Sunday, a week ago 06/11/01

Subject: Mindwalkers - Sunday, a week ago
Date: Mon, 11 Jun 2001 00:26:37 EDT

Poor Elsa. She is hot and tired and sun-burned - after two days out at the Reading Air Show - and she had just finished this posting and her computer froze and she had to turn it off and lost everything she had transcribed just as I was near the end.

I have urged her to head to bed but she has a bee in her bonnet and wants to get this posting out before the day is over. We will see if she can do it. (I didn't - elm)

I was talking about what a difference a day makes. Our Saturday out in Lancaster County had some rough patches. The worst part was that I woke up from my nap with what Elsa described as wild eyes. I did not know what I was feeling when I woke up, but it was alarming. Then, that night, I got up every hour on the hour.

All three of us should have been drained when morning finally came. I can only speak for myself, but I felt surprisingly refreshed on Sunday morning. Some credit might go to the breakfast Elsa brought back from her early foray (I think she left around 7:00 a.m. - John and I were still fast asleep.) On her return, I feasted on Jennie’s bacon, a cup of excellent coffee, orange juice and - just right for a Pennsylvania Dutch breakfast - a pie of homemade raisin pie. Who would not feel restored after such a breakfast?

Elsa drove John over to the railroad museum, then headed back to pack up our gear and myself into the car. As we headed down the drive, I thought we were just heading out for a ramble, waiting for John to be done at Pennsy Days. Little did I know.

We dropped down Rt 896, toward a tiny bit of Maryland, then Delaware. I envisioned us sort of moseying on down to Borders, north of Wilmington, a place we both like a lot. In the meantime, I appreciated my surroundings. We passed a farmhouse with at least a good dozen buggies near the barn and a paddock filled with beautiful horses. Apparently, services were being held in the house. That was a good kickoff to a beautiful drive from Lancaster to Chester County.

As I said, I thought we were simply on a ramble until I became aware that Elsa had a sense of attentiveness that made me wonder if she was heading somewhere in particular. I noticed that we started seeing signs saying things like "Air Show next exit" and "Air Show - turn right" and that we were following the signs. It seems that Elsa had read about an air show at Toughkenemon (sp) and figured we could see at least something from the car, without the stress (on me) of actually going.

Indeed, we could. There were the planes that flew in a circle as parachutists jumped out - I did not see the parachutists, since a grove of trees blocked my line of sight at just the wrong moment. Elsa looked for a good spot for our viewing pleasure. She found a shady spot, pulled over, parked the car and pulled out a folding chair so I could watch in comfort. Oh my! There were planes that went straight up and did some very breath-catching stunts and other plans that acted as teams doing stunt flying.

Let me state, before continuing, that I really did not mean to deflate Elsa's sense of pride in making this special moment possible. How could she have guessed that all the spectacular flying stirred ancient - yet still keen - memories.

After one particularly heart-stopping bit of aerial derring do, I looked up at Elsa and said, in all innocence, "This reminds me of watching Col. Lindbergh and the Top Hatters at the Cleveland Air Races."

Elsa had a sort of queer look to her face as I continued, "Two of the planes flew what looked like straight at each other and just before they passed each other with less than a foot to spare, ZOOM! Col. Lindbergh’s plane flew straight up through the space they closed seconds later."

At that point, Elsa had a big smile on her face and a look I could not pinpoint (irony - elm). She grinned at me and said, "I don’t think I - or anyone one - could top that."

Thinking "In for the penny, in for the pound," I added, "And Jimmy Doolittle buzzed the airfield in his Doodle Bug."

After the air acrobatics seemed to end, we packed up my chair and headed back north, talking in the car about when I flew in an autogiro with test pilot Jim Ray and listening to him - a born story teller - regale myself and the Edwin Asplundh family with tales of his exploits and other test pilots.

It was a grand outing. Heading back north, Elsa plotted our path through West Grove. West Grove is renowned for masses of rose bushes. There were many different colors. My favorite were the masses of lush red roses across the way from the Red Rose Inn. One of these days, we are going to actually go there for dinner. (Margaret...?)

Being practical, Elsa took the opportunity to head up to Blue Ball, where she picked up ten papier mache boxes for the 2001-02 freshman. That is the first time she has started collecting them BEFORE 8th Grade graduation.

My tummy was definitely empty by this time. I did not know what treat Elsa had in store, although I should have guessed she was headed to our beloved People's Restaurant, except I always think that the place is closed on Sundays. In any case. we enjoyed a leisurely lunch at one of my favorite restaurants. Delicious home cooking.

I started to order flounder and cole slaw, when Elsa had a small conniption fit. "Mom, you’re in a restaurant with real down-home home cooking. And you’re ordering flounder and cole slaw??"

She is pushy, but she had a point.

I ordered roast turkey with dressing and cranberry sauce and stewed rhubarb and stewed tomatoes and apple butter and was happy as a clam.

We headed out around 3:30 p.m. and started to make our way due south to John. We went through more beautiful countryside. My goodness, I forgot to mention the buggies.

We saw more buggies than I can ever recall seeing before, sometimes four or five, one right behind another. There were buggies with older couples and buggies with younger couples and buggies with young children, one buggy with what looked like an over flow of teenagers with one young man half in and half out, courting buggies, and even one courting buggy with two young ladies on the seat and a young man literally bringing up the rear by holding onto the back of the buggy and keeping pace with the help of inline skates.

I saw several young Amish with inline skates. What a whimsical sight, at least to me.

(My, this posting is long, and the hour is late, but Elsa is determined to press on. It is fine by me, because I am well rested, but she must be bushed. She says she is not, so I cannot argue.)

As I said, our drop south took us through more beautiful countryside. At one pont, Elsa asked me, "Wow! Did you see that?" I am sure I have mentioned before my notorious habit of looking straight ahead. Elsa, on the other hand, with her father’s amazing peripheral vision, can spot interesting things even with her eyes are on the road. I had not seen a thing, so she stopped the car and backtracked several yards.

What a sight - the front property and driveway of a house set well off the road was brimming over with all sorts of iris. I could not begin to count how many different varieties we saw. There were deep, deep purple iris that looked more like orchids than iris, peach, cream, yellow, different shades of purple, what looked like double iris - the different types went on and on. It was a sight of such beauty, it’s effect is with me still.

We were sort of hushed after seeing that.

Anything else would be anti-climatic after that sight, so we just headed to the museum to check on the dear lad.

John was ready to get packed up and very happy with the day - two large and one small print sold and Bennett Levin interested in giving him a commission. A great beginning (and just the start of big things, as I described a few days ago) and well deserved, I might add. That is not just a proud M-I-L talking - John’s talents leaves me in awe.

I must admit that I was more than a little happy to see our house and home. The feeling of walking up that familiar driveway, navigating the front steps, entering that familiar doorway and stepping into... home.

They say that it is better to journey than to arrive - that is certainly not true when it comes to home. I agree with Dorothy - "There’s no place like home."

It is now well after midnight and I am about to reach over and shut down this computer (which does that enough all by itself) and boot my baby upstairs to bed.

We had a great time last weekend and I am glad to know I still can bop (mom was 91 - elm/6-11-11), even if in a more limited way than I would like.

Maybe next year I will feel more comfortable with the idea of someone coming in to look after me - I do prefer Elsa and John - and the two of them can head out on their own. Until that time arrives, this Gramster is grateful that they are lunatic enough to seem to actually enjoy having me tag along.

Nighty night and God bless - The Backroads Rambler’s #2 Favorite Passenger