Flea Market Treasures

Going to the flea market today was not without it's rewards. For example, Sam got this little treasure...

Yes, that item above is one in the same in both photos -on the left, a hunk of wood carved to look like a nut - and on the right, when you press the button - there's a Santa inside! You can't tell by these pictures but the Santa's arms and legs wiggle, making it far more valuable that the one measly dollar that Sam paid for it. This was Sam's find of the day.

I on the other hand, bought a few more unneeded old postcards to add to my unneeded old postcard "collection"...

This is a postcard of a now long defunct restaurant called "Turnbull's. Turnbull's stood on the other side of town, over on the other side of the rotary from where I currently live. When I first moved out this way, I would pass Turnbull's every day as I commuted to and from the little hilltown where I was living.

A few short years later, it was a place frequented by Mom and Dad - and most of the other senior citizens in this neck of the woods. I think I may have had dinner there with Mom and Dad at least once. Pretty good corn relish, as I recall. If only they were still around. In a couple of more years, I could really cash in on that senior citizen's discount.

Here's a postcard of Sliding Rock, in North Carolina. Sliding Rock was one of the places we would visit during our summers with Nona and Eleanore. Though I was never insane enough to slide down the wet rock into the bottomless-pit-of-death at the end, I personally know people who have.

I've written about the Barefoot Trader before. Suffice it to say that this is another place from my distant past, which holds fond memories. The Barefoot Trader was a gift shop at Cape Cod and was one of the places we used to frequent when I was a little kid.

If you look carefully, you might notice the giant tiki head off to the right of the doorway. It looked pretty great lit up at night. What you won't notice is the abandoned house next door which, rumor had it, was populated by flying monkeys - exactly like those on The Wizard of Oz. (I should note that the only one I ever heard speak this rumor was Dad.) The postcard's a little blurry - but then, so are my memories.

This is a postcard of the Hyannis airport. Technically, the Barnstable Municipal Airport, also technically, Boardman/Polando Field. This is also at Cape Cod (as is Hyannis). I never visited this airport but I went by it many times.

What I remember most about the airport is that we used to eat at a small diner directly across the rotary from it, and at the end of our meal, Mom and Dad would enjoy a cup of coffee (allegedly). And what made the coffee so enjoyable was that they would shovel us kids out to the car while they slowly (and I mean slowly) sipped their alleged cups of coffee, leaving us kids with little to do but avoid my big brother and watch the searchlight shine on the top of the airport tower (and wish it was the bat-signal, calling Batman to save me).

Here's yet another postcard from Cape Cod. This is another place I never visited but had driven by it a number of times. There are no special memories about this place, I just like the way it looks. 

I like nighttime scenes, especially from places at Cape Cod - in part because they look kind of magical to me. This, I'm sure, is a carryover from when I was a little kid. We would go tooling around at night and everything would be lit up - and that alone made everything look great. Being able to be out and about after dark when, under normal non-vacation circumstances, I couldn't, only added to the intrigue.

I also like the idea of a motor lodge (or, if you prefer, the more impersonal "motel"). Something about it seems kind of quaint to me. But then again, I don't have to spent a lot of time in them.

According to Google Maps, this place is still there and it looks pretty much the same, thank God. The owners should get some kind of award for this.

By the way, this was the only postcard I bought today that had any message on the back...

I don't choose postcards by whether they have any writing on them or not, but I like it when they do. 

I like old postcards because each is from a particular moment in time. And I like the ones that have messages on them because it places them in an even  more specific - and personal - period in time. It's like a brief snapshot from someone's life. 

This one, for example, was written on June 30th, 1970. This particular family left Cleveland on a Saturday and drove to Albany, where they spent the night. Then they drove from Albany to Cape Cod, where they're staying for a bit playing "put-put" golf. Apparently, "Joan" and "Eileen"love "put-put" golf to the point where they each got a bad sunburn. Regardless, soon they would be off to New Jersey. 

There's more there, but you get the point.

So this was my haul from the day - five postcards. All of which, I guess, was worth the few dollars I paid. Pretty cheap for some pretty good memories.

To the Flea Market

Today we made our first visit to the flea market. Judging by how many times we've gone in recent years, it could be our last visit, as well. It''s not that there's anything wrong with the place - other than the usual - the crowds, the heat, people with junkier stuff than even me - it's just that we don't get there as often as we used to.

Much of the fault for that - probably all of the fault for that - is on me. For me, going to the flea market is a lot like going on vacation. It's not about the place, it's about the people you're with.  The fun is in sharing the experience with people you love.

Going there without the whole family - or most of it, anyway- is kind of depressing. But we went anyway. And since it was my idea, I have no one to blame but myself...

Saturday Evening Stroll

On Saturday evening, Sam and I went on a walk at the local swimming area. Aside from a couple of fishermen, the place was deserted - not unusual for this time of day; not unusual for this time of year.

We walked in the low evening sunshine, through the long shadows and damp grass, passing the now quiet playground where, many years ago, Sam, and years earlier, his siblings, used to play. I glanced over at the empty swings and structures as we continued on - ignoring the echos of the past; ignoring how lonely and unnatural a place such as this looks without little kids, especially when it's bathed in golden light from the soon to be setting sun.

We walked the perimeter of the south field, finally turning back along the river's edge, passing the fishermen, who by now were standing knee-deep in the receding waters.

Crossing the footbridge, we followed the wooded edge of northern field, stopping occasionally along the way to look at the unfolding ferns and a solitary flower. And I wondered aloud how the flower got to this place, and why it chose to bloom in this particular spot - far away, it seemed, from any others.

At the end of the field, before the turn, we came upon a break in the woods, and we decided to follow a path we had never seen before. The path wove through the still blooming forest, branching off in several directions along the way.

We stayed with the path which followed the river and we walked mostly in silence with nothing but the sound of the river on one side, and on the other, somewhere high up in the trees, we could hear the tapping of a distant, unseen woodpecker.

Eventually, we reached a small hill. We climbed to the top and surveyed our surroundings - before deciding it was time to head back - back through the forest, back through the field. 

I wonder about connections to places like these - and to places where we live. I wonder about what we leave behind when we leave. Do we leave a part of ourselves? And what do we take along with us? Are we connected to our surroundings in more ways than we know? When we walk through familiar fields, or past empty playgrounds, are the feelings we feel nothing more than wisps of memories - or are we connecting with a part of ourselves which exists in these places, whether we revisit them or not?  

By the time we crossed the footbridge, the fishermen were gone. Sam and I headed back to the car, once again in silence - and together, we headed back home - he lost in his thoughts, and me lost in mine.
 

More Further Evidence...

... of the rapid decline of Western civilization. (Part Two of an apparently ongoing series).

I guess this speaks for itself, but I can't help but wonder how this came to be. I'm not sure what I have a harder time with - that someone would actually want to lick a poop pop - or the fact that this is marketed as some kind of friendship kit.

Parade Photos

A selection of photos from today's adventure...

Waiting out the rain.

This Morning's Brief Comment

Currently sitting in the car, waiting for the rain to stop and the Pide Parade to begin, explaining  to Sam what the letters, "LGBTQ" stand for.

Grinding Gears

It’s hard to write when I don’t have the energy- either mental or otherwise. And when I do have the energy, it’s hard not to whine. Today though, I’m whining...

Boy, do things ever get to a point where they will just move forward?

After a winter of dealing with rodent issues and sewer issues (remind me to call the excavator again) and health issues, I’m continuing to deal with workforce transition issues for Sam, along with the lifelong SSI issues.

The problem with writing about this is that I don’t in any way want it to come off like helping Sam have a normal life is some kind of burden. Far from it. I’ve said more than once, including to Sam, that Sam is a blessing and I don’t know what my life would be like without him.

But geez, do the gears in this machine ever get to a point where they can turn on their own? Does it ever get to a point where I can sit back and rest for a little bit?

I don't know how other people do this. Maybe this is a thing where it looks easy to me, from the outside. Do other people think that the things in Sam's life just fall into place, effortlessly. I don't know.

Some of this bad attitude is fueled by bumps, of some unknown magnitude, in Sam's expanded role in the workforce. It's been a little rocky for him - though not as rocky as he's aware of.

I don't put any of this on him. He works hard, getting up at six a.m. every morning, and he goes to off to work everyday - and I've never heard even one complaint from him.

But as I said, it's an expanded role for him, meaning new tasks and longer days - and all of this is done under a new supervisor who is just getting up to speed, as well as with a new caseworker, who is also getting up to speed.

And I'm trying to get up to speed - in understanding what I can legitimately ask for, and what I should expect in the way of support for Sam. I've written more emails and had more conversations in the last couple of months than I ever expected to.

I guess I must have thought, at least unconsciously, that his transition would go smoother than it has.

On top of this, I continue on with SSI (yes, that SSI). I continue to report his pay every month and last month, apparently nobody got it. That's too bad because last month was also the month that I included a letter of change in his status - that he's no longer a student, that he is working a "new" position, which means more hours with the same rate of pay, the same employer, the same job description, etc.

Being a glutton for punishment, I called SSI to see why I never received what seems to be a monthly update from them. And that's when I was told that they never received my paperwork.

This has resulted in what is called a "Technical Re-determination". What is that? Well, apparently SSI needs to see if Sam still qualifies for support. I'm not quite sure why this is - it's not like Sam is any less autistic - and I'm not quite sure what exactly has triggered this. Maybe it's Sam's change in status - which I just told them about, since my paperwork vaporized.

Whatever the reason, the guy on the phone mentioned that this usually happens about every three years. (Sam's been receiving help for just over a year.) This is only Mystery Number One.

Mystery Number Two is how all of the takes place. Apparently, it begins with a phone interview. That much we know. Sam, naturally, has to be present as he is no longer a minor and the world therefore needs his permission before they can talk to me (which I guess is wise on their part). How much he needs to contribute, what gets discussed, what I need to have available for information - all of this is a part of Mystery Ball Number Two.

But the best part of Mystery Ball Number Two is wondering where it goes from there. Is that the end of it? The answer is a firm "Maybe" - followed up by a firm, "Maybe not". It could be the end of it. It could also mean having to go to SSI Headquarters - with a year's worth of receipts for everything under the sun - some of which might mean something, some of which likely will not. We'll see.

We'll see.

The bottom line is (literally), the gears continue to turn, though with more effort that I would like - and it would be nice if they would turn without making that annoying whining sound.

Part III

Ok, here's the conclusion of the Mark-a-thon. We end with a semi-recap of Mark Knopfler's career. This one runs about twenty-five minutes. Well worth it if you're a Mark Knopfler/ Dire Straits fan. And if you're not... well, you're obviously in the wrong place.

Tonight's Video

Continuing with day (or rather, night) two of our Mark-a thon...

I can only assume you watched last night's music video. If not, you can go back and watch it here. Don't worry, I'll wait...

Done? Ok...

So, if you liked the song and if you like a little bit of history (and who doesn't!!!????), here's sort of a followup video for you to watch tonight. I think you'll find it both entertaining AND informative - and best of all, it's all for the same low, low price of zero dollars.