"Once A Kid ..."

"Choo-Choo" - When I was little, my parents bought a train set for our basement playroom. It was, I don't know, about eight feet long? Five feet wide? Or, maybe it was ten feet long. I haven't seen it for years so my guess is, if I looked at it today, it might very well be only about one by two feet. I'll tell you one thing, to a four year old it pretty much looked like a NYC block. It was big, brown, with long green stretches that looked like open prairie. The first time I saw that set, it was the most exciting thing I'd ever seen.

We had Lionel trains. There were two engines - one was the old fashioned type of, I guess you'd call it a choo-choo train; the kind that tugged a long series of freight cars, with it's bright red caboose pulling up the rear. That engine was black, (it looked a lot like the one above), with that silver metal bar-like post attached to the wheels, the one that moved up, down and around as the wheels spun. I always liked that motion for some reason. That engine made a whistling noise and I have to tell you - it sounded just like a real train. It was wild. I remember one day, my dad showed up holding a little box filled with tiny white tablets, which you placed in the similarly tiny smokestack at the train's front. As the engine heated up from the electricity flowing through the tracks, a thin white wisp of smoke streamed from the engine. The whistling, the smoke, that silver bar moving up and down - I was in heaven.

The other engine was a more modern, "Amtrak," type of machine and this train pulled passenger cars like the one down below. I loved the sleek, silver, rectangular look of these trains and the way the passenger car windows would light up, showing off the tiny profiles of people as they chatted with one another and enjoyed their meals in the dining car, (you can see this on the train to the right). Well, I'm figuring that's what those folks were doing and I could have sworn I always saw my Nana Ann in there whenever we took the trains out for a spin. Back in the late 60's, we used to go and pick up Nana at the Springfield, Massachusetts train station, so it didn't take much for my imagination to simply transfer that experience over to our toy basement set.

I used to love heading down to the basement to play engineer. And there was nothing better than running both trains at once and turning off the lights for the complete night-time experience. The sounds, the smoke, the lights of the little plastic towns complete with gas stations, cars and people ... there was even a little helicopter somewhere on the open prairie. I'm not sure that really fit in well with the set, but that didn't matter. It was still exciting to have it there. Sure, I my siblings and I were mere observers in the early years; my Dad was chief engineer and we were instructed to stay clear of the set when my parents weren't around. The electricity was too dangerous, I suppose. But, years later, it was time for my sister and me to take over the controls and then it was my brother's turn after that. So many times I would head downstairs and get lost in that little Lionel world. It was relaxing - I can remember that feeling. And yes, sometimes, the "boy" in me would take over. I remember sometimes speeding up the trains so much, that they'd take off and fly from the tracks. But as you might imagine, after 15 crashes or so, there wasn't a whole hell of a lot of mystery in the accident scene. You should know, however, that I never purposely crashed the passenger train. All tragedies were reserved solely for the coal, flatbed and general freight cars. No lives were ever lost in that basement. After all, how could I ever hurt my Nana Ann?

Take A Look At This - Well ... if my eyes popped out of my head when I was 4 looking at my Lionel basement set, I can't imagine what it must be like for 4-year old encountering what you see here. To me this was, perhaps, the biggest - I guess you'd call it a "train set" - I had ever seen. It's actually a collection, an association ... a train set conglomerate. I wrote a bit about seeing this a few posts ago when I had wandered down to Union Station and met a few model train hobbyists as they were setting up this beauty. (See above - you have to look carefully to see the people in the photo and this will give you a better sense of the scale of the project).

Well, it's finished now - completely set up. I snapped off a few photos so you can see what I'm talking about but, to tell you the truth, there was no way to get a good shot of what I'm talking about here. My little Canon digital isn't set up to give you the full flavor. It was one thing to see the people setting up the train early one weekday morning with just a few people milling around the station. It was something else to see the system fully up and running, with kids running around the outside boundary, putting their little hands up to the glass, mouths open, eyes as wide as ... well ... I'm guessing that's what my eyes looked like the first time I saw that basement train set.

The Ultimate Veteran's Day

War.

I don’t like to admit it, but war fascinates me. I love learning about it, seeing paintings and photographs of it, reading first-hand accounts of it. The Civil War ... now that's always sucked me in. I don’t know. For me, there's something kind of ... well … eerie about that period. Maybe that's because it's the first time mankind was able to see actual images of war's horrors. Photos of mangled, contorted bodies lying dead in the open fields. Of makeshift hospitals with all the surgery paraphernalia - saws, ether, white metal beds ... It all gives me the creeps. On the edge of the industrial revolution, The Civil War seemed to change everything about the way wars were fought and followed. Until, that is, the next war came along. And then, the next. It seems all wars change everything. And yet, they change nothing.

"The War To End All Wars" - Last week, I happened to see something in the paper about the The National World War I Museum, At The Liberty Memorial being located right here in Kansas City. I hadn't heard much about it and, in fact, haven't thought much about WWI for a long time now. It's funny how that particular conflict is overshadowed by it's world war cousin. Anyway, when my friend Mary mentioned something about Willam Jewell College presenting a special alumni lecture, followed by a tour of the museum on Saturday, I thought it would be fun to join her. I was meaning to head back down to Union Station anyway, so I thought this would be a great way to kick off the weekend. And you know what? It was.

The lecture was held in a large loft area upstairs at Union Station and the guest speaker was Dr. Thomas Howell, a renowned World War I scholar. Dr. Howell presented the information in an almost poetic way and his - I'll call it a pre-museum briefing - was the perfect appetizer to the main meal. By the time we entered the museum, I felt like we had traveled back in time, our heads filled with fresh knowledge about the early 1900 European social, cultural and political climate. What did Dr. Howell call it? A tinderbox?

Okay. So I've seen three museums since I've been here: The Nelson Atkins Museum Of Art, including the new Henry Bloch wing; The Arabia Steamboat Museum; and The Negro Leagues Baseball Museum. I can't remember the last time I spent so much time in museums. I know part of the reason is my newness to the area. But I'm sure another factor has something to do with my lack of a television; I chose to not get one when I moved into my new place.

Anyway, the World War I Museum is an incredible place. And I don't like tossing around the word "incredible" too much. As Dr. Howell suggested to us during his lecture, this is a world-class museum in the truest sense. The displays, interactive materials, educational copy and media ... it's a tremendous collection. I know I have to go back at some point since it's too much to take in on a first visit. There is one section, which is kind of like a wide balcony area, where you can either sit or stand while you watch a short movie presentation about the U.S. entry into the conflict and how that shift affected the war's outcome. The balcony overlooks a huge replica of a trench and it looks remarkably realistic, complete with the mud and water. I don't usually take photographs of copy but the description to the right caught my eye, (you can click on it so see the words more clearly).

Of course, it was good to tag along with Dr. Howell every now and then, so we could get our questions answered immediately by the expert. And, to be at the museum over Veteran's Day weekend was something special as well. Crowded, to be sure. But still special. I don’t actually remember the last time I even thought about the first world war. I took two courses about the second war when I was in college and they only touched a little bit on WWI. But after listening to Dr. Howell and then to the movies; after reading and viewing the various displays - a lot of the history came back to me. The Serb issue, The Black Hand, Hitler's capitalizing on Germany's disgraceful defeat, sowing the seeds for the coming turmoil... It's
interesting to think that people back in 1918 actually did believe that the phrase, "the war to end all wars" was appropriate.

If you live in Kansas City and you haven't been to this museum, you owe it to yourself to check it out. It's a must-see - a truly extraordinary experience. Not that you’re all traveling to KC, but if you do get here at some point, I recommend some trips to the museums I mentioned earlier (and I haven't even seen the Truman Presidential Library yet - I heart that's great, too). And when you're through exercising the mind, stuffing it with all kinds of information, you've earned the right to check out the barbecue spots.

Have I mentioned how much I love barbecue?

I'm kidding.

Balance

Resident vs. Traveler.
Routine vs. Unusual.
Waking up in the morning, knowing pretty much how the day's going to be structured vs. Waking up, walking out the door and not knowing what to do next.

Finding the balance between these concepts has become an interesting experiment for me. From the look of it, many folks seem to enjoy the more set, familiar approach. They love routine; the same series of events, operating like clockwork, just about every day of their lives. Well, I'm pretty sure that's not my bag. Sure, I can do it and, in fact, do do it for about half the week these days. But, when it comes to the remaining days of the week - it’s the lack of routine .... the “what’s going to happen today?” unknown component to the whole thing - this is what gets my juices flowing.

It's The Vibe, Man - 35,732 miles marks the spot. Someone mentioned it would be a good idea to get my car into the shop for a quick checkup before the bumper-to-bumper coverage runs its course. I found a dealership up on Main Street and met a mechanic there named Tony. Great guy, by the way, which is good since I can now check that off the list of settling-in “to do’s” -

Dentist ... done.
Cleaners ... done.
Barber ... done.
Mechanic ... done.

After dropping off the car, I had about three hours to kill and didn't have the faintest notion of what to do next. Years ago that would have been a challenge, perhaps even a worry. No car, in the middle of nowhere, strange area. Nowadays, it's just the way I like it. I looked to my left as I zipped up my backpack and stared at the tall buildings marking the Kansas City's skyline. The air was crisp and the lighting was that pretty, light golden, with an early morning mist floating above the grass. I decided to head toward the buildings.

I've driven through Crown Center, (a city shopping and dining area surrounding the Hallmark Company's main headquarters), about 50 times since I've been in KC, but haven't spent any time there, certainly never gotten out of the car. I figured it would be a good time to grab a quick breakfast, relax and read a bit. And just as I reached for the door leading to the Center, I felt a vibration in my jacket pocket.

“You wouldn’t happen to have your keys, would you, Harry?”

I reached down with my left hand, feeling the clump on my left thigh. I closed my eyes and dropped my head. It was Tony and, yes, yes, friggin' yes - I forgot to leave my keys with him. I'm pretty sure he couldn't hear my near silent-swear as I waited about ten seconds … the lull continuing … while waiting … for the pickup offer that never came.

The walk to Crown Center was delightful. Of course it was. It was completely downhill. By deduction, the walk back to the dealership was a fairly slow, persistent - sort of grueling early morning test for my legs and lungs. I had clearly earned the right to a good breakfast.

Union Station – I couldn't help but smile as I stared out the bus window, retracing my initial morning trip down the Main Street hill. This was my debut KC bus ride and, at $1.25, it is truly a bargain. Public transport was my default transportation mode in NYC; the occassional car there was a treat for me. Here, the whole thing is flipped. Whenever I need to travel, it's all about the car. The bus? It's just not something I think about ever using. Having said that, a bus ride downtown every once in awhile might be nice; there’s something relaxing about someone else doing the driving and I enjoy looking out the window – observing. And, of course, you never know who you’re going to meet.

"The Link" is an above-ground walkway, connecting Crown Center and Union Station, the city's main train terminal. As luck would have it, The Link led me directly to the place I needed most – a diner type restaurant called the Harvey House. Originally opened at Union Station in 1896, the refurbished version was the perfect place for a relaxing breakfast. I sat, read and wrote. The place was empty so my waitress spent some time at my table, filling me in on the goings-on around Union Station. I enjoyed watching the mixture of tourists, travelers, and vendors as I ate my eggs and sipped some really good coffee.

I'll just say this for the time being because I'm planning on heading down to Union Station again soon to check out the World War I Museum (just up the block) with a few friends. I loved milling around the train station. Come to think of it, I always enjoy wandering around old train stations. Well, I guess by definition they're all old, right? There's just something about train stations - you can smell the history, the age. And Kansas City's depot is real treat; I'm going to snap off a few photos in a few days. Get this: they're setting up this huge, and I mean huge model train -I don't know what you'd call it - a community? I hesitate to call it a "set" - it's more of a train "wing." About half of the station's main lobby is eventually going to be filled with this train set-up, which includes all kinds of different model trains, winding tracks and little buildings. About a dozen volunteers are currently working on the construction and design as well as manning the operations center. I hung out for awhile and chatted with some folks, just to find out what the scoop was. It turns out this train exhibit is an annual thing and they were putting it together for the coming holiday season.

The Adventure Continues - I know, I know. It's not exactly like scaling Everest or trekking through the Amazon. Still, an adventure, no matter how seemingly small and insignificant, is still special to me these days. Call me crazy. A few people have - trust me. My return Link route took me back up and into Crown Center where I walked around shops and into one particular gift shop, where I was greeting by a nice smiling woman named Betty. A former school teacher, Betty now works part-time in the “Best of Kansas City” gift shop down the hall from the Westin Hotel. She’s over 70 so, after chatting awhile, I asked if she’d like to be an Eldercation participant. She smiled and took a card I offered her. We'll see. I don’t push too hard on that front. If a person wants to speak with me, they’ll reach out in one way or another. Those are the people I enjoy interviewing the most. No force-feeding here.

I started my walk back up the hill and this time, there being no rush, I took the steep grade more in stride and it was quite a bit easier. Of course, just as I was approaching the dealership, Tony called to tell me the Vibe was ready and ... in very good health.

And so, that was my Monday morning. My non-routine morning. My traveler morning. It’s interesting just how different I felt as I wandered around, seeing new places and faces. The question always looms there for me: how can I allow this feeling to more a part of my life?

I’m working on that one. For now, the balance seems just about right.

"Those Who Ignore History ..."

I thought I had done something terribly wrong to my body. I’m talking medically wrong.

“Are you okay?” I asked my brother. I was laughing hard and with quite a bit of discomfort; I actually had to back off and stand still for a second. As Stuart and I crossed the street at 18th and Vine, we knew we were in for a treat. We had arrived at the Negro Leagues Baseball Museum and it was something we'd looked forward to seeing since Stuart arrived for his Kansas City visit. Both or us are huge baseball fans, so this was sure to be a treat. The second treat of the afternoon, as a matter of fact, the first being a prior stop at yet another of the city’s premiere barbecue spots. More on the baseball museum in a bit. First, a short blurb about LC’s Barbecue (<----this link takes you to "Roadfood.com" - a great place to get the lowdown on interesting places to eat).

"Oh, My God" – That’s all I can say now and pretty much all I could say at the time. The fact is, Kansas City barbecue is something special. And my first few bbq indulgences here have taken me to one of the city’s very best barbecue restaurants – Gates Barbecue. (Note: I recently had the honor of interviewing Mr. Ollie Gates, himself. I'll be posting a portion of that interview soon). I’ve already visited Gates about 3 or 4 times, first with the Connecticut crew and then with my friend, Heather. The food is top-notch and the sauce? It's pretty much the best I've ever tasted; I use it on all kinds of things now and you can buy it in most grocery stores here - (or check out this section of the Gate's website). Still, on this day, it was all about another of KC’s finest. It was all about a place called LC’s.

When asked “What’s the best barbecue place in the city?” a number of folks at work kept placing the name, "LC’s," high up on their lists, usually within the top three slots. They grouped LC's along with two other local, lesser known favorites (lesser known to rookies like me) - Oklahoma Joe’s and Rosedale – I’m sure I’ll be writing about these places somewhere down the road. Arthur Bryant’s, (you have to see this Bryant's video clip - it reminds me of Katz's), and Gates are the city's mainstays, as are the Jack Stack and Smokestack restaurants. But a visit to LC’s – less flamboyant and in no way fancy - simply means good eatin'.

So, here’s what happened.

To me, the concepts "fancy" and "barbecue" are not a natural mix. And when you enter LC's, your reason, the only reason for being there hits your nostrils immediately. The fact is, you smell the bbq as soon as the car door opens. The place is small, there's a TV is in the corner, animal heads on the wall – I'm posting a couple of pics from the Roadfood site so you can get a sense of the place. Here's how one reviewer summed it up - check out his links with the photos : "L.C. has a couple of stores, but the original on Blue Parkway is my favorite. Dinky little store, you're right in the cook's lap when you order. The sandwiches are HUGE. Fries are as good as Bryant's, but again. bring a defibrillator. Beans are very good, too. (-George Blowfish)

Shock & Awe - I had heard about the burnt ends – saw a few orders flying by me – and that’s why we made the trip, so ... we each, of course, ordered a burnt end sandwich. Share? What does that mean? Sandwich? Ha!!! They put a piece of white bread on the plate, smother it - and I mean smother it – with a humongous pile of burnt ends, (the more well done ends of the meat), put sauce on it – then top the stack with another slice of bread. You'd be a fool to try to pick it up. The fact is, it's impossible to pick it up. The white bread's sole reason for being there is to soak up the sauce. An order of beans? I’d heard they were great, so we got an order of those. The fries looked good, so we got an order of those, too.

“Okay," my brother smiled. "We need a vegetable - something healthy.”

Cole slaw?

Two guys. Lots of food. A TV on in the corner.

It was perfect.

Mmmm, Mmmm - Okay. I’m pausing here - doing my best to reminisce about that special moment when we each picked up our initial burnt end and placed the crispy morsels in our mouths.

“Oh, my God," I smiled as I reached up to high-fist my brother.

And that was that. The beans? There were pieces pork in there, too. And when you spooned a helping onto the plate and they mixed in with the burnt ends … wow!! Tremendous.

I'm pretty sure I’ve ever had so much food in one sitting in my entire life. And that's not necessarily something I'm all that proud of.

Which now brings us back to the “medically wrong" concept.

"I’m not sure I’m okay. " Sheer post-eating pleasure, mixed together with a little fear and a dose of …. “Feel this,” making my brother poke my stomach. “Standing room only” in there - that's what we were each hauling into the baseball museum as we bought our tickets.

Treat #2 - Any true baseball fan would appreciate the place. You really get a better sense of what the modern game is all about after spending time in this particular museum, reading the descriptions and looking at the photographs. The exhibit is packed with history and, if it hadn't been for the post-LC’s effect, we would have enjoyed our time there even more. One example: They offer a short 15 minute film about the Negro Baseball Leagues when you first walk in so, of course, we wanted to check it out. Immediately, we made our way to the very back of the screening room so we could prop up our freshly fed bodies against the wall; we didn't want to tumble over. Listen, looking back, the whole thing was actually pretty funny. And the unfortunate thing is, other than the sound of James Earl Jones' voice in the background, I can’t tell you a hell of a lot about that movie, the reason being, we both conked out within two minutes of the film’s start. Clearly, a burnt-end-induced siesta.

I'm not going to try to describe the museum here. The place deserves it's own entry and I'm sure I'll be heading back there very soon. On the way out, we visited the gift shop and ended up meeting a nice man, Bob, the museum's head of marketing. As baseball fans often do, the three of us bonded, and we told Bob how the museum visit was the perfect salve for healing our wounds. Stu and I were still reeling from our bout with "PCS" ("post collapse syndrome" - a common condition, most recently suffered by New York Mets' fans).

Back out into the fresh air, a short walk to the car - my body bounced back fairly quickly. A great day, no doubt. Tremendous food and a first-rate education about our favorite sport. I love history - learning about new things. And I certainly learned something important that day. No, it wasn't anything about Satchel Paige (that's his familiar smile above), Jackie Robinson or Cool Papa Bell. What I learned is this one extremely important lesson:

One burnt end sandwich is enough.

For three meals!

A Little Bit Of Everything - Part II

After a bit of a blog slowdown - I'm back in the swing of things. I posted a few backlogged entries below - enjoy.

Home Sweet Home: I'm originally from Western Massachusetts - Springfield, Massachusetts, to be precise, (home of basketball, Dr. Seuss and Indian Motorcycle - see the photo on the left). So any time I have a chance to head that way for a visit, it means a lot to me. Of course, the real reason for this latest trek up to Springfield? Emma, plain and simple; it was time to see her. I pretty much think about Emma in some way every day and I do my best to call her often. But phone calls are no substitute for a real flesh and blood visit.

When I first arrived, I was happy to see that Emma's doing okay; as well as can be expected for a person fast approaching 100 years of life on earth. Up until a year ago, she was completely independent, living in her own apartment, cooking her own meals. Then, she was hit with a gall bladder infection and things started to shift. Now, even Emma would admit she needs help, which she's now getting at a wonderful place called Heritage Hall in Agawam, Mass. I snapped the shot to the right as Emma napped, bundled up while watching her stories, (soaps - Emma still loves her soaps). As I sat with her, I couldn't help but grab the bible sitting on top of the desk next to her bed - and I read while Emma slept. I read it out loud and, at one point when Emma woke up, she listened and talked with me about what I was reading. That's something I've always enjoyed doing whenever I've spent time with Emma over the years. For those of you who don't know the story, this is the woman who helped to raise me as well as my brother and sister. (See Emma Foote - on the main portion of the site). She's a very special person to me and my family - very special. And a few hours with Emma the other day drove one key point home with me: As soon as I return to Kansas City, I'm planning another visit to Agawam. I know it means a lot to her.

After my morning visit I headed up 91 to Northampton to grab a quick bite with my buddy Bill/Will. A camera within reach on the passenger car seat, I was ready to snap a few photos of the famous New England foliage. Yeah, right. You would figure, two weeks into October, the timing would've been absolutely perfect for such a thing. Unfortunately, 90-degree weather doesn't do much for leaves, in terms of bringing on the color. For crying out loud, the trees probably thought it was still mid-July out there. I think I saw one red tree somewhere around Holyoke. And that was it. I managed to catch one quasi-autumn shot on my approach into Northampton - you see it above. Still, summer weather aside, it was still great to see Bill/Will and Rose. And it was an extra treat to see the Polish heritage parade which made it's way up Main Street as Bill/Will and I ate a late breakfast.

The afternoon meant a return visit with Emma to give her a hug and kiss goodbye, a quick stop at Richard's Grinders - the best sandwiches around - at least in Springfield, that is - and then I was on my way back to the city. Slowly ... on my way back. Traffic, traffic and more traffic. Thinking it would be the quickest way back to NY, I chose to take the 91 to 95 route. Unwise choice. Bumper to bumper on my approach to New Haven, the only thing that kept me sane was the beautiful sunset, which you see here, hovering over the New Haven skyline. Another plus about being stuck in traffic, if there is a plus, the long trip allowed me to listen to the Yankees'/Indians' game on WCBS-NY. It's always a treat to listen to John Sterling and Susan Waldman announcing a Yankee game. I'm kidding, of course. By the time I hit the Henry Hudson, the Yankees were losing - 4 to 0. And it was only the 2nd inning!

I forgot how much fun it is to walk around the city when there's a big NY sporting event going on. There is no need for a TV or radio. Just walk the streets or sit quietly in your apartment with the windows open and you'll know precisely what's going on simply by listening carefully. After returning my Thrifty rental, I weaved my way back to Howard's place, taking in the Upper East Side block by block. Every bar, pub and restaurant had the game on. Screams, moans and groans. Whenever I heard one of those sounds, I poked my head into whatever restaurant I happened to be passing and asked, "What's going on?" And the news wasn't good. For Yankee fans, that is. Howard was actually at the game, so I know he wasn't thrilled being a witness to the Yankees' final 2007 contest.

Back To The Midwest: I grabbed a falafel from around the corner and headed back to Howard's to organize for my return trip. Max watched as I packed so I decided to snap off a few photos of the best cat in the world. Not since I was 7 had I become so attached to a cat. That particular black cat with the white spot was named "Ben Casey" and he used to follow me home from school every day. Like Ben Casey, Max is special. So much so, I'm pretty sure he's a dog. I know, I know. Cat lovers hate to hear that kind of thing.

By the next morning, I had clearly had my fill of New York. Still, I found myself taking a few more photos on my way back to Newark Airport. The Super Shuttle driver ended up choosing a strange route, taking us through the Bronx and then over the GW Bridge via Washington Heights. Who knows? Maybe it was all about my being able to see Yankee Stadium ... the day after. I couldn't help but think this might be the last time I would be seeing this remarkable place. And it is remarkable. The history - My lord. This has absolutely nothing to do with my being a Mets' fan. I'm a baseball fan first. And Yankee Stadium is quite the special place. It's sad to think they're tearing it down.

Progress, I suppose.

A Little Bit Of Everything - Part I

8 months.
Hard to believe.
It's been 8 months since I was looking out the plane window, staring at steel beams and a concrete foundation; the beginning stages of what will one day be the Mets' new home - Citi Field. 8 months since I was staring at a Wichita Airport baggage claim belt moving from left to right, cracked and squeaking, my baggage nowhere to be found on it. What I didn't know at the time was that my luggage had never actually been loaded onto the plane that day and it was still sitting back in Atlanta, waiting to catch up with me. What a way to start the trip of a lifetime.

More or less settled into Kansas City for the next year at a minimum, I've been keeping a list of things I need here - little things. Items packed away in my NYC, Dumbo storage locker - ("Dumbo" = "down under Manhattan Bridge overpass," by the way). Add to that, I haven't seen my Emma for ... well ... it's been too long. Add these two things together and one thing became quite clear: it was time for a trip back East.

The People You Meet: It's what drives me. Some like to jump from planes; some enjoy scaling mountain peaks; others enjoy diving into the ocean's depths. For me, it's all about meeting people. The idea that I can wake up in the morning and have no idea that I'll be meeting ... hmmm ... a woman named, "Irene," (pronounced "Irayna" - with the swallowed "r" sound). Irene is from Denmark. Interestingly, I first noticed her as I made my way into the gate waiting area at 5:30 AM - I was half asleep and it's a wonder I was able to make the half hour drive to KCI airport. Still, a cute young lady always catches my eye, so that's that. The funny thing is, she ended up sitting in front of me for the entire 2 1/2 hour trip and we didn't say a word to one another until the deplane beep sounded and we stood up to remove our bags from the overhead compartment. A quick "Do you live in NY/KC?" conversation turned into a stroll to the baggage claim (my bags were there, thank you) ... which then led to another walk to the taxi stand ... which led me to do what would have been the unthinkable for me years ago.

"How 'bout a coffee?"

A very simple question.

And that was that. Again.

Irene and I sat and talked about all kinds of things for almost two hours. In no rush to get to Howard's and with Irene stuck at the airport until her evening flight to Denmark was due to leave, it was simply the thing to do. A new girlfriend? Hardly. A huge age difference and a boyfriend waiting for her at home - two things that, in the past, might have caused me to avoid the "How 'bout a coffee?" question - made such a notion impossible. Still, none of that stuff matters. I just know I had a great time hanging out with Irene at Newark Airport. And, as I've already pointed out twice before - that was that.

The cab ride into the city inspired me to snap a few photos - it was good to see New York. As I've written before, I love the place but also despise it. NYC inspires extreme feelings, as least for me it does. It was good to be back in a familiar place, extreme feelings and all.

Autumn In New York - 90 Degrees?: Who really knows what this is about? All I'll say is, the NYC hate factor kicks in when it's hot and humid this way in the city. Solution? A friend who plays in a hockey league. An ice hockey league. Luckily, I have such a friend in Howard.

The night before I headed East I had an idea about shooting some video of Howard playing his favorite sport. He's been such a good friend, allowing me to crash at his place - I wanted to give something back, so ...

It was nice and cool, actually, a bit cold in the Chelsea Pier's Skyrink but, trust me, I wasn't complaining. Here are a couple shots of Howard in action. Great game; an overtime 4-3 win. Or was it 5-4? It doesn't matter - The Sled Dogs won and that's the important thing. For some reason, whenever I watch an SD's game, it always ends up being exciting and, the Sled Dogs usually pull out a win. Go figure. Perhaps I'm their good luck charm.

The first night back ended up with me joining the team at their local hangout. A couple of beers, chicken tenders and French fries later, it was time to head back uptown. The 4:08 AM wakeup time was starting to take its toll on me.

And Sunday meant an early morning appointment with my Dumbo storage bin.

Putting It In Perspective

I’m glad I chose to make the trip again this year. It's always special to spend time with my family for the Jewish holidays. (If you're interested, I wrote about this experience years ago in a piece called "What's Going On?") I don’t mean for this to sound morbid – and it’s not. It’s simply a fact that I don’t know how many more times I’ll be able to reach across to each side of my synagogue seat and hold my parents hands like I did yesterday. The days are numbered. Then again, haven’t they always been numbered? The same thoughts flit through my brain every time something exciting happens in a Mets’ game and I pick up the phone to check in with my Dad.

“Did you see that?!”

Every call starts with the same line. And I understand all too well that some day, there won’t be anyone on the other end of those calls. I know this. And as soon as I find myself getting sad at such a prospect, I catch myself and think, simply – "He's here now. They're here now." And I can cherish that fact ... now. The only time that matters.

Sure, sitting with my Mom and Dad in synagogue got me thinking about re-connecting with my Judaism. My presence in Kansas City, far away from family, has sometimes brought on an emptiness that's hard to ignore. And it's occurred to me that it might be good to pick myself up and head to a Friday night or Saturday morning service every now and then. Sitting and singing familiar songs and prayers the other day – it was truly good and soothing for my soul. Not so much in an ultra-religious sense; that's not really my thing. More in the yoga, meditative sense. If that makes sense.

Once the day and fast came to a close, it was fun to walk outside the synagogue and grab some apple juice and honey cake with Adina and Yosi, my niece and nephew twins (that's Adina doing her thing to the left). What a joy to be able to see them, even if it is only every few weeks or so. And then it was time to head to my sister's for the 'break the fast.' The regular fare – bagels, lox, herring, and all the rugelach, babka and cake you can imagine. The highlight this year, as it is most years, was a noodle kugel (noodle pudding) my mom made. It had some kind of crumb topping on it and … well … let’s just say this wasn't for the faint of heart. And I mean that literally, in the artery-clogging sense. I think I had something like three helpings, complete with strawberries and sour cream to top it off. And that wasn’t even dessert!! It’s good to know these types of meals are treats only. I wouldn't last much longer if I ate that way all the time.

A Trying Time: Anyone who is a baseball fan out there and knows what’s going on in the National League these days understands what I’m about to write here. It is a tough time to be a Mets’ fan, let me tell you. Come to think of it. That’s a pretty stupid statement. It’s a much tougher time to be a Kansas City Royals' fan. Or a Pittsburgh Pirates' or Tampa Bay Devil Rays' fan. I say this because at least the Mets are in first place and they still may - I say may - be in the playoffs again this year. The idea that a couple of weeks ago this bunch had a 7 ½ game lead with only 17 games to play and now ... well ... for some unknown reason this team seems intent on blowing off the rest of their season. It's downright nerve wracking to be a helpless witness to this kind of train wreck. It's funny. When my sister mentioned three weeks ago that the Mets were going to be in town while I was in Florida, I thought, "Why not?" Who figured these games would even matter? I mean, who knew!?

The Perspective Thing: Fitting in with what I wrote above - How many more times will I be able to go to a baseball game with my Mom and Dad? Both Brooklyn natives, long time Dodger fans - these are the folks who introduced me to this wonderful game. My father is the one who took my sister and me out of school that crisp autumn day in 1969 to drive to NYC to see a baseball game. But not just any game. It was the final game of the the '69 World Series. The day the Mets became the most unlikely of World Champions by beating the big, bad Baltimore Orioles. I was there. I still have an original program, complete with my dads’ scoring of the entire game. Talk about a cherished memory.

So, to hell with un-nerving pennant race and the mental breakdown of my favorite team. And, believe me, the game ended up being quite the un-nerving adventure. The Mets/Marlins game, the Florida trip - it was all about being with my family. It was about another Yom Kippur; a belly full of bagels, lox and noodle kugel; a tough Mets' win and a chance to run the bases in a major league ball park with the most lovable twins in the world.

That’s what this was all about.

That's my kind of adventure.

"Cicada-Mania!!"

I've been hearing the sound for the past month or so. For the most part, it sounded very familiar - that sound. The first time I heard it, I pretty much figured it was cicadas. But not just cicadas. I'm talking cicada's gone wild. The thing is I couldn't be absolutely sure what I was hearing simply because it wasn't the sound I was used to. It was different from the cicada sound from back east. Up in Massachusetts, the sound would come more in bursts, lasting for about 10 seconds or so, followed by a nice, slow, release until there was silence. I loved that slow drop off in tone and melody. That's the pattern I remember from when I was a kid. Hot summer days, bumble bees, Kool-Aid, the Good Humor man, sprinkler-jumping and ... that sound. That comforting sound.

But, this sound - the one I've been hearing every night for the past month ... This has been different. First of all, it is loud. I mean really, really loud. If it is cicadas, there must be hundreds, what am I talking about? Billions - even trillions of them. And the thing that's most striking is that it simply does not let up. These cicadas, if they are, in fact, cicada's - they just don't know how to let up like their New England counterparts.

"Take a powder!" I say. "For God's sake, please give us a break."

It's Research Time - Part of my pleasant Heather visitation week included more than a few long walks together around the neighborhood, topped off by several laps around the gorgeous Loose Park. It didn't take long for the conversation to turn to "that sound."

"Have you ever heard anything like it?" I'd laugh. "The thing is, it's probably coming to the end of their run now." The long hot summer (there were more than a few triple digit temperature days here during July-August) is winding down, although it's still pretty hot on some days, even midway through September. From all indications, the cicadas are reaching the end of their life-cycle. That theory has, in fact, been confirmed by the spotting of a few carcasses on the park pathway - they're growing in number each day.

The sounds and carcasses, coupled with my bug conversations - you know what? It was time for a Wikipedia visit. It was time to find out more than any person would want to know about - the marvelous cicada.

"Cicada-Mania" - What did we do before the web? I mean, it really is like having a public library at your fingertips, every second of the day. Did you know, for example. that there are over 2500 species of cicadas all over the world? And the sounds they produce (males only) are as plentiful as the number of different species. Also, did you know that the sound they create (called a "song") is known to be among the loudest of all sounds made by any insect? (FYI - for everything you'd ever want to know about cicadas, feel free to check out this Wikipedia link). Don't worry, I'm not going to spend the next half hour feeding you all kinds of cicada knowledge. Still, I found it interesting to find out how these creatures actually make that "sound." For the most part, they do it to ward off birds or, how is it phrased? Their "avian predators."

You know what? Now that I know why they're making the sound, the racket doesn't seem to bother me as much. Of course, that could have something to do with the fact that there's been about an 80% drop off in soundage over the past few weeks. Still, if I were a cicada, I'd be rubbing my timbals pretty frantically to prevent my being swiped off a treetop and carried away, trapped in the grip of a strong beak. (By the way, that shot to the right and up - he's from Metuchen - for all my New Jersey friends).

Anyway. That's my cicada shpiel. But, before I sign off today, I'll add just this. Wikipedia is one thing. As always, that site gives the user a good solid "101" basic knowledge infusion of just about any subject in the world. However, my absolute favorite cicada finding is this site, aptly named - "Cicadamania.com" If you're not squeamish about such things, this is a must visit. The best feature? Check out the u-tube movies of cicadas in action. Since most of us aren't able to climb trees at a moment's notice (and I'm not sure the cicada's would enjoy our moving into their territory like that - birds are enough for them to think about, let alone crazy humans with camcorders), these short videos are pretty remarkable in that you have a chance to see the facts behind the mystery sound. Sort of "Cicada's - The Untold Story." I'm hoping this link will work - here is one video sample: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Hp3RcoUNILo - the poster isn't exactly sure what the hell is going on here, by the way. Also, the photo on the left gives you a glimpse of the cicada's moulting process, giving new meaning to the phrase, "slips into a nearby phone booth."

So now, whenever I'm walking around on a hot summer day, no matter where I am in the world and no matter what variety of cicada is doing it's thing, I'll have a idea about what's really going on up in those trees. And I'll be rooting for those guys in their quest to avoid their avian predators.

Here's to the cicada.

Come to think of it. It's too quiet around here these days.

The Ultimate Time Capsule

My first trip down to the River Market was during my orientation tour with Aliya back in June. The area immediately pulled me in, reminding me of Boston's Faniuel Hall where I worked for five years during college selling prints of Boston for a talented artist, Helen McDermott. I was crazy about that job and would love to find out where Helen is these days. My dream is that people like her will stumble into this site one day... think "Oh, my God, that's Harry!!" ... then shoot off an email to say hello. I look forward to those kinds of reunions.

Anyway, with Heather coming to town, I knew I wanted to show her KC's River Market and figured it would be a good idea to ask folks at work more about the area. A few people, including my boss, Karen, mentioned a river boat tour, which I didn't remember seeing during my first visit. But, sure enough, as soon as Heather and I walked through the market's main doorway, there it was: The "Arabia" Steamboat Museum.

“People don’t just go one time,” someone told me at work. “They're always going back to see more.”

“What kind of place is this?” I thought. "We're not talking "The Louvre."

Well … of course it's not The Louvre. But, I have to tell you. It is, indeed, pretty fantastic and I'm not exaggerating. The museum and tour is built around the history and excavation of an old river boat, The Arabia, which sank in the Missouri River in 1856 after hitting a snag, (a piece of drift wood lurking in the muddy river bed). Apparently, a snag is the river equivalent of the Northern oceans' icebergs. The museum had the actual snag on display and, when I saw it, I was immediately reminded about the demon berg that brought down the unsinkable Titanic. Steamships routinely carried precious cargo along the rivers, the 19th century equivalent of today's trailer trucks racing up and down our superhighways. So when the Arabia went down, it was loaded with "literally tons of all kinds of goods of the day. Hats, shoes, jewelry, guns, liquor, pickles, all kinds of china, glasses - anything you can think of." Heather and I were both astonished at the sheer quantity of goods on display behind the glass dividers. And it's an ongoing enterprise. When you take the tour you see and speak with actual archaeologists, cleaning and preserving newly uncovered artifacts.

As good as the tour was itself, the afternoon's highlight came immediately after they showed a short video about the boat and the history of the excavation. Just as the video ended. a man entered the room from the back. Harland "Bob" Hawley, is one of the original excavators and co-director of the museum. (Feel free to check out the story of The Arabia's re-discovery at this link) As soon as Bob walked past me and down the aisle to speak with the crowd, he grabbed my and everyone else's attention.

“It’s probably one of the single most unintelligent things I’d ever done in my life,” he smiled when asked why he and his partners stuck with the dig, even when faced with no financing. As Bob spoke I knew I wanted to hear more about his story, the risks he took and the incredible rewards they're reaping, growing larger each day. (That's a shot of Bob on the left).

As the room cleared out, I introduced myself and Bob and I had a chance to chat for a bit. When the conversation turned to my Kansas City adventures and what brought me to the area, Harland seemed genuinely interested in Eldercation. Of course, I would love for him to participate in an interview, but who knows? Still, it's not like I need to get something else out of of my visit to The Arabia Museum. Another visit with Bob would merely be a cherry on top of the sundae.

So - if you're looking for something interesting to do if you're in the Kansas City area, put this place right smack on top of your list. I'm telling you, you will not be disappointed.

It's the ultimate time-capsule.

And I see why so many people head back for more.

A Visit From A Friend

When my friend, Heather, mentioned a few months ago that she was thinking of coming to Kansas City for a visit, the wheels in my head started to turn. I was craving, I mean craving company here so, once the visit was confirmed, I immediately started thinking and planning out a basic itenerary. I mean, I'm here what? About three months so I'm still learning my way around. But there is no better way to discover new territory than by doing it with a visiting friend. And Heather was just that.

Even the pickup from the airport was fun. Well, kind of fun. The part where Heather couldn't believe how easy everything was, from deplaning to getting her baggage - night and day from the sublime La Guardia or JFK experience. The hard part for me was the constant stream of bad Mets' news being supplied by the phone calls to and from my brother. The Mets were playing a huge series against the Phillies in Philadelphia and, just as Heather's plane landed, Stuart called to tell me about an abrupt extra inning ending, with the Mets on the losing side for a second straight night. Still, with Heather about to step off the plane, that bad news soon became a memory. For about fifteen minutes or so. Heather likes baseball, so she was the perfect listener. I'm sure I drove her nuts.

Take Me Out To The Ballgame - The first day was set for some planned relaxation - a nice walk, a short Plaza tour, and then ... a return Kauffman Stadium engagement. "Let's see a game," is what Heather said two months ago. Obviously, I'm not one to turn away from a baseball game, so her wish was certainly my command. And the seats were great, right on the 3rd base line and with the weather finally cooling down, it was a gorgeous night to take in a game. Other than the fact that the scoreboard kept reminding me of yet another tough Mets' loss to the Phillies, (strange interference call at 2nd base) it was the perfect night - a Royals win over the Tigers, combined with one huge scrumptious all-beef hot dog and an ice-cold Coke. I don't know the last time I ate a hot dog like that. Does a hot dog taste better any place else?

Lawrence, Kansas - I'd heard so much about this town from a number of sources, so I was really looking forward to taking an afternoon drive with Heather to see Lawrence - home of the University of Kansas. So, after breakfast and a walk around the park, we headed west and took in the sites along Route 10. Then it was all about walking up and down Lawrence's main drag - Massachusetts Street - great shopping, restaurants - it reminding me a lot of Northampton or Cambridge. Most small college towns have the same kind of allure and this was no exception. We ate lunch at The Free State Brewing Company and discovered a new pasta ("ear" pasta? Strascinati?), which was delicious the way they prepared it with goat cheese and roasted tomatoes. By the way, that's Heather up above, striking her best Kansas pose on Mass. Street. Of course, leave it to me to be interviewed by a man-on-the-street for The Lawrence Journal -World & News. The question posed was, "How are you going to be spending Labor Day?" If you want, you can check out my fascinating response at the this LJ-World.com link.

It just struck me that it would be silly to describe the entire week to all of you. So, I'll just say this: I loved having a good friend here with me. There was something nice about knowing there was someone to share things and experiences. I miss that, I can't lie. And, aside from a disastrous four game sweep of the Mets at the hands of the Phillies, this KC adventure with Heather was a lot of fun. A Mets collapse was a small price to pay for such a special visit. "The Bourne Ultimatum," long walks around Loose Park, a delicious jointly prepared dinner (my chicken Francaise and Heather's incredible garlic-Parmesan roasted potatoes), a trip to the Nelson Adkins museum (love that birdie!) as well as down to River Market to see an extraordinary sunken steamship exhibit (see the next blog posting - that experience deserves its own entry) - and the other meals - Classic Cup, Cheesecake Factory as well as one more solid visit to Gates' Barbecue ... add it all up ... I must have gained 10 pounds as the gracious host.

Not that I'm complaining.

And, by the way. By the time I hugged Heather goodbye at KCI airport, I'm happy to report that the Mets had recovered from their nightmare with a three-game sweep of those Atlanta Braves.