in the area…

and vacation residence to every known celebrity, movie star and gangster of the era.

Fordyce also imagined an international spa resort that could rival Europe’s finest, and opened the opulent Fordyce Bathhouse in 1915.

The National Park Visitor Center now occupies this bathhouse–which has been painstakingly restored to reflect the gilded age of health spas, and how turn-of the-century America tapped into Hot Springs’ healing waters to bathe in luxury and style.

There were many different ways to indulge in water treatments…

But a menu of ancillary services was also available, such as: massage, chiropody, facials, manicure/pedicure, and exercise, etc…

Bathhouse Row quickly filled with competition along Central Avenue,

each one designed with classic architectural details.

and anchored by Hot Springs Rehabilitation Center on the south end of the street.

Formally known as the Army-Navy Hospital, it was the site of the nation’s first general hospital for Army and Navy patients built after the Civil War–treating the sick and wounded through World War II. Subsequently, it became a residential resource center for training young adults with disabilities, but state of Arkansas shuttered the facility in 2019, and the building is now derelict and fallen into disrepair. Currently, it stands as the world’s largest raccoon hotel.

We visited Hot Springs during Memorial Day weekend, and the sidewalks were teeming with families and couples who were happy to return to the land of the living after a year of coronavirus hibernation. Businesses were enjoying record crowds, and the bath houses had finally reopened to the public.

Unfortunately, Leah and I were too late to the party; there were no spa reservations to be had. Water, water everywhere, and not a drop to drink.

So we took a hike up the mountain, spotted a turtle in the middle of the trail,

and continued to the Mountain Tower,

offering majestic, mouth-watering views of hidden springs beneath us, while we massaged each others’ neck and shoulders.

I’m Not as Young as I Used to Feel

June 15, 2021July 25, 2021Posted in Adventure, Airstream, health, hiking, humor, landscape, National Parks, Nature, Philosophy, Photography, travel, wanderlustTagged aging, Alamosa, Colorado, Great Sand Dunes NP and Preserve, High Dune, Medano Creek, motivation3 Comments

After motoring through half of America in our Airstream for the past 1 ½ months and reporting travel highlights along the way (http://streamingthruamerica.com),

I’m temporarily suspending the chronological order of my posts to confess that I’m not as young as I used to feel. I’m usually up for a reasonable physical challenge, but I have to admit that today’s climb did not go as easily as I wanted it to.

Yesterday, Leah and I crossed from Taos, New Mexico to Alamosa, Colorado, and settled in at Base Camp Family Campground by midday. After hiking in Taos the past 2 days, we thought we had acclimated nicely to the thinner air (more to be said on that later), but we were feeling our age after our arrival. We took an early siesta in air-conditioned comfort, followed by a 27-mile sprint to the Great Sand Dunes National Park Visitor Center just before it closed.

The park ranger suggested a climb to the top of High Dune (699 feet), but to keep in mind that tomorrow’s high will reach 92^o F. He recommended a 9:00 am start time in order to reach the top of the dune by noon, and before the surface temperature exceeds 150^o F. The ranger predicted the 2 ½-mile trek should average 2 hours, round trip.

Since we were already at the park, we decided to have a look around. We found it very refreshing to glide through three inches of snow melt, ebbing and flowing from the Sangre de Cristo Mountains.

Considering it was a Sunday afternoon, and peak traffic was winding down,

there was still plenty of activity around us;

far too many interesting vistas to ignore;

and surprising driftwood sculpture to admire.

We arrived at the Dunes parking lot by 8:45 am the next day, and we were not alone. Many other families were already parked and trekking across the sand flats with sandboards in hand. Canopies and shelters were already sprouting up throughout and within Medano Creek, and kids were romping in the water and shaping wet sand castles.

We surveyed the 10,000 acres of dunes and plotted our course as there are no marked trails, but we followed along the ridgeline like most others.

Looking back gave us some satisfaction, because it reminded us of how far we trudged,

but looking ahead reminded us how much more we had to cover. The closer we crept to the top, the deeper our feet sunk into hot sand, slowing our progress.

We took a lot of breathers along the way,

and rated the sand boarders as they attempted to carve out a run…

but mostly, it was uphill twenty steps, pausing to catch our breath, having a look around, sipping some water, and repeating the process. Slow and steady wins the race. Right?

Many hikers passed us on the way down offering words of encouragement, but Leah–realizing her feet were about to catch fire–decided to mush down the sand slopes and soak her feet in the creek while I continued to the top.

And so I pushed myself, and willed myself up the final ascent, foot by foot, grabbing air along the way, until I finally reached the summit with barely enough energy to greet the younger people who passed me on the way up, and wave my arms for Leah’s snap.

Perhaps it was self-gratification…

realizing that I can still push myself,

or maybe I needed to see the other side of the mountain.

Either way, it’s all good. Ironically, as I admit to myself that I’ve lost a step or two, to my surprise, I often find myself taking a victory lap. As I get older, I’ll eventually have to make do with being young at heart.

But until then…

Regular programming resumes…

Vaccination Blues

December 31, 2020January 1, 2021Posted in health, Photography, Politics, Science, Sociology, videoTagged COVID-19, Florida, Moderna, Ron DeSantis, St. Johns County, vaccine7 Comments

Ever since Ron DeSantis, Trump’s toady and Florida’s Republican governor decided to ignore CDC guidelines for rolling out the COVID-19 vaccine, it’s been a confusing patchwork of inefficiency for Florida’s 67 counties. Of course, first-responders, front-line healthcare workers and long-term facility residents were early targets. However, rather than vaccinate the area’s essential workers–in an effort to stem the tide of infection–DeSantis determined that Phase 1 inoculations should also be delivered to a more vulnerable and deserving population of seniors 65 and older. Rightfully, critics have accused DeSantis of politicizing the vaccine priority as a bow to those who supported his election 2 years ago.

This week, county health department officials throughout Florida received nearly 94,000 doses of the Moderna vaccine, with 3,000 doses slated for St. Johns, my home county. Leah and I have been actively following the announcements through state and local websites, and wondered how this would trickle down to us. We were determined to bob and weave through the bureaucracy for a chance that whatever news we learned would lead us in a useful direction.

Yesterday, we latched onto a hotline phone number that promised to connect us to a human who’d be scheduling appointments, but no matter when we called, the line was either busy, never connected, or went to voice mail. An after-hour answering service eventually took our information, but failed to return our call.

“Hurry up!” Leah shouted, running into the bedroom. The weight of 365 days of 2020 had worn me out, and I was comfortably lounging in bed. I glanced at the night table clock. It was 8:30am.

“Let’s go!” she commanded. “The Health Department is giving out the vaccine, and cars are already lining up across the street.” Leah had been on her morning walk, when she received a call from a neighbor–who on a whim, woke early, and was now first in line since 8am.

By 8:45am, I was behind the wheel, and behind a long string of sedans and SUVs, waiting to turn the corner from US-1 onto San Sebastian View, approaching the St. John’s County Administration building.

Leah and I slowly crept forward for the next hour until we turned the corner. We were making progress.

Eventually, we arrived at the first checkpoint…

where a healthcare worker offered us a sanitized clipboard with a validation form listing cautionary medical conditions, and alerting us to potential medical risks and complications for this unapproved, albeit emergency-authorized vaccine. We were instructed to tell our vaccination provider about:

any allergies
a lapsed fever
a bleeding disorder
blood thinner usage
any immunocompromises
a current or planned pregnancy
any breastfeeding activity
or if we have received any other COVID-19 vaccine.

We inched closer to the next checkpoint…

where Private Johnson, 1st Class of the U.S. Army entertained us while we waited further still. I had nothing but questions for him.

“How many shots have been given out so far, today?” I asked.

“I heard someone say 58 seniors over the past 2 hours, since opening at 9am,” he informed.

“So what happened to ‘appointments only’?” I asked.

“I really can’t answer that.” he asserted.

“But how did everyone even know about this vaccination site?” I queried.

“Beats me! Social media, most likely.” he posited. “All I know is that after 100,000 inquiries yesterday, the phones crashed, and people started showing up.”

“You mean, the Health Department was giving shots here yesterday, and there was no promotion or notification?” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. So much for organization.

Our conversation was cut short when I was directed to move closer to the RN station. After two hours, Leah and I relaxed our arms, and we finally received our experimental pokes.

We were directed to a 15-minute waiting zone where EMT would monitor us for:

difficulty breathing
swelling of face or throat
a rapid heartbeat
a nasty rash all over our body
dizziness
weakness

While waiting, I couldn’t help but ponder the many conspiracies spewed by Alex Jones and QAnon advocates surrounding the vaccine: No, I don’t believe that Bill Gates implanted a 5G-enabled microchip to surveil me; I don’t believe I was injected with Satan’s blood. I don’t believe my DNA was altered to turn me into a cannibal or a pedophile; and I don’t believe my immune system has now been compromised, leaving me open to greater infection.

Thankfully, after 15 minutes, Leah and I remained symptom-free.

The entire process took 2 1/2 hours, door to door. At home, I pealed the Band-aid off my left upper arm–not even a speck of blood showing.

Four weeks from now, we’ll repeat the process, as we anticipate the second dose. Perhaps by then, the roll-out will be more predictable.

But more importantly, new leadership will be moving our nation forward in a different direction, and there will be much less to fear besides COVID-19.

Good riddance 2020, and all that you brought us!…

And HAPPY NEW YEAR!

A Change of Scenery

July 13, 2020Posted in Adventure, Airstream, Canada, family, health, Photography, religion, travel, video, wanderlustTagged ASTEP Forward, Bat Mitzvah, Cantor Barbra, COVID-19, Judaism, pandemic8 Comments

Plans change.

Long before COVID-19, Leah and I arranged a summer Airstream adventure that would start with a month at the Jersey shore–where we could spend quality time with friends and family. We were also looking forward to participating in granddaughter Lucy’s Bat Mitzvah ceremony which was three years in the making.

Thereafter, stops at the Cape and Portsmouth would precede a visit to Acadia National Park before crossing over to Canada to pub crawl along George Street in St. John’s, whale watch at Cape Breton, feast on PEI mussels, and stroll through Old Quebec before returning stateside.

It promised to be a rewarding road trip, worthy of miles of picturesque scenery and memories. However, the pandemic had other plans for us. For one, Canada had closed its border to us. And secondly, Northern New Jersey was adjusting to its epicenter outbreak.

It appeared that we were doomed to succumb to another of Florida’s steamy summers–unless we could tailor a brief, albeit cautious round trip to attend Lucy’s Bat Mitzvah. Of course, hauling our bedroom-kitchen-bathroom capsule would be a decided travel advantage, knowing we were insulated from motel maladies, risky restaurants, and nasty public restrooms on our way North.

So we sketched out a new plan, and off we went.

Ordinarily, to avoid RV resort and campground fees during overnight transitions, Leah and I would scout the area for Wal-Marts, since Wal-Mart has a long-standing tradition of allowing RVs and travel trailors to boondock in remote sections of their parking lot. But after driving 7 hours through stormy weather, we settled behind a quiet Cracker Barrel in Wilson, NC where drag racing and doughnuts were less likely to occur.

Another 8 hours of driving the following day brought us to Lucy’s house, where a deep driveway in the front provided a perfect spot for suburban camping,

and the tent in the backyard provided the perfect cover for Lucy’s weekend ceremony.

Attending this Bat Mitzvah seemed like a miracle, considering the circumstances, although Lucy could never have imagined that her special day would become a rain-or-shine, mask-wearing, socially-distanced ceremony staged in her backyard.

Lucy’s decision to become a Bat Mitzvah took many of us by surprise, because her dad, Matt was a lapsed Catholic who traditionally participated in holiday decorations and gift-giving, while Danielle, her mom was a non-practicing Jew who balanced Christmas with 8 nights of Hanukkah celebrations, which was always rewarding for Lucy.

Nevertheless, Lucy came by her decision independently, and was fully supported by both parents. Despite being Jewish by default (Judaism follows matrilineal descent), Lucy followed her curiosity, and with her tutor, Galia’s help, she slowly began to identify with Jewish history and culture, while looking for purpose in its doctrine.

After a year of discovering the Old Testament and learning the meaning of many age-old traditions, Lucy decided she wanted to become a Bat Mitzvah–to celebrate her coming of age and her beginning of life as a fully participating Jewish adult.

To that end, Danielle secured Cantor Barbra on Galia’s recommendation,

who home-schooled Lucy in Hebrew reading, challenged her to read from the Torah, and counseled her in conceiving a meaningful mitzvah project. It was a two-year task that Lucy embraced, along with her school work and dancing and gymnastics and music lessons and play dates with friends.

After brain-storming and soul-searching, and empathizing with the plight of immigrant children separated from their parents at the Mexican border, Lucy elected to stage a fundraising benefit for ASTEP Forward (Artists Striving to End Poverty).

She coordinated an evening of music and dance at Fairlawn Community Center, and recruited notable talent (including James Brennan, acclaimed Broadway actor, choreographer, director and grandfather) to fill the bill, ultimately raising $3500 in ticket sales and merchandise for the organization that delivers performing arts workshopss to underserved communities across metropolitan New York.

She also managed to perform a song and dance duet that featured Bumps (Grandpa Jimmy).

Two months later, Lucy was standing before us on her special day–her Bat Mizvah preparation now complete.

Lucy’s parents, Matt and Danielle had spaced 6 ft diameter tables under the canopy for appropriate distancing between guests,

while an internet audience joined us via Zoom.

A small selection of family members managed to assemble from Vermont, Pennsylvania, New Jersey and Florida.

Lucy’s closest friends were also on hand.

For the following hour, prayers were chanted;

rituals were observed;

speeches were made;

wine was sipped;

bread was broken;

and Lucy’s Bat Mitzvah status was eventually conferred.

After an afternoon of spiritual enlightenment, it was party time!

Congratulations, Lucy on all of your hard work, and your accomplishment on becoming a responsible young woman.

Cruising for a Bruising

April 4, 2020April 4, 2020Posted in Adventure, Architecture, Food, health, landscape, Photography, travel, wanderlustTagged coronavirus, COVID-19, cruise ships, Donald Trump, Norway, social distance, Viking Ocean Cruises, Viking Star9 Comments

When Leah and I embarked on our Norwegian adventure aboard the Viking Star,

we were unaware that COVID-19 was invading the decks of Diamond Princess while she cruised from Hong Kong to Japan–inevitably turning her into a floating Petri dish of suffering for its 3711 passengers and crew.

There was no mention of Diamond Princess peril during our maritime emergency drill–but an advisory letter was delivered to our stateroom that evening.

When the general alarm sounded, all 450 crew members reported to their assigned muster stations,

while 920 passengers assembled inside the Star Theater to learn how to prepare for an emergency evacuation.

After instruction, the crew went about their business, and passengers scattered throughout the ship to enjoy themselves, unconcerned with what was brewing in Asia. Afterall, this was our home to share for the next two weeks.

The Viking Star never felt too crowded or too busy. The spacious Living Room had plenty of comfortable seating for small talk and table games.

As a whole, people took their time getting from point A to point B. Many strolled with canes–others with walkers. It made Leah and I feel so much younger than the seventy-somethings attracted to Viking’s vision of casual luxury.

During the course of our cruise, we always gravitated to the 3-deck Atrium at mid-ship,

where people gathered for conversation and daily music performances. While more than 20 different nationalities were represented onboard, nearly half the ship was American, with large blocks of Brits, Aussies, and Brazilians filling out the count.

When it came to dining, we had a variety of options that came with a couple of rules. The dinner dress code required shoes for all and collared shirts for men. Additionally, use of sanitizer stations or hand sinks at all dining room entrances and exits was expected before seating.

We enjoyed sampling the fish and meats at The Restaurant, located aft on deck 2. It is the Viking Star’s largest menu-driven dining room,

delivering breakfast, lunch and dinner.

But for intimate dining, we found Manfredi’s–directly below on deck 1–to be as good a classic Italian eatery as any on sea or land, and without a surcharge to boot. Naturally, early dinner reservations were coveted and prioritized by cabin category, but late-evening seatings became an acceptable compromise for us.

Next door was Chef’s Table, a small dining room that focused on delivering five fixed courses prepared from locally-sourced ingredients, and paired with selected wines. The course selection changed every few days to showcase a different world cuisine, and was included without surcharge, but by reservation-only.

The World Cafe, located aft on deck 7 was Viking Star’s buffet option, and most popular breakfast venue for a wide range of appetites.

However, Leah and I have always been wary of buffet lines, which are commonly compromised by passengers who inevitably return for second and third helpings. They unwittingly grab the serving tongs without considering that they may have licked their fingers earlier. Eww!

Bringing our personal hand sanizer to the table always provided a thin veil of protection.

An inspection of The Spa on deck 1 seemed appropriate after so many good meals. We discovered the weight gym,

and the machine room.

and an amazing thermal suite, with a salt water hydrotherapy pool, sauna and snow room.

Of course, climate-controlled swimming was available–if we were so inclined–at the Main Pool on deck 7, under a retractable roof.

For lounging and relaxation, we could contemplate the panoramic views of the 2-tiered Explorers’ Lounge, forward on decks 7 and 8;

or the Torshavn Lounge,

a nightclub venue for dancing and light entertainment.

However, to get away from it all, Leah and I felt very comfortable social distancing inside 5006–

our Scandinavian-styled veranda stateroom with a king-size bed, a smart TV, and a well-stocked bar refrigerator.

Our cabin was outfitted with a generous-sized bathroom…

that featured an amazing shower.

Thanks to Eric, our room attendant and all the other housekeepers, the ship always sparkled–

especially after two ship inspections during our voyage. It was reassuring to see crew members scrubbing and polishing so thoroughly.

On February 14th, our final evening, Leah and I enjoyed dinner at Chef’s Table to celebrate Valentine’s Day, and a return to live TV reception, now that we were floating south of the Arctic Circle.

While savoring our tenderloin stir-fry, we reminisced about our favorite ports:

Tromso

Alta

Stravanger

and later toasted our crew, who kept us safe and made our cruise so enjoyable.

On the other hand, we learned from current reports that passengers and crew aboard the Diamond Princess had been less fortunate. They were riding out a quarantine south of Tokyo while confined to their cabins. We learned that 218 passengers and crew had shown positive results among a sample of 700 who were tested.

On February 14th, there were 15 cases of COVID-19 in America and over 64,000 cases worldwide with nearly 1400 deaths. Speaking to National Border Patrol Council members, Donald Trump theorized that April’s warmer weather would stifle the spread of the virus.

Today, the world is on fire. At this moment, over 1.1 million people around the world have tested positive for coronavirus, killing over 57,000. The US has reported more than 277,000 cases with over 7,500 deaths, and there is no end in sight. The warm-weather theory has been debunked.

As I write, Holland America’s Zaandam has finally docked at Ft. Lauderdale, carrying 4 dead and another 26 passengers and 50 crew members infected with COVID-19.

Sadly, for the near future, there can only be one way to appreciate a cruise liner.

High Time

September 4, 2019September 5, 2019Posted in health, hiking, humor, landscape, Photography, Politics, satire, travel, wanderlustTagged Airstream, Bellefontaine OH, Campbell Hill, Jackson Center OH, Ohio Hi-Point Career Center7 Comments

While camping alongside the Airstream factory in Jackson Center (see Building Airstreams), Leah and I wondered how we would kill time during our weekend stopover. There wasn’t much to do in town, although we were within walking distance of the Elder Theatre, a one-screen cinema showcasing Dora and the Lost City of Gold and the Heidout Restaurant, serving bar food backed by a roadhouse jukebox.

We took a pass on both, and drove to Bellefontaine, 20 miles east of our location. How fortuitous, because high atop Campbell Hill–overlooking a scenic parking lot, and peaks of grasslands beyond, as far as the eye can see–

sits the Ohio Hi-Point Career Center, a two-year career-technical high school campus that also doubles as the highest point in Ohio, at 1549 feet elevation.

Once upon a Cold War time, this site was home to Bellefontaine Air Force Station, providing radar surveillance to NORAD in the event of a Soviet invasion from the North Pole.

Remnants remain.

Leah and I were giddy with excitement. It could have been the altitude, but the notion that we were standing at the highest point in Ohio nearly took our breath away.

However, we are seasoned travelers who have Airstreamed through most of America (see Top of the World), and we refused to be intimidated by the height of Campbell Hill.

Admittedly, we were weak-kneed.

We took a deep breath to clear our heads, and took a seat on a strategically placed bench by the geodetic survey marker.

After a snack to raise our blood sugar, we managed to trek to the parking lot a short distance away. As I regained my composure inside the F-150, I realized that we were brought here for a reason. I figured that given our vantage point and strategic positioning, the military may be interested in recommissioning this location as a secure listening post as we approach the 2020 presidential elections.

The Trial of Devil’s Lake Trail

July 19, 2019July 20, 2019Posted in health, landscape, Nature, Photography, satire, Science, Sociology, travel, wanderlustTagged Balanced Rock, Devil's Doorway, Devil's Lake, geology, grotto trailLeave a comment

After searching for an escape from the plethora of water parks and souvenir shops in Wisconsin Dells, we settled on a hike around the quartzite cliffs overlooking Devil’s Lake. With temperatures climbing through the 90s amid an epic upper midwest heat wave, the lake was a winning getaway for hundreds of families cooling off in the water, but not for us. Reports of swimmers itch concerned us, and we scratched it off our list.

We sought hiking guidance from the Visitor’s Center, and learned of a steep trek up the southern end of the east bluff that would lead us to a flat ridge loop. The hike was demanding, stepping up and over a talus field of rock-hewn steps cut from car-sized boulders that crumbled in the wake of a glacier that shaped Wisconsin 30,000 years ago.

Miraculously, the moraine was raked and solidified by the Civilian Conservation Corps in the 1930s, and a trail was born.

The heat and humidity was taking its toll on us, and we were feeling our age. It was disconcerting to see millenials ambling up the bluff at twice our pace, but we perservered with patience and caution. Halfway up, our first reward was Balanced Rock…

which offered spendid views of the beach.

Continuing our climb to 500 ft above the lake, we reached a forested plateau with trails running in multiple directions. We carried on toward Devil’s Doorway, the park’s signature rock formation…

forged from Cambrian sandstone as old as 1.6 billion years,

and today, an irresistable climb for teens with mountain goat skills.

It was a mad scramble during the descent, and the perfect place for forgotten walking sticks.

Although the loop was under 2 miles, terra firma never felt better under our weary legs.

No Shit!

March 19, 2019March 25, 2019Posted in Architecture, culture, health, humor, Photography, Politics, satire, travelTagged Old Town, shit, St. Augustine, St. George St., toilets2 Comments

There’s a wall of potty talk that circles the public restroom in the center of St. Augustine’s Old Town on St. George St. It follows a chronology of lavatory achievements through the ages as a testament to shitty innovations in evacuations.
So before you make a big stink and turn a blind eye to an issue this pressing, just cut the crap and log into a blog that offers a fulfilling means to an end:

“This small chamber, located inside an ancient dwelling, had a drainage system that connected to other dwellings, and may have been an early toilet and sewage system.”

2600-1900 BC — “Cities of the Indus Valley Civilization had elaborate drainage and water supply systems, with flush toilets in almost every house.”

1370 BC — “This limestone toilet seat would have been placed over a compartment containing sand, which would be changed much like kitty litter today.”

2100 BC-1000AD — “Ancient Greeks used small rounded ceramic pieces called ‘pessoi’ instead of toilet paper. Other toilet paper precursors included ‘tersorium’ (a sponge fixed to a stick, Greco-Roman), ‘chuugi’ (25cm wooden sticks, 8th century Japan), and natural materials such as leaves, fur, and corncobs (used by many cultures throughout the world). China actually had toilet paper in the 2nd century BC!”

6th & 7th century BC-79 AD — “This toilet was found in a Pompeii brothel, and would have had a chamber pot beneath the seat.”

“This large public latrine with marble-topped toilets was used by the elite as a privilege of royalty and nobility.”

“Sir John Harrington published a book describing the forerunner to the modern flush toilet and installed one for his godmother, Queen Elizabeth I, at Richmond Palace, which she refused to use because it made too much noise.”

16th century — “This ceramic Spanish chamber pot is one of the earliest documented chamber pots in North America. Its original flat rim is missing.”

“This British chamber pot, a ceramic called Sponged Pearlware, was used by St. Augustine colonists.”

“Archaeologists excavated this toilet from the moat that ran along the Cubo Line, a defensive earthwork that protected access to the city. Long used as a dump by St. Augustine residents, the city filled in the moat in 1900.”

mid 20th century — “Chamber pots persisted in the U.S. into the mid-20th century for use in toddler potty-training.”

Every drop counts — “St. Augustine colonists did not have pipes and indoor plumbing to bring water to their homes. They dug wells to access fresh water and carefully controlled its use. Today we take water for granted–but fresh water is in short supply. With climate changes and population increases, water consumption is critical.”

Society has made major advances in personal hygiene, to the extent that there are deco palaces devoted to pepsic discomfort…

radio city mensroom (3) — Radio City Music Hall men’s restroom, NYC

while also allowing for targeted political commentary.

potty mouth — William Duke and Brandon Griffin’s Photoshopped version of the men’s restroom at St Christopher’s Hostel, Paris. Photograph: Jacky Naegelen/Reuters

All’s well that ends well!

The Angry Inch

December 22, 2018January 30, 2019Posted in culture, health, humor, Photography, religion, satireTagged bris, circumcision, family, Judaism, mohel, ritual8 Comments

On September 5, my grandnephew Ari unwittingly followed Abraham’s footsteps and entered into a covenant with God by sacrificing his foreskin to join the Tribe. He was only eight-days-old at the time, but had he been asked and able to answer, I’m certain he would have opted out.

Leah and I travelled to a Scarsdale, NY temple for the event, where we were greeted by Bubbe Debbie, Tante Ava, and most importantly, Ari, dicked out in Bubbe’s crocheted yarmulke creation. Presently locked in a blissful sleep, Ari had little clue of his near-future fate.

All guests were expected at 11:00 am sharp, but slow arrivals dictated a slower start, which was a good thing for Tante Marilyn–who like cock-work–arrived during the overture, and ran to the restroom with a change of clothes over her arm.

“There’s no time for that,” I called out as she sprinted by.

“Nevermind,” she answered, and she was gone.

Inside the sanctuary, Ava stood steadfast as Ari’s chaperone, cradling him on a pillow that would hopefully cushion the inevitable blow.

Despite outsiders’ cries of trauma and mutilation, the notion of circumcision has stood the test of time for four thousand years, and the ceremony of brit milah, or bris marks the ritual of welcoming the newborn male into a society that connects all Jews through thousands of generations–from Abraham to the great-grandfather…

to the grandfather…

to the father…

to the son.

Ari’s mohel (rhymes with recoil), who was hired for his steady hand (and because he only works for tips), stood resolute and cocksure before the congregation,

as if to reassure Ari’s anxious Mommie,

that he was more than a cut above the rest.

However, after the recitation of several requisite readings,

Blessed art Thou, O Lord our God, King of the universe, who hast sanctified us with Thy commandments, and hast given us the command concerning circumcision.

and blessings,

Blessed art Thou, O Lord our God, King of the universe, who hast sanctified us with Thy commandments, and hast commanded us to make our sons enter the covenant of Abraham our father.

I concluded the mohel was a touch long-winded, although I never considered asking him to cut it short.

Finally, it was showtime. The sandek–in this case, Zayde Craig,

the maternal grandfather–was called upon to hold Ari’s legs, while the mohel got a grip of Ari’s equipment.

Once the clamp was affixed and the ceremonial anesthetic (Manischewitz wine) was orally introduced,

a flick of the wrist…

left little doubt…

that Ari was in good hands. The mohel was a consummate professional who handled himself in the long run without getting the sack.

Afterwards, the parents exhaled, although mouth-to-mouth was necessary.

In fact, grandparents, and especially Ari felt the whole affair was sensational–even though he was all petered out and it was clear that he wasn’t all there.

Swimming Upstream

December 12, 2018December 18, 2018Posted in health, Photography, sportsTagged Alzheimer's, Birthday, Dementia, exercise, family, swimming, therapy11 Comments

It’s been one year since I featured my father’s battle with Alzheimer’s (read Happy Birthday, Dad!), and I’m pleased to report that on the day of his 94th birthday…

…he continues his fight against inevitable debility. In fact, it appears that he is more fit than the year before.

Last year, Dad’s sedentary existence and subsequent lack of stamina was draining his psyche and physical condition. It was becoming apparent that the Use-It-or-Lose-It paradigm was taking over, but fortunately, Dad’s vigilance prevailed.

There was no magic pill or panacea to persuade him. Instead, it was his will to keep moving that helped him battle his personal perfect storm–assisted by diet and exercise.

One year ago, I found myself enabling Dad’s Clean-Your-Plate appetite by repeatedly up-sizing his wardrobe to accommodate his ballooning waistline. Unbeknownst to me, the Memory Care staff had endorsed an unwritten and unspoken Snack and Dessert Proclamation:

If a 90-year-old man wants a cookie, let him eat one.

But Dad would eat two…or more. He was growing sideways effortlessly with reckless abandon. Belts and elastic waistbands had yielded to suspenders. At 5 feet-2 inches, Dad was tipping the scales at 220 pounds, and it was impacting his ability to balance and breathe without wheezing.

And so I returned him to his love of swimming–his preferred sport for fitness. Growing up, I recalled his need to visit the “Y” religiously every Wednesday to swim laps, take a schvitz and a enjoy a rub-down to blow off the steam of life’s hard-boiled expectations.

And while there was no illusion of recapturing the pleasure of Dad’s “Y” Wednesdays or restoring Dad’s forever-lost cognitive functioning, I anticipated his muscle memory might still respond to water therapy.

I was introduced to Patrick, a licensed physical therapist who was willing to accompany Dad into the pool, and work with him twice a week. After a short period of time, the almost-immediate payoff of sounder sleep, noticeable weight loss, and increased energy and awareness supported my vision of Dad swimming every other day, three times a week.

To date, many of Dad’s vital signs continue to improve. His blood pressure has dropped. He eats less and exercises more, which has resulted in 30 pounds of weight loss in 4 months.

Nevertheless, Dad continues to lose ground to his dementia demons. Steady bouts of “nobody home” syndrome are occasionally interrupted by scattered moments of recognition, and immediately replaced by confusion and silence.

Struggling for the right words almost always results in stuttering followed by resignation. Lingering name-to-face recognition has been replaced by nuanced sweetheart or honey familiarity. Prompting with closed questions works some of the time, but for the most part, Dad has sunk into an eternal state of bliss that many around him find soothing and reassuring.

Could his passivity be a cover for his acquiescence? Maybe, but I’m not really sure if it makes a difference or even matters.

Because whether Dad realizes it or not, the victory of survival is always worthy of a celebration.

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“This small chamber, located inside an ancient dwelling, had a drainage system that connected to other dwellings, and may have been an early toilet and sewage system.”

“Cities of the Indus Valley Civilization had elaborate drainage and water supply systems, with flush toilets in almost every house.”

“This limestone toilet seat would have been placed over a compartment containing sand, which would be changed much like kitty litter today.”

“This toilet was found in a Pompeii brothel, and would have had a chamber pot beneath the seat.”

“This large public latrine with marble-topped toilets was used by the elite as a privilege of royalty and nobility.”

“Sir John Harrington published a book describing the forerunner to the modern flush toilet and installed one for his godmother, Queen Elizabeth I, at Richmond Palace, which she refused to use because it made too much noise.”

“This ceramic Spanish chamber pot is one of the earliest documented chamber pots in North America. Its original flat rim is missing.”

“This British chamber pot, a ceramic called Sponged Pearlware, was used by St. Augustine colonists.”

“Archaeologists excavated this toilet from the moat that ran along the Cubo Line, a defensive earthwork that protected access to the city. Long used as a dump by St. Augustine residents, the city filled in the moat in 1900.”

“Chamber pots persisted in the U.S. into the mid-20th century for use in toddler potty-training.”

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