Steel That Goes Left, Steel That Goes Right

MobileMe gallery is here.

Thanks to my job in the Orchard I've got gallery space on MobileMe.  This has several advantages - the best being that I don't have a 60 picture limit per gallery.  The next is that it provides several ways to view pictures.

If you use the link - and a lot of this won't make sense if you don't - look in the lower-left corner of the page and you'll see two or three options for viewing the pix.

Pick the one that seems best to you - I like "mosaic" as it's easier to read - and "carousel" because it's so cool.  

The speed and results depend on the processor in your computer.  Results will vary but the pix are still fun.

The last time I walked the lost rail lines surrounding Portland I was led to the area down by the Fore River, the switching yards of the old Grand Trunk railroad.  It had an air of energy past, of time out of mind.

I thought it was really cool.

This next foray into urban exploration started with a bus trip out to Woodford's Corner, where a Guilford Railway freight line cuts right through one of the four busiest intersections of the town.  A single train at the wrong time can freeze almost every East-West artery in the City.

I think it's really cool.

These rails are neat.  They're something I've wanted to walk for a long time, having caught my attention for their singular activty.  Only the Downeaster train to Boston seems to have an equal burst of railroad energy.

They lead South from the Corner, trees overhead creating a quiet tunnel behind solid two-story homes in the Woodford's area.  Out of courtesy I paid no attention to the houses - also avoiding being seen "looking" at private residences from their back yards.  I'm sure I'm suspicious looking enough just on general principals and have no wish to be stopped by the cops for "walking while Native American" (WWNA).

The first third-mile was cool, under a rich canopy of elm trees.  With such a warm day and so much sun I could almost fool myself into thinking it was still August and Summer was still in charge of the world.

The right-of-way makes a marked swing from the Fore River South side of town to the inland Woodfords  West Side (or "more westerly").  This meant the rails bent to the left as I walked forward and back to the right when I looked backward.

Very strange angle indeed.

My only company on this part was a gray squirrel, posing on the branch of an elm sapling.  We stood and regarded each other for a several minutes.

This is no exaggeration.  Neither one of us seemed to have any pressing engagements and neither one of us seemed to be particularly upset by the other's presence.

The line crosses several neighborhood streets; there were folks out sweeping sidewalks of early leaf falls, trimming driveways, in one case putting their lawnmower away, perhaps for the season.

Like all things the green roof of leaves had to give way to a more industrial feel.  The rails came out of the Woodford's area and crossed Brighton Ave. between Punky's Sandwiches and the town Water Works.

My understanding is that "back in the day" this line was used by the famous "Bethel Ski Train" which would take needlessly overpriveledged college kids up from Boston to the Inn at Bethel for "Holiday Inn" type skiing vacations.

You can see the evidence of a second track.  That missing track space is now and impromptu support road, bordered by rusting  sets of rails hidden in the adjacent grass.  Some of them are substantially rusted - but a lot of them are not bent to the angle of the right of way, so I'm not sure what purpose they have besides storage.

The greatest impression I have is one of constant use. This track is well-worn and well-maintained.

The gravel ballast supporting the track has a ringing, thumping feel to it, like you're walking on concrete over a deep trench.  The repeated packing by the massive weights of train after train has made it like a drum, echoing and hollow sounding.

The difference between this and the sad, neglected remains of the Grand Trunk yard gave me a sense of curiosity, a need to see trains go by and feel the energy of the trains passing by.

This part of the line is somewhat isolated.  Smaller tract-type houses replace the solid Victorian homes of the Woodford's area.  On the other side, the right, were garages and company truck yards, more ioslated and impersonal.

Far ahead was the overpass for I-295, a six-lane interstate slashing across the city.  Against its brief darkness I could see figures lounging on the walls of the bridge, bikes and beers littering the side.

This was possibility that I had considered when working out this jaunt.  The best thing to do was look for quick exits, tuck my digital minicam into my opposite pocket and saunter my way through.

Which I did.  It looked like a small party of mixed kids and adults, related, I thought. sitting around drinking beers and hanging out on a warm day.  We treasure them up here and they are rapidly ending; I didn't blame them for taking advantage of this one.

"Just lookin' at shit" I grunted while walking by.  They smiled and saluted me with their cans of Bud.

Actually a beer looked kind of good.

You know, now I think of it, perhaps this next section should have its own post.  There is a special neatness to it all and I want to get it right.

Raspberry, Almond Frosted Scone

Give me a minute ....

OK.  

I have two days off.  I didn't think it possible but apparently my current approach to life doesn't work on the five-on, two-off schedule that other people use. 

The experience of using days off to truly relax and enjoy the world around me - even while making much less money to use while around about in it - is very new and quite appealing.

I'm willing to splurge on a Raspberry Almond Frosted scone (if I eat nothing else store-bought today) to have the chance to sit outdoors at Mousse in Monument Square and enjoy the crowd here again at the Farmer's Market.

So the Orchard is now open.  I don't think I've had as much fun in years.  The crowd numbered around 450-500, stretching halfway down the hall, back around again.  

We all came boiling out of the Back Of House, clapping and yelling like banshees.  The glass doors opened slowly and we walked out, yelling and high-fiving (I don't high-five very much but it was good for the moment).  It took a second but the crowd started in as well, starting to cheer and clap in time with us.

I followed one of my more theatrical colleagues around the line, running down and cheering, followed by what seemed like the whole store. C. was in the line and I got a big hug from her.

Then we gathered back at the doors - mind you, no one had set foot in the joint as of that moment.  Forming a cheering, shouting gauntlet we finally let people in and the store was open.

I can now see why it takes a certain mindset to understand and integrate this experience.  You have to have a solid, active belief in people, in what they can do.  All we're doing is selling (alright, we're selling stuff) them extraordinary tools to use.  And then showing them how to use them.

The Really Funny Corollary is this - not only do I have this belief in others but I also have it in myself.  Suddenly I can't get enough of looking at the world around me, exploring and experiencing the simplest things.

I have a lot of work to do to stabilize the mistakes that being so closed-off has caused.  Still, I like this.  I like it a lot.

There is a little thought in the back of my head that the Really Funny Corollary (RFC) is going to play a big part in the events, thoughts and feelings of the next little while.

The First Evening of Autumn

I have crossed the Rubicon - taken steps into a new place and I have to say I really have had fun while doing it.

So, here I am at Blue, waiting for a dessert I can neither stomach or afford, really - the only part of me  being fed is my soul.

Outside - not only tonight but back to Wednesday - the evenings have become cooler, the air stiffening, becoming more crisp.

The picture here barely captures the complexity of sunsets against the high clouds of the early evening.  

I am drawn to walk the streets of the town, listening as the wind in the leaves becomes a drier, more complex sound.  

The sound calls the magic at the center of my soul, calls it closer to the surface of my face, makes it glow more richly in my eyes.  People see it, I'm convinced they do.  Friends join hands in their hearts with me, we become co-conspirators - we pass around melancholy and boisterousness in equal measures, like we're drinking amber wine from shared goatskin.

You never know quite what is going to happen at this time of year.  The leaves are preparing to change, Nature is taking a great deep breath as it prepares for Fall.

We opened the Orchard this morning - I will write about that later, the memories are still not formed yet, all I would do is describe what happened and the whirlwind of meanings would be lost.

All told I am grateful for what has happened.  It is so hard to just accept it, to breathe it in.  I had a moment of pointless, selfish distress yesterday - what saved me was the wonderful thought: "just be here with your friends, just be here.  The rest will come."  

And that saved me.  The shocking truth was that I needed to just be there - be myself and be present and the rest would settle out.

Well, I suppose I should finish up - tomorrow will be another day and I need to get some rest.

Rails in Rust and Grass

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As noted elsewhere I have a fascination with old rail lines - spikes, rails, bridges, ladders, engines and other detritus.

My favorite summer job was in the 1975 where I supported myself in marching with the Valiant Knights of Enid, OK by working for the local Kiwanis club.  

My task was to help rebuild a huge miniature railroad in Meadowlake Park in the South of Enid.  The line had been washed away by a flood the Summer before and our job was to restore it.

The man in charge was a crusty old ex-railman named Bill Haney.  You could tell he had worked his way around the West by swinging a sledge and had the work ethic of a man whose paycheck grew based on how much steel he laid in the course of a day.

We didn't stand around a lot.

The neat thing was Bill's insistence that we make it "look pretty" - that just getting the job done shouldn't be enough.  There was more to this than the paycheck.  Or, more precisely, the cash he doled out at the end of each day.  

Now that I think of it it strikes me that maybe he was trying to teach us something, pass on wisdom as an elder - or a father - conscious or not. I never heard that there was a "Mrs. Bill Haney" - I'm sure there probably was and I'm equally sure that it's no damned business of mine.

Still, he made it a point to give us a chance to do really good work.  Maybe I learned more from that job than I thought.  The Valiant Knights won second place in the 1975 VFW nationals in LA that year, though everyone else was at DCI in Philadelphia, the first PBS broadcast - but my first thought, when my parents came to collect me afterwards, was to take them to ride on that silly train.

I still think well of the experience - a Google satellite photo is here.  You can just make out the train line.

Perhaps this is a reflection of the fascination with trains I've had since childhood.  

I suppose it all served to move me to head down to the Fore River waterfront - the part along Commercial Street that has no lobster pounds, no boat chandleries, no antique shops - the part that has pretty much nothing but scrub growth and rusting metal left from it's days as a switching yard for the Grand Trunk Railroad.

A warm day, a very clear day.  The railyard lies below the level of Commercial Street, next to the river.  One rusted spur leads to a gas tank farm but I don't see that it's been used in a long, long time.  Looking close at the rails will show one set with just a touch less rust.  Just a touch.

You can see where multiple lines used to be.  Certain sections twist and turn - one striking section is a series of "S" curves.  

The yard expands out for a quarter-mile - then condenses again, down by the Merril Docks, heading under Route One and the Veteran's Bridge.  The bridge pilings are covered in impressive graffiti - lost declarative artworks seen only by other taggers, wharf rats and the occasional nosy-parker with a camera and a free afternoon.

I wonder at how much traffic those lines must have carried - they represent a substantial infrastructural investment.  And now they are falling to ruin - I'd say "seed" if they weren't all made of cast steel.

Set aside the question of what we have gained or lost by industrialization.  Just think about the good work of the ones who laid that rail, who made it "look pretty".

I wonder at what Bill Haney would have said about it.

TML 10, Audience 8

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So here I am, liveblogging from the NorthStar.  

M and Professor L gave a great lesson and as I write there are 5 couples on the floor, all of them with at least one beginner.

A very nice crowd - and more so, since our local tango orchestra, Tango Much Labia, seems to be taking the night off.

I am not surprised as this is the first full week of school; the violinist teaches at the local school system and if it were me I'd take the night off too.  They will be back in two weeks.  

I hope.

TML is a game bunch and very talented, to boot.  I've written seven or eight tangos with them in mind - or ear.  Not all are performed but they are seriously considered.  There isn't time to play every clever piece that comes down the pike.

My friends played a part in last weekend's shennanigans up in Thomaston.  They provided the first night of music for Saltwater Tango and also played on Labor Day at the Picnic for Alternative Energy in Union.

I suppose there are lot's of reasons to take an alternative approach to Labor Day.  Anything that takes away from an holiday ("a holiday"?) meant to make American celebrations of labor a part of the agenda of industrialists is a good thing in my book.

This particular event was about as alternative as they come.  For one thing it was so alternative that no-one seemed to know about it.  For another it struck me as strange that the second thing set up (besides a rather nice portable stage/sound system) was a large gas-fired outdoor barbecue immediately employed to start scorching beef for alternative burgers.

Or maybe they were cleverly disguised ears of corn.  I don't know.  I suppose they were using propane as an alternative to using wood.  I never would have thought of that.  Perhaps if I thought less then global warming would go away.

Or not.

TML played a solid set very much like those we hear at the NorthStar - considering the venue that seemed a good choice.  Additional support came in the form of 6 demonstration dancers (a demonstration - you see, it really was "alternative") who danced to the music.

I was thinking fast enough to set my laptop up in front of a speaker in an attempt to capture some audio from the gig.  The sound was not the best, of course, but the parts were all there.

It was one of those strange affairs made up of having a crowd smaller than the performing ensemble.

There was every good chance that more people would have shown up in time, I mean, what with the barbecue and all, but I didn't have time to wait.  Sadly TML opted to be foolishly professional, both starting and ending on time, leaving the potential for a larger crowd for later groups.

What is the moral of this story? 

Hell, I have no idea.

Let us pause for a moment ...

Many of my students will know this name - Don, you only became famous in the last few years, but we're still gonna miss you.  Vaya con Dios, amigo.

See more funny videos at Funny or Die

Things I look at on the way to someplace else

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Labor Day - actually, the Sunday before Labor Day - was spent in Rockland, as I said before.  The weather was perfect, breathtaking; almost - almost - making up for all of the scrabulous weekends that had gone before it, for almost the entire Summer.

I'd had to work Saturday, a very productive and enjoyable session.  For better or ill it kept me from being in the mix of Saltwater Tango from the beginning.  Had it been a more formal occasion - had there been any hint of formality from the beginning - I might have reacted differently.

But, everyone was so comfortable with each other by Sunday that a powerful sense of intrusion overcame me.  A great part of my psyche is invested in seeing myself as an "other".  This feeling has been with me from early, early childhood.

This can be a tremendous source of strength.  My imagination is free to see outside corners, around boxes - something like that.  It's hard to institutionalize myself purely for the sake of institutionalization.

This doesn't mean being insensitive to any team I'm on - I'm just an individual first, a team member second - a team is a context for me to be myself.

But in social situations this is sometimes a little hard to pull off.   Like last Sunday.

So, rather than suffer from my own discomfort (I'm sure everyone else was OK with me, I just wasn't OK with myself being there) I hied my way out of there.

And that brings us to the subject of this particular post.  

Since childhood, comma, I've also had a fascination with trains and train tracks, switches and gondola cars.  I suppose it all traces back to my uncle Louis Benge, on my dad's side, the one who married Aunt Aunie (or Aunniseekit, to use the full Cherokee).

Uncle Louis worked for the Midland Valley Railroad as a brakeman.  It was he who gave me a genuine brakeman's lantern when I was a child; two bulbs, red and white on the bottom, a space for a huge nine-volt battery inside, which we could never afford to fill.

There was a train track in our neighborhood in Tulsa, the Midland Valley line running behind Lee School and into downtown.  

I loved walking it, looking at the bridge and ladders crossing 15th Street, the incredible switches that moved whole sections of track.

So saying, I'd noticed the Maine Eastern Railroad yard - or more of a "wide spot" - from the street leading to and from the tango site and my digs in Rockland.  Couldn't resist.  There was brilliant sun, lots of old metal to see, an engine, tank cars, a snow plow and a genuine roundhouse with a table.

It was lovely - and engaging in a solitary way.  Enough so that I'd had my fill of being by myself and was ready for the socialization of the evening.  My pal Adira had to drag me into the mix but it was easy to cross that line back into the human race.

There are many places for me to be - with my friends, my new co-workers, my close friends and with myself.  It has to be that way or I cannot be the person I'm capable of.  

If there is a simpler way to live one's life, I don't think I have time to hear it.

The Last Beach Day

I admit it.  Sometimes this whole "new job" thing seems really weird.  

It's a great deal of fun, even if it's not the most sensible financial decision I've ever made - and that is saying something.

There was a discussion of this earlier this evening.

Myself, aged 52, my German friend E, aged 42. and his daughter J. aged 7.  The three of us sat in their garden in  the deepening twilight, toasting the day and our return from Crescent Beach in Cape Elizabeth.

E. and I had adult beverages, J. was toasting with a bottle of imported orange soda.

It was a very interesting conversation - at least between J. and I.  She was just entering 2nd. grade - I was entering the first Fall since the age of 5 without a school to go to.

Forty-seven years in school.  She said she could count to forty seven.  I instantly took her word, cutting her off in mid-demonstration.

I told them both it felt very strange, kind of neat - and also kind of scary.

J. nodded and took a contemplative sip of her orange soda.

We had spent the previous couple of hours at the beach.  Today was the first day of classes for all three of the kids - J. being the middle, M. being older and T. just starting in nursery school.  Their father suggested we all go in order to enjoy such a lovely, clear day - and to give his wife a much-deserved rest.

The sky at Crescent beach was cloudless - I enjoyed lying on the warm sand, listening to the waves, looking at imaginary animals in the sky.  

It was very warm and I'd not been to the beach at all this Summer.  Not having a bike has made it more difficult.

If I have time over the next few days - Saturday and Sunday look to be rainy - I'm going to head back out and see what I've been missing.

To top it all I had finished my training today.  The next time we meet is in the store, starting the process of final stocking, getting ready for what is guaranteed to be a complete riot of an opening.  

So tomorrow is more cleaning, then some friends are playing at the Longfellow - I and another friend are going to record and photograph the show.  Nice way to say goodbye to wearing white trousers.

Summer, thy name is Rockland

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I have driven through Rockland over the years, mostly on my way to Camden which, besides being the film location for the movie "Peyton Place", is more "beautiful" in a kind of Disneyland New England kind of way; Rockland is still very much a working seaport and the starting point for ferry trips to Vinalhaven and other islands.

The Labor Day weekend provided a good excuse to run from Portland ("Silicon Harbor") and the intense training sessions we've been having.  The Store is gearing up.  The tension is palpable.

I'm having the best time I've had in years.

TImes being what they are I wouldn't be caught dead in the town during any other time.  Ah, but Labor Day - or during the quiet season when the leaves are gone and the snows have not yet fallen - those are different matters. 

Now is that magic time that is the very last clear time of Summer.  We've had a notoriously soggy Summer up here - rain almost every weekend; the farmers are afraid for certain crops.

Lettuce seems to have been particularly hard-hit.

TML and BigB hosted an event called "Saltwater Tango", a sort of Summer camp for tangueros - two nights of dancing with camping in the yard of our host, an affable fellow named George.

It was held in a combination house and boathouse on the waterfront of Thomaston.  The top level was for living - and dancing - and the bottom held the business-end of a good carpentry shop.

George and I had a good chat about how our particular stomping grounds had changed - his being Rockland, mine being Tulsa - over the years.  

Change is change - some of it bad, some good - and I hope it's all welcome change.

I also did get a chance to browse around the town.  There is a boardwalk around part of the harbor and it afforded some dramatic views.

You can see much the same from places in Portland, of course - but the context and land were different.

Besides an evening of wonderful dancing I had a chance to indulge my interest in old trains.

Seeing TML play at the Picnic for Alternative Energy was also a not-to-be-missed experience.

Have to run to work now - more later.  This is fun.

Nothing Kills a Man Faster Than Leisure

Thank you, Oscar Wilde.

Work has been an endless series of enlightening challenges.  I'm glad I have a Farmer's Market to run to.

There is a decidedly different feel to the Farmer's Market today.  The energy is a little more diffuse - though the prices on tomatoes have dropped (at some dealers) and corn is slightly cheaper. 

It feels as if the Market is coasting - that the motor has lost it's Summer-sun source of power.  I like it, it's that strange moment of transition again, the moment when the waters hang between ebb and flow, the tide is neither in nor out.

At work we are now past the offcial training stage and getting into things that are specific to our particular store - and the community within it.

I like this kind of stuff.  Sharing with people, the process of getting to know them is pleasant - the way a hot bath feels after you've been doing a lot of hot work - the very feeling is refreshing and you become better at using your energy.

If I have time here I'll post about the Labor Day weekend.  It was filled with work and with fun - and a bit of travel - the only travel I've done all summer.

Still, for just this moment - the one that passed between the "t's" and the "-" I am quiet and struck by the diversity and activity that surrounds me.