Noh, noh, Nanette

Everyone has heard of Kabuki theater, but until this trip I was unware of Noh theater.  I don't know enough obout eiher one to explain the difference, but last night Benjamin took us to a theater for a Noh performance that was most interesting.  There was lots of weird precussion and potato pipe music, along with kimono clad actors whose chanting came from deep within their diaphrams.  One fellow had on a wacky mask outfit as well (he portrayed a fox that helped a backsmith forge a sword for the emperor.) It was quite a spectacle and their was a question and answer session afterwards.

Today we went to the Senbon Tori Shinto shrine far to the south of here that features a thousand gates and a trek up a mountainside that would have taken over two hours to complete had we undertaken it.As it was, we turned around about one third of the way up, having enjoyed all the spiritual enlightenment we could stand. At the base of that temple were any number of food vendors serving up some of the strangest food I have ever seen and some that was strangely familiar.

My health has been quite poor this trip with a variety of symptoms I needn't get into here.  Added to these physical maladies are my worries over the return trip, which due to the airport slowdown in the states could become quite complicated.  This trip has taken quite a bit out of me, overall, and I question if I will be capable or willing to ever undertake another one.

Man, That Cat is High!

Yesterday began as a normal quest for breakfast along the main street of Kyoto. The weather was perfect and the crowds of tourist had abated somewhat. We made our way to a giant shopping mall/arcade that features more stores and little eateries then you can shake a stick at. 

 I have observed once again that the cellphone (or the erroneously named "smartphone" is a mixed blessing. While it can help with one's navigation, it demands your attention to the point of excluding everything else. Perhaps I am just old-fashioned, but it seems to me that if I consult a paper map I retain the impression of the route longer in my mind than I can while periodically glancing at the tiny screen.haveen on the phone screen.  

This morning when we visited the huge shopping mall, we took in two rather unusual attractions. The first was a cat cafe where patrons pay a fee to sit in a comfortable lounge petting tame cats. The cats were very tame and gentle and loved. The little treats that we gave them while we enjoyed sodas and coffee. Customers are encouraged to draw pictures of the cats and Benjamin did a very nice sketch of one fellow with an ugly smushed up face that actually made the cat look adorable.

The second attraction was more unusual. There is a bar where one can drink beer and shoot air gun pellets at targets with the very friendly owner.  We had a couple of cold ones and then took our places on the firing line. My performance was dismal. The target was dark as were the sights on the automatic pistol I was using (at least that is my excuse!)  I never hit the bullseye!

I ended the evening by going to a movie that Benjamin wanted to see in a giant Imax theater. It was surprisingly uncrowded.

The the film was a science fiction epic featuring the "Predator " character. There was lots of action and great special effects along with several humorous  scenes hidden throughout the film. It was as if the director wanted viewers to not take the film too seriously. We thoroughly enjoyed it.

Dateline: Kyoto

This is the first time I have ever composed a travel blog entry on my cell phone. Errors and misspellings will prevail I am sure. Because I am dictating this, punctuation is also suspect but how anyone can use the tiny keyboard on these phones is beyond me so I will continue speaking and hope to clean this up before it is posted.

We are traveling with our son, Benjamin, the first time we have gone on on overseas trip with him since he was eighteen. That trip was to Australia when I was still working. Now I don't have the excuse of a convention or professional meeting to get travel assistance from the university. Fair enough. I never really attended much of those meetings anyway; they were so boring.

We arrived in Japan last week and stayed in Tokyo 5 days. The city is huge and somewhat confusing. The subway system is a bewildering maze of different colored routes. To complicate things further, there is more than one subway company, so you must buy separate tickets unless you invest in a multi-pass, an option we did not choose because our stay was so short.

We arrived in Kyoto two days ago and have found it a very different place. it is still a huge city, but with narrow streets and crowds of tourists navigating the streets is more of a challenge. This city was not bombed during World War 2. As a result the architecture seems more authentic and ancient.

Some brief observations:

1. The people are incredibly friendly and nice. Benjamin and I tower above the average citizen, and considering their pleasant demeanor they almost seem like H.G. Wells's Eloi to me!

2. We have seen few homeless and mendicants in thesec ities, quite different from Tucson or New York City.

3: The streets are incredibly clean. The the public green spaces are well maintained and inviting. We could learn so much from these people.

4. There is one vending machine for every 10 Japanese. None of them take a ¥50 coin, but they will return a 50 in change!

Boys will be boys....

Yessir, the vice president of the United States has reassured us that the vile text messages exchanged by the Young Republicans are just an example of kids doing "stupid things." I feel so much better now, but I wonder: what happens when these kids grow up?

Worm Your Way Out of This One

Can there be any doubt at this late date that the lunatics are in charge of the asylum? What national sin did we all commit to deserve these clowns? President Lincoln made the observation on more than one occasion that the Civil War was our collective price for the institution of slavery, but at least there was an end in sight back then. Now idiots like these are leading us all into a new Dark Ages, where superstition supplants science, and ignorance is celebrated while education is scorned. Recovery from this descent into darkness is most defintely NOT in sight.

Stranger in a Strange Land

I make this final trip entry from the comfort of our own living room, which we reached after a marathon 36 hour journey from an airport hotel in Dublin, a flight to Chicago, another flight to Phoenix, a motor coach ride down to Tucson, and a final drive in our own car the last two miles to our driveway. Jayne managed to sleep a bit on the plane, but I was unable to take advantage of the reclining seat and doze off myself. It was exhausting, but we made every connection without a hitch.

We thoroughly enjoyed our time in Killkenny. The first night we went to a bar just about 100 feetfrom this hotel and heard a delightful trio of musicians playing traditional Irish music that was beautiful and emotionally moving. It required that we stay up later than usual, but the tunes were so lively that it did not seem a hardship. The next day we toured the large castle that dominates the little town, and we explored a few other sights such as an ancient church with a giant watchtower. That evening we wanted to go out and hear more music, but we got sidetracked by visiting the Hole in the Wall, a delightful miniature pub with room for only six patrons and a bartender. The place was built in 1327 and it both looked and smelled it, but we had a delightful time talking with the Israeli bartender, an African born woman of Welsh descent, a German woman who had lived in Ireland for 17 years, and two ordinary Irishmen who wandered in during our stay. The conversation was pleasant and we really liked getting to meet more locals on this trip. The next day we took the train back to Dublin which was a brief hour and a half of sitting and watching the countryside roll by. Once we gained the city, we took a coach to the airport, and then a cab to our hotel, staying there until time to go to the airport the following morning. It is all a blur at this late date.

We have returned to a country and a society that I find hard to recognize. A vague uneasiness has taken hold as I have driven around the town the last few days, a feeling that over half the people I see I have nothing in common with. We have been avoiding the news, but of course you cannot escape at least a few blurbs leaking out from a cycle of 24 hour coverage of the Orange Lunatic and his antics. A brief ray of sunshine has appeared in the rejection of one of the wannabe dictator's most ardent admirers, Kari "Okie" Lake in her bid for the US senate seat for Arizona. A fanatical election-denier, Lake finds it difficult to question this cycle's results because her Orange god-king actually won in this state while she lost. A fitting end to a career of deciet. All the same, I feel like a stranger in a strange land now, and that will be a sensation hard to shake for the next turbulent four years.

In the Interior

We have left Dublin and taken a comfortable train ride to the center of southern Ireland, the small city of Killkenny. Our last day in Dublin was spent at the National Museum of Archaeology and the Botanical Gardens. Both were impressive. At the gardens we saw, in addition to the magnificently manicured lawns and hedges, two massive greenhouses which seemed to contain an impossible selection of plants from all over the world. In the largest of these greenhouses the palm trees grew at least three storeys tall and threatened to press against the glass even higher overhead. There was also a large cactus room with many specimens from South America, including a couple that looked very much like saguaros. The grounds outside also had a replica Viking hut that looked particularly comfortable in spite of the loosely woven branches that made up the walls. Adjacent to the gardens was the extensive Glasnevin Cemetery, which is kind of a who's who of Irish dead. We saw one tombstone, or more accurately a cenotaph, erected to the memory of family members who had died in Butte, Montana!

Our next stop at the Museum of Archaeology had a lot to do with death as well. Exibits of artifacts recovered in Ireland from the stone age to the 1500s were arranged in chronological order. Of particular interest were a set of bog "mummies" of ancient people who were preserved through the nature of the soil in which they were found. It has been speculated that some were victims of ritual sacrifice. What struck me was the fact that these remains, who were once real, breathing people, are preserved and displayed for we of the present age, without the slightest hesitation. Compare that to the controversy in our own country regarding the display of ancient Indian remains.

This morning we took the train from Dublin to Killkenny, a pleasant ride of one and a half hours that allowed us to see some of this incredible green landscape. Sheep and cow paddocks, small homes, and overcast skies all went wizzing by as we relaxed and took it all in. We are now in another comfortable hotel room and tomorrow we will tour yet ANOTHER CASTLE!

You Say You Want a Revolution

The lyrics of the Beatles song from the White Album are drifting through my head this morning as I find a quiet place to write during the pre-dawn hours in the lobby of this comfortable hotel. It will all make sense near the end of this posting.

For the last two days we have been exploring Dublin and have seen quite a few interesting things. I wish evey destroying Vandal who currently masquerades as a librarian could be required to visit the Book of Kells at Trinity College. The sight of that magnificent manuscript and the beauty of the library's Long Hall might cause even the most dedicated book shredder to pause a moment. For those who do not know, the Book of Kells is an illuminated manuscript copy of the four gospels. The intricate lettering and detailed drawings contained therein give ample support to the claim that it is the most beautiful book ever created. It is kept in a special dark room with an entrance gallery that gives a thorough overview of how monks in the ninth century worked tirelessly to both make and defend this ancient Bible. On the island of Iona off the coast of Scotland they worked on every individual page, and when Viking raiders came they grabbed their treasure and slipped

across the Irish Sea to found a new monestary at Kells, Ireland. So many raids, thefts, and other catastrophes occured but the book miraculously survived. After viewing the book, visitors are directed to the Long Hall, a massive two story set of dark wood shelving lined with bust sculptures of the great thinkers and philosophers of Western Civilization. Most of the books have been removed for conservation work (no, Biblioposers, they are not going to scan them and chuck them in the bin as you have been so recently engaged in doing with our American printed legacy) but two shelving bays have been left filled to give the visitor an idea of what it would look like fully shelved. Interesting items were also on display, including the oldest harp existing today, personal letters and photographs of Oscar Wilde, and a printed copy of the 1916 Easter Rebellion proclamation declaring Ireland an independent country. Upon exiting the Long Hall, visitors are directed to another building with mind-boggling multi-media displays describing thr Book of Kells history and the ongoing conservation work ofn the precious volumes removed from the long hall. One display featured replicas of the marble busts of Shakepeare, Socrates, and others come to life and debating philosophical issues. Their lips moved and their eyes blinked!

Our next visit was just as thought provoking and a bit unsettling. In 1916 Irish people were divided on the topic of separation from England, much like our own forefathers of the American Revoluion. The most radical separatists armed themselves and decided to ignite a war, even though they were in the minority. On Easter Sunday, 1916, these radicals attacked British forces throughout Dublin and set up their headquarters in the main post office. They held out there for days until the English army took them prisoner. Six of these men were later executed, and their deaths led to an evental shift in public opinion, culminating in eventual independece for Ireland. Today the GPO in Dublin hosts a museum that presents another fantastic milti-media display telling the story of the rebellion and its human cost, such as the many civilians who died when caught in the crossfire. The whole experience disturbed me. The thought of a radical minority commiting an armed insurrection that eventally swayed others to join them reninded me not of Lexington and Concord, but instead the goons who attacked our capital on January 6. Apparently the act resulted in a shift in public opinion, resulting in the reelection of the petty little orange lunatic in our last election. God help us.

In Dublin's Fair City

The balance of our time in Stirling was enjoyable. We toured the impressive castle late in the afternoon, spending the morning checking out the very unimpressive (from Jayne's perspective) thrift stores in their small downtown. There was a small open air market in the pedestrian zone and we foolishly bought two delicious looking sausage rolls without considering the difficulties in heating them later. The castle actually closed during our visit and it was dark when we made our way downtown only to find every restaurant packed to the walls with no tables available. I did encounter two living history interpreters (now in civilian clothes) who we had engaged at the castle. They had been demonstrating a card game and I told them about my experiences as a faro dealer for the museum folks back home.

The next morning we drove back to the Edinburgh airort where we thankfully divested ourselves of the albatross that was our rental car. A huge sigh of relief and the a multi hour wait for our plane to Dublin. Itwas the first propeller-driven aircraft I have been on in decades. Our hotel in Dublin has turned out to be kind of like the one in Fawlty Towers, without the comedy, and is in a beautiful Edwardian brownstone in a nice residential area about two miles from the city center. Yesterday, our first full day here, we took a brief walking tour and went to Trinity College where we saw the Book of Kells. The experince of the latter deserves more detailed description which I will provide next time.

Gray Skies

While I am not really a fan of Arizona's endless sunny days of relentless heat, I must say after seven days at sea and seven more in the UK and seeing about four hours of sunshine total I think I prefer the former. For those readers contemplating emmigration to this lovely isle in the wake of last Tuesdays election, may I suggest Australia instead? Aussie politics and social prejudices might not be much better than America's current embrace of the Orange Fuhrer but at least you will see the sun more often than Scotland.

We are currently in Stirling, an ancient city with (wait for it...) another fantasic castle which we will visit later today. The town itself, in the city center, is a nice mixture of shops and services presented in a movie-set like array. After checking in to our hotel we went across the street for a great meal in an Indian restaurant and a pint of beer in the corner pub. At the latter we were invited to take the only open seats across from a quartet of charming Caledonians who engaged us in conversation. It was delightful! When they learned we were Americans, of course the conversation turned to our country's recent folly and all four sympathized with our feeling that we needed to apologize for our national origin. They can't stand Orange Julius either, and consider the presence of his golf club on their soil to be a national insult. Thus, they displayed more intelligence than the millions of our fellow countrymen who thought reelecting a man who has boasted of his racism and sexual assault escapades was perfectly fine. When we rose to leave the men shook me warmly by the hand and the female member of the quartet embraced Jayne in a spotaneous display of sympathy and affection. Thinking back on it this morning almost brings tears to my eyes.

During our hair-raising drive to Stirling yesterday we paused for a visit to the Falkirk Wheel, a marvel of modern engineering built entirely to service a centuries-old mode of transportation. Canal boats traversing Scotlands's uneven terrain depend on a series of locks to raise and lower the boats. At Falkirk the elevation change required at least eleven locks

and and an entire day to accomplish. The Wheel shortened that time to one hour. It consists of two huge boat-length troughs of canal water mounted on opposite ends of a rotating wheel. A boat enters one of the troughs, the gate is closed, and then the whole thing raises the boat to the upper level while simultaneously lowering the other. It is strangely quiet as it does so and only takes about three minutes. It does not matter if there is a boat at the opposite end becuase the water dispacement equalizes the weight to the exact ounce! (Think Archimedes here.) It is a stunning example of Scottish ingenuity and a wonderment to witness.

You Take the High Road...

We left Edinburgh yesterday and picked up a rental car at the airport to drive to our next destination in th Scottish border regions. It was certainly not our best day. Driving on the wrong side of the road is difficult enough, but when you add a navagaional device that is too low of volume to hear along with confusing traffic circles along the way, you have a recipe for disaster. Ourdestination was less than 100 miles away but it took about three hours due to many wrong turns and driving as slow as possible through the deepening fog. We got to Drumlanrig Castle where we checked into a small apartment in the former stableyard before nightfall and had enough time to go to the nearby village of Thornhill to get some groceries. It gets dark around here at 5:00 pm so we were content to make a very early night of it.

Wash, Rinse, and Repeat

Yesterday to take our minds off of what was among the worst days in American history, we took the city bus to a genuine Edinburgh neighborhood unexplored by the crowds of tourists to do our laundry. The clothes were not the only thing that went to the cleaners; my wallet was lightened to the tune of 36 UK pounds (about fifty bucks US) just to wash and dry two loads of laundry. At this rate we might as well walk around in sweat stained shirts the rest of the trip. What made matters worse is the somewhat-addled proprietor wanted to display his support for the orange lunatic running for president in our country, a disgusting attribute that detracted from the charm of the four little Scottie dogs that shared the space with him. But all was not lost. We discovered the street we were on had numerous second-hand thrift stores which delighted Jayne. She purchased a light summer dress and I managed to score a leather-bound 1902 edition of Charles Dickens's Domby and Son.

After depositing our refreshed raiment in our hotel room we went out again to visit the Scottish National Museum. This huge facility is like all of the Smithsonian museums in Washington DC rolled into one and we were simply unable to do it justice. I felt every one of my 70 years after only an hour or two into the exhibits and we needed to retreat to a nearby pub to fortify ourselves for the walk home. This watering hole was named "Blackfriars Bobby," and a statue of a little Skye terrier sits out in front to remind visitors of the legend of the canine that refused to leave his master's grave for more than a decade. The story is of doubtful authenticity but, as Rick Steeves has theorized, local merchants in the nineteenth century recruited any stray dog to play the role for tourists to increase visitation, a strategy that continues to work to this very day. We then strolled down Victoria Street, supposedly the inspiration for the Harry Potter books. There I threw away good money to buy an authentic Glengarry hat totally unsuitable for the Arizona climate and that I will likely hardly wear. I couldn't resist--it was in my size!

The sun came out yesterday, the first bright day we have seen in the UK since we arrived. Ironic, since at the same time the light was being extinguished in our own country. The reelection of the orange lunatic fills me with a sadness I cannot adequately express, and I cannot help but to feel that we will likely need to apologize for being Americans for the remainder of this trip. This election, probably the last the US will ever see, was truly a "wash, rinse, and repeat."

Auld Reekie

Travel guru Rick Steeves explains that the city of Ediburgh was so filthy in its past that people referd to its stinky presence as "Auld Reekie," but we have discovered a delightful, if somewhat gray, town that looks like a Harry Potter movie set. What an interesting place, with more pubs per block in the Royal Mile area than cannibis stores in Santa Fe (and that, my friends, is saying a lot!) The only reek I have notices is the distinct aroma of the aforementioned herb which is still illegal in this part of the world but apparently heavily used nonetheless.

Yesterday we took a walk from our hotel up to the famous castle and took a self guided tour. The view from the top was fantastic, and the crowds were light since we were among the first to be admitted. We saw the various cannon batteries and walked along some pretty steep cobblestone pathways as we explored the place. Of particular note was the display of Scotland's crown jewels and the famous Stone of Skone on which every British monarch has been crowned, including Chuck just a couple of years ago. We saw the royal apartments and the "Great Hall" where lavish banquets and affairs of state have been conducted. It had an interesting ceiling that looked like an inverted boat hull. One touching sight was the Scottish War Memorial where the names of all the fallen from World Wars I and II are listed in a very somber church-like building with bronze friezes and stained glass. We also went to the War Museum and saw artifacts from conflicts the Scots served in from the 1600s to the present.

In the afternoon we went to various places in "New Town" Edinburgh, the area on the other side of the railway station we arrived at on Sunday. There we mailed a postcard to friends, had a look at the very impressive monument to Sir Walter Scott, and ended up at a pub where Jayne had her first taste of haggis. Our server, Joseph, was a real hoot, dressed as a gentleman in waistcoat complete with a pocket watch and chain. Of course he recognized me as a kindred spirit since I was similarly attired an he kept us amused with his patter delivered in a delightful Scottish brouge. I tucked into a steak and ale pie and washed it down with a glass or two of the local lager, Tennents, "brewed with the fresh highland water from Loch Katrine." After lunch we went to tour some of the National Gallery and saw paintings and sculptures created by Caladonian artists from 1800 to the 1940s. Fortunately this museum was close to our hotel because we were exhausted!

By Land, Sea, and Air

This dispatch is being written from a hotel room in Edinburgh, Scotland, where we arrived after a marathon journey from Tucson on October 22. This is our big 50th wedding anniversary blowout trip and we are thoroughly enjoying ourselves. should have been posting all along the way, but somehow there was always something else to do more appealing than sitting at this laptop and composing a recap of the day's events. Now it is time to catch up.

First, we took a hire van from Tucson to the Phoenix airportwhere we caught our flight to JFK in New York City. Apart from staying in the most wretched acommodations for the next three nights we had a delightful time with our son Benjamin enjoying a few things this exciting city has to offer. (For our review of the motel under the psudonym "Karen F"click here) We visited the USS Intrepid, a decomissioned aircraft carrier now serving as a museum and home to the space

shuttle Enterprise. It was very interesting to us, especially since we were about to board a large ship ourselves. We also visited the 9/11 monument, Alexander Hamilton's grave, and took a cruise around Manhattan on a Circle Line boat featuring a very entertaining narrator. It was Ben's 36th birthday and I hope he enjoyed it as much as we did,

On October 25 we got on board of the Queen Mary 2 for a trans-Atlantic passage to Southampton, England. The ship was massive, likely as big as the Intrepid, and carried about 3,000 passengers. For seven days we crossed what seemed to be an endless expanse of water. On board were so many restaurants, lounges, and recreational facilities it is hard to imagine how anyone could be bored by this liesurely trip across the ocean. Jayne joined a

volunteer choir that practiced every day prior to their performance on the last day of the voyage and I spent a lot of time in the pub lounge playing darts. There was a competition every day, with different rules, and the same group of people showed up to play. It was delightful, and I actually won once. On the seventh deck there was a boardwalk all around the ship where one could accomplish a mile in three laps, and there was a library at the front of the vessel that featured 10,000 volumes and a daily newspaper (printed on board from AP news and other sources). On our last evening we attended a theater show that featured a painfully cheesy music review that I enjoyed very much; it was a lot like the old Bill Murray nightclub singer sketch he used to do on Saturday Night Live. If you like Lawrence Welk you would have liked this show. Using this show as an example, many of the venues on the QM2 are filled with the gray and infirm, and at times it felt as if we were residents of a floating rest home. Still, it was the trip of a lifetime and we are glad we took it.

We landed in England on November 1 and took a bus provided by the Cunard company for our ride into London, about sixty miles away. We then took a cab to our hotel situated right across from King's Cross railway station in the heart of the city. We were pleasantly surprised to learn the Charles Dickens home and museum was right around the corner and we paid a visit to see the digs of the great writer. Amond many of the documents and artifacts on display was the desk he wrote some of his novels on. Looking at it gave me a particular thrill I must say. Later that night we took a cab down to Buckingham Palace and walked over to Parliment Square to see Big Ben chime 6:00 pm. Another sight in this area effected me deeply; among the statues of all their past prime ministers the British people have placed a very fine sculpture of Abraham Lincoln. It almost brought tears to my eyes to contemplate the greatness of that man in comparison to the orange lunatic who is also numbered among our past presidents. (I am writing this the day before the US election. Jayne and I voted before we left and we fervently pray our beloved country is spared repeat of that orange lunatic in the White House.)

After our day and two nights in London, we took a high speed train for Edinburgh which we reached in four hours. Amazing! Today we will tour the famous castle and I will report on it afterwards.

das Ende

How much longer will any of us be able to express our digust with the orange colored lunatic who appears likely to once again befoul the White House? Today's Supreme Court ruling will be a loaded gun in his tiny hands once he removes them from the innauguration Bible next January. I fear for anyone who has spoken out against this monster, be they late night television comedians, editorial columnists, Democratic Party officials, or even the humble composer of an online blog such as myself. Poor fellow, my country!

The Idleness of Retirement

Among the accusations that many soon-to-be retirees hear is the tired old question “What are you going to do to keep busy?” While those making such an inquiry might mean well, the implication of the question is that they believe the old codger about to get his gold watch has little to no life or interests outside of the profession he intends to leave. I was the object of more than a few such inquiries about six years ago when I was anxiously counting down the remaining days of my employment as an archivist for Montana State University. “Nothing,” was my reply to all, “I intend to do nothing,” and I was quickly warned by my interlocutors that such an empty post-retirement existence would drive me insane. I can now confirm from my own vantage point that the dire predictions of my colleagues were grossly exaggerated, but you will have to judge for yourself (if you continue to read this essay) whether or not these are the ravings of a madman. What I have discovered since I left the working world behind is that some things have not changed, and others have changed for the better. I will begin with the former.

I used to walk to work and back every day, a pleasant twenty minute stroll through Bozeman’s historic district lined with beautiful mature trees. I always appreciated this alone

time because it allowed me to examine, in my reverie, any number of things from the books I was reading to the tasks that awaited me at work. Often I was so consumed in my own thoughts that I would arrive at the library front door with no clear memory of what had transpired since I left my house. This situation has not changed for me since I put down the working tools of academia. Starting first in Bisbee, where we moved shortly after retiring, and now in Tucson, I walk anywhere from four to seven miles every morning at dawn. My favorite local path takes me deep into Sabino Canyon, a rocky creek bottom in the center of the Santa Catalina mountains and I usually share the stroll now with friends.

Researching people and events was part of my job responsibilities when processing collections of personal papers and over the years I developed a real skill for ferreting out information on the most obscure characters. This was often the most enjoyable part of my working day, and I continue to practice it now. If not the genealogy of my own family, I often spend hours looking up information on a variety of topics that have caught my interest, including the history of our home, neighborhood, and of course all of Southern Arizona.

Finally, writing and reading were both features of my life in academia, and I managed to add dozens of articles and essays to the tally I was forced to maintain to earn tenure and promotion. Although that sword of Damocles has now been removed from over my head, I still get a great deal of satisfaction from both. Readers of this blog might justifiably question the volume of my literary output after months of silence, but my scribblings these days are mostly handwritten letters and rough drafts of works I intend to publish elsewhere. One of my long term projects is writing a book-length discussion on just how harmful the western myth has been for American Culture, a book which I am sure will require my own financing if it ever appears in print. Reading, too, is something that has declined but not due to any lack of pleasure on my part while so engaged. The simple truth is that my eyes tire easily after about an hour with a book and it takes me longer to finish volumes than I used to. I have rediscovered a fondness for English fiction of the Victorian period, a type of literature that requires time to absorb. I have plenty of time now.

What has changed for the worse for me since retirement? I can honestly say “angst.” If I am not fretting over my own health I am anxious for Jayne’s, and every new ache or pain triggers my concern for us both.

The national political situation is also a crushing worry, with a madman running for president and a myriad of his deluded followers seemingly ready to confront anyone with a bumper sticker that might criticize their Orange God King. None of the aforementioned apprehensions are linked to retirement, however, since I would have had the same headaches had I remained in harness, but now I am free to notice them more without distractions.

Overall I feel I must reassure those kind people who had so much concern for my mental health declining as the years of idleness stack up. Retirement is a blessing to me, and I am so grateful I have had the opportunity to enjoy these years doing whatever we feel like doing, whenever we feel like doing it. Perhaps the single most attractive thing about not working is the feeling I get every Sunday evening, a time when previously I suffered a vague uneasiness about the week to come. Now when the sun sets on the Sabbath, I smile with the realization that tomorrow will be most likely exactly like today, and that is completely fine with me.

Home, again

The last few days in Australia were spent in the Sydney suburb of Rockford with our friends, Blanca and Phillip, who generously opened their homes and hearts to us as we appeared bedraggled and somewhat sick on their doorstep on August 13. They tucked us away in their comfortable guest room and prepared a meal of delicious goat curry, with both extra spicy and normal versions, which settled us in nicely. My own cold was growing worse and Jayne had a few health issues of her own as our three day stay progressed, but in the end we made the flight at the Sydney airport on August 16 without a hitch.

I suppose it would be appropriate to summarize a few observations of Australia for this trip.

1) Australia's road system is, compared to the US, underwhelming. As one of the pricipal ingredients of asphalt pavement is oil, and the fact that Australia has only 0.3 percent of the world's know petroleum reserves, means that many roadways are a bumpy, potholed path at best. Paving in the first place is expensive for any government; maintaining that pavement is also expensive. The terrain and the economics mean that Australian roads are a twisted, winding length of very uneven surfaces. (Don't think this is a chauvanistic American comment, though. One need look no farther than out my own front door in Tucson to see pavement in dismal repair. It was once reported that author Jack Kerouac visited our neighborhood in 1950, and one wag responded to that fact by asserting "He likely drove over the same pavement we have today.")

2) Australia has a critical shortage of salad dressing. Many restaurants serve lettuce, tomato, and other mixed greens with a meal that are entirely without any dressing whatsoever, while others seem to have merely shown these vegetables a photograph of oil and vinegar prior to plopping it on a plate. Ranch dressing, and creamy dressings in general, appear to be unknown in most restaurants.

3) Adequate signage in airport terminals, bus stations, and other public transport facilities is sadly lacking. Aside from the occasional "Way Out" notification, the traveler has little help directing his steps to the proper door.

4) An addiction to sweet barbeque sauce is the bane of Australian hamburgers (along with sliced beets).

5) The average Australian seems to be a rough-hewn, friendly, helpful, and genuinely likeable person.

6) A country that has a national health plan for its citizens, and a responsive legislature, can definetely teach the United States lessons on the practical application of democracy.

I am glad we went. I am glad to have once more experienced this wonderful country and all it has to offer. I am glad we are home.

Back to Gloucester

due to a stroke of good luck (and Jayne's diplomatic inquiry at th Qantas service desk) we were able to leave Brisbane an hour early on a different flight. Odd airline is Qantas; they only fly back and forth to Newcastle two days a week, yet they have several flights on those days. Were I the king of the world, I would have spread out the flights over more days, but obviously that is not in the Qantas rule book. As it is, I have not received a "give us feedback on your recent flight" email from the corporation, which is very good. Like my mama used to preach, "If you can't say anything nice..."

Our last full day with our gracious hosts has been nothing short of a complete delight. Although I have some pretty severe cold symptoms (two Covid tests have proven negative) I was able to participate in several hotly contested dart games, one or two bean bag tossing sessions during a

game with the somewhat unappetitizing name of Cornhole, and simply enjoying a bright, sunshiny day with temperatures in the upper seventies. As sundown approached, I was given the responsibility of building a fire in the outdoor fireplace while Ronald prepared a delicious meal of grilled pork chops, and Jane prepared a pan of scalloped potatoes. And if all this were not enough, shortly after sundown some sort of celebration commenced at a showground just over the hill from the house with a fireworks show that rivaled the last one we witnessed in Tucson on July fourth. It was a great way to cap off our lengthy visit with our gracious hosts, and we are so grateful they were willing to put up with us for all this time and travel. Now we are preparing to leave Gloucester on the train to retun to Sydney for a three night's stay with Blanca and Philip, friends we have met through Blanca's repeated research visits to the Montana State University archives where once I held sway. Their home is quite close to the airport where we will fly back to the USA on Wednesday morning. As much as we have enjoyed this trip I think we are both eager to return to the oven which is Tucson in August and resume our daily routines.

Stranded!

"Stranded, stranded on the toilet bowl,

What can you do when you're stranded,,

An you don't have a roll?",

My indulgent readers will forgive the above schoolyard version of the theme song to the Chuck Conners classic western television show, Branded once I have completed my sad tale, but before I do I must catch you up on what happened to us after arriving in Darwin a few days ago. All will be revealed.

Our happy railroad trip to Australia's top end terminated in the charming city of Darwin, and since I have gotten into the habit of describing these sites by making American comparisons, I will say the city seemed a lot like Hawaii (without the devastating wildfires presently burning). The climate is tropical, and the denizens of the city are just as likely to parade around in swim suits and shorts as they are shirts and jeans. Most of the architecture of the place was new and modern; exactly what you would expect from a place that was nearly wiped out by a cyclone in 1974 and one that endured several raids from the Japanese in World War II. The Northern Territory library is situated in a very attractive building that also serves as the legislative assembly hall, and we were delighted with what we found there. No deep-colored wooden paneling for this place, it was clean and quite modern, with some of the most impressive displays I have seen in any museum. One which described the opening of the Australian outback to touring vehicles featured a stationary bus with screens representing the passing scenery one would have expected while driving along one of the endless red dirt roads leading across the vast landscape. Our hotel accomodations were also in a modern hotel, and quite luxurious since it was a complete apartment with kitchen, bedroom, living room, and even a washer and dryer. We made good use of the latter dealing with our dirty clothes after three days on the train. Although the city has its fair share of homeless, especially of Aboriginal people down on their luck, there were certainly no more than one can see in any American city of equal or greater side. We bought groceries at a nearby store and cooked a delicious steak during our first night in the hotel, and I was even able to gratify my craving for a chicken schitzel on the second day. Finally the view of the ocean was outstanding, observed from a water front park sprinkled with giant fig and banyan trees.

Unfortunately the good times did not last after taking our flight to Brisbane. The limo driver did not appear to take us to the hotel for our one night stay in the city and poor Ronald had to secure a cab

for us after a considerable delay. We did not arrive to the hotel until after sundown, and we were as tired as you can imagine after the three hour, forty-five minute flight. The rooms were again very nice, apartments really, with all the amenities we enjoyed at Darwin, but I was so keyed up by the ordeal I found it difficult to sleep and a real chore getting up to catch another cab back to the airport this morning at nine o'clock. Due to the time change it seemed much, much earlier, and we arrived at the airport bleary-eyed and ready for our flight back to Newcastle for the drive home. Alas, the flight was cancelled, and a substitue has not been scheduled for us until after six this evening. We are, in sort, stranded in this airport with no recompense for our inconvenience beyond a miserly fifteen dollar meal voucher grudgingly provided by the rather unhelpful Qantas staff. That amount of money in this country will get you a cup of barrista coffee, or perhaps a meat pie, and of course airport concessions are much more expensive than the normally expensive prices one would pay in the city. We are making the best of it, as all travelers must, but this ordeal has taxed my own sleepless constitution to the max. I am reminded of a hotel host in Madrid who once told us, "The life of the tourist is hard." True that!

The Katherine Gorge(ous)

The off train experience today was truly remarkable, a long drive from the train station at Katherine to the Nitmiluk National Park where we boarded a river boat for a cruise up through the Katherine Gorge. I have nothing to compare it to since I have never visited the bottom of

the Grand Canyon of Arizona and seen firsthand the steep cliffs descending to the Colorado River, but I imagine it is somewhat similar to this more modest canyon with its swift running channel. Although the watercourse is hundreds of miles from the ocean the river is still home to both fresh and salt water crocodiles, and we saw one of each during the excursion. When the river is low the rocky bed forms a barricade between different levels of the river, but when the rains come the critters can easily breach the natural dams and remain healthy even when the lowering water levels trap them upstream. Our guide was remarkable, a very knowledgeable young woman who both provided the commentary and performed all the duties of a ship captain and shore crew all by herself. During our portageto reach a second boat past one of the rocky barricades the walkway went along side a cliff where some prehistoric Van Gogh painted images of himself and the animals he hunted. At least 10,000 years old, it reminds the visitor of the oft repeated descriptive phrase, "the ancient land", when referring to Australia. The native people who inhabited this place prior to the arrival of the white man in 1788 have left many tangible reminders of their earlier settlement, and this rock art was a great example.

p>The tour was over all too soon and we got back on the bus to return to the train. While boarding the vehicle with all the other geriatric passengers both Jayne and I were reminded of the many tours her mother had taken overseas during the latter part of her life. She always had plenty of pictures of people we never met and that she delighted in telling us about. Do we really become our parents?