Some Duluthians think getting “bridged” is a bad thing. For me it was another of the many experiences I had on my Minnesota trip that brought up fond memories. I was in a car with my friends Don and Diane Langlee when we got “bridged.” Don was my seventh grade math teacher (yes, really!). I was hospitalized in seventh grade and out of school for months. “Mr. Langlee” volunteered to tutor me in math at home. He got to know my family. He and my dad had a lot in common, both true connoisseurs of the great outdoors. Don and Diane met at UMD (the University of Minnesota, Duluth) at about the same time that my sister Linda and l were going to college there. They fell in love and got married. I never imagined, when I was a seventh grader sitting in his classroom, that I would be in their car waiting for the Aerial Bridge to do it’s thing over 60 years later. The Aerial Bridge is a unique structure that connects the main part of Duluth to Park Point, a massive sand bar that creates the Duluth Harbor. In the early days of Duluth, a canal was dug through Park Point to make it possible for ships to go directly into the harbor rather than all the way around Park Point where rival neighboring city, Superior, Wisconsin had it’s own harbor. There is a lot of local lore about how the canal was dug under the cover of darkness so that Duluth would get the advantage over Superior in the shipping biz. The bridge was a later addition built so that the people living on Park Point could get across the canal easier. Structurally, the Aerial Bridge is a steel arch with a section of road that raises and lowers to allow boats to go through. It is the quintessential symbol of Duluth. Tourists and native Duluthians alike flock to Canal Park to watch it go up and down. The process starts with warning bells to alert the car traffic that the bridge is about to be closed off. Then it slowly raises the roadway to allow the ships to glide under the bridge, looking like giant sky scrapers on the move. As the ships pass through the bridge they salute with loud blasts from their horns and the bridge answers back. Then the roadway slowly lowers back into position. If you are just watching this for fun, it’s a spectacular ritual that screams “This is Duluth!” If you are in a car waiting for the bridge to open again it’s called “getting bridged” and can be very irritating if you are trying to go somewhere. I was in a car with Don and Diane, waiting to get back across the bridge from Park Point, but not in any hurry. For me, “getting bridged” was a wonderful reminder of old times that touched my heart and made me love Duluth all over again. Watching a ship go under the Aerial Bridge was just one of the special things I did in Duluth. Don and Diane made it possible for me to explore all of the places I remember and some new ones too. They took me to my old neighborhood and drove by the two houses I grew up in, circling around through the alleys several times as if we were casing them. We drove up the north shore (of Lake Superior) to Gooseberry park where my family had picnics in the good-old-days. We checked out my old schools. Denfeld High School is still standing, but the elementary school/junior high, where I sat in Don’s class, is now an open field with tennis courts next to a newly built elementary school. Diane took me to a women’s art show that was inspiring on so many levels, both creatively and emotionally. The two of us walked through the Rose Garden and she took a picture of me with Leif Erikson, the Viking who discovered America (actually it was his statue). We went to the cemetery where my Mom’s family are buried. I remember going there with Mom and Dad. They tended the flower basket while my sisters Sue and Linda and I explored. I was fascinated by the names and dates of the people buried there, imagining stories about them. I still love to research family stories and genealogy. We hit all of the hot spots in Duluth, Skyline Parkway and Seven bridges road where the views of the city and Lake Superior are unbelievable, Lincoln Park where Lin and I marveled at the giant “Elephant Rock” when we were toddlers, Sammy’s Pizza where we gathered with our friends in junior high and high school after football games and school events. Don and Diane gave me a whirlwind tour of Duluth, but just having breakfast with them was fun too. We talked about all the changes we have seen through the years and compared notes on retirement. It’s a little weird, but nice, that we are all very senior citizens now. In a way, it felt like we were creating our own bridges between the past and present. It has been a long journey from my days in Junior High and I am lucky to have such wonderful friends to share it with.
0 Comments
An Epic Journey to DuluthInstead of flying from Minneapolis to Duluth I decided to take a bus. I haven’t taken a bus trip in a long time and, although I had some misgivings, I knew it would be an adventure. It far surpassed my expectations. This is my story of an epic bus trip.
Chapter One: Delayed Before We Even Started As I was waiting for my Uber driver to pick me up at the motel and take me to the Minneapolis bus terminal, I got a call from the bus company. My bus had been canceled but there was another bus two hours later. OOOOOKAY. . . It was too late to cancel Uber so off I went, like Frodo heading to Mount Doom. Actually I had a very nice driver who was a retired teacher, like me. We discussed the challenges of teaching on the way to the station. Chapter Two: Hanging Out at the Bus Station I did not know what to expect at the Minneapolis bus station. I had been warned that it might not be in a great neighborhood, which from past experiences could have been a possibility, but it did not live up to those negative predictions. It was big and airy with a friendly security guard checking to make sure everyone had tickets and knew where they were going. I settled in to a functioning but not very comfortable bench. The terminal was a people watcher’s paradise. People of every age, body type, race, and culture wandered in and out. A woman in a full-on burka strolled by, as well as an Amish family. The Amish women were dressed in matching dark dresses with black bonnets. Even the baby-in-arms was wearing a miniature version of her Mom’s bonnet. The men had what looked like Prince Valiant haircuts sticking out of their straw hats. They all had beards. It looked to me like the older gentleman dyed his hair. It was totally black compared to his grey beard. I talked to a woman who sat next to me. She had an interesting collage she was carrying in an open box. I told her I liked it, which started a long conversation about the hospital therapy class where she made the collage and other crafts. I learned about her five husbands, at least one of whom was deceased, and her son with Asperger's. I was starting to feel lost in info-overload when her bus arrived and off she went with her box. All of a sudden people were lining up at nearly every gate. In a short period of time the whole place emptied except for me and two young women. We were all going to Duluth on the delayed bus. They were on a vacation adventure. Although they lived in the Minneapolis area they had never been to Duluth. I applauded their choice of a motel at canal park, located right on the lake, and we talked for a while about Duluth, teaching (one of them was a teacher), aging (I was about the age of their moms), and the frustrations of traveling by bus. Chapter Three: More Delays More people wandered in as it was getting close to the scheduled departure time but there was no bus. We started checking the on-line bus tracker. Each time I looked, the departure time got later and later. People were starting to mumble their disapproval. An older guy told me he was two days behind on his planned trip because of cancelations. He had arrived in Minneapolis the night before. The depot was closed and he had to sleep on the street. I was starting to contemplate if there was anything in my suitcase that might work for bedding. Finally the bus showed up, two hours behind schedule. Chapter Four: Lost in Saint Paul There were a few muffled cheers as we loaded onto the bus. Expectations were high. Unfortunately we had barely gotten started when I heard the bus driver telling someone from the company that he was lost. Evidently freeway construction detours had confused him. We were treated to an unplanned but interesting tour of some neighborhoods in Saint Paul that reminded me of Duluth. We wound our way through a residential area while the driver followed directions he was receiving over the phone. Finally we landed at the St Paul bus terminal and picked up a few more passengers. Chapter Five: I-35: Once out of The Twin Cities, which is what Minnesotans call Minneapolis and St Paul, we encountered the natural wonder that is I-35, the freeway between Minneapolis and Duluth. The main thing you see on this road are trees, lots and lots of trees. Aspen, birch, pine, maple, and other trees I couldn’t identify lined the entire three-hour route. Trees edged the scattered farms just north of Minneapolis and then grew in number as we headed further north, where the trees became forests and the farms disappeared. The amount of greenery along I-35 cannot be imagined. Somewhere along the way there were some small towns but I couldn’t see them because of the trees. The bus didn’t stop at any of them. The driver was catching up for lost time. We zoomed along, passing a variety of cars and trucks, mostly semis and pickups. Some of the pickups were attached to travel trailers headed for a vacation in the Northland, probably at one of Minnesota’s 10,000 lakes. The sky was a blue canvas dotted with the same puffy white clouds I had seen on my flight into Minneapolis, except this time I was seeing them from a different perspective. It was beautiful, and I was happy that I had decided to take the bus, despite all of the delays. It brought back memories of a car trip to Duluth I had made with my sister Linda. I imagined her looking down from the clouds and smiling. Chapter Six: Arriving in Duluth I knew we were getting close to Duluth when we passed the Black Bear Casino run by the indigenous community. It signaled that we would soon be approaching my favorite part of the trip. Duluth sits on the side of a giant rocky hill created by the glaciers millions of years ago. It overlooks Lake Superior, which is one of the largest freshwater lakes in the world. There is a 700 foot drop from the top of the hill to the lake. I anticipated that magical moment when we would go over the crest of the hill and see the city spread out below. The view always gives me heart palpitations. It didn’t disappoint even though it was partially blocked by the bus seats. Off in the distance I could see the harbor and the Aerial Bridge, a unique lift bridge that defines the city like the Eiffel Tower defines Paris. Behind it, Lake Superior spread out to the horizon. Even though I have not lived in Duluth for 50 years, I knew I was home. I have mixed feelings about flying. There’s the fear part, especially with take-offs and landings, and then the magical experience of floating above the clouds. My recent flight from San Jose to Minnesota had very little of the fear and a lot of the floaty feelings. Perhaps part of feeling floaty was the fact that I was up at 2:00am getting ready for a 6:15am flight. I ended up sleeping a good part of the trip. I did wake up periodically to watch the scenery glide by my window, below the edge of the wing. It evolved from the stark, barren, oddly pink blob of the Great Salt Lake to a lush green patchwork of midwestern farms. Above the farms were hundreds of neatly spaced cloud pillows. I looked for recognizable shapes and thought I saw Elvis in the distance, waving a tiny arm at me. I knew we were in Minnesota when the lakes started to appear. Minnesota is “the land of 10,000 lakes” and I had a unique view of quite a few of them. As we approached the airport we circled around what I think was the Mississippi River and then flew right over the top of it, close enough to pick out individual trees in the islands. My heart felt the joy of coming home. I made an excellent choice to arrange to have a wheelchair take me from the gate to baggage. This was a new experience. The last time I flew I was a bit startled when I checked in and the person at the counter asked if I needed help. I didn’t realize how much I look like a little old lady even though I call myself one all the time. For this trip I embraced my oldness. The fact that I almost fell over trying to wedge myself out of my seat into the aisle to depart, was a sign I had made a good decision about the wheelchair. There was a line of helpful people with empty chairs waiting right outside the plane door. I snagged one and off we went, scooting up the ramp to the terminal. I had an inner desire to yell “Weeeeeee!” but I stifled it. We zoomed past other passengers making their way through the maze that is the Minneapolis airport. I was happy I didn’t have to try to figure out where I was. The attendant asked if I wanted to stop at the bathroom. Thank God! I had been trying to decide how to broach the subject. By the time we got to the carousel, most of the other passengers had already grabbed their bags so it was easy to spot my suitcase with the white duct tape I had strategically placed on the handles. A hop, skip, and a jump and we were out the door to the pickup area. It was the easiest, fastest, and most fun arrival I have ever had. I was greeted by my long-time friend Jean and her husband John. Jean and I have known each other since kindergarten, and maybe even before kindergarten since we both remember Maybelle Peterson, who was a preschool teacher at Sunday School. I have so many fond memories of Jean and it was great to see her in person again. The three of us went to see the new Elvis movie and then out to dinner. Perhaps my vision of Elvis in the clouds was a premonition. After I was tucked into the fold-out sofa bed in Jean’s spare room, I marveled at the gift of getting older and all the years of memories we shared. I am so glad I set aside my fear of flying, and other fears, to make this trip. Am I open for an adventure? As I contemplate how to get from Minneapolis to Duluth on my upcoming trip, my fears are starting to take over. Should I take the expensive, but comfy and convenient plane, or the cheap, but possibly challenging bus. In my younger days, I took many bus trips. Several times I went from Duluth to Detroit by Greyhound. It was a twelve-hour long haul with many stops. I remember leaving at night and riding through the U.P. in the dark (for those unfamiliar with the Northland, the U.P. is the upper peninsula of Michigan). I spent several hours of that trip trying to keep some strange guy from falling asleep on my shoulder. I also remember another bus trip that was wonderful. There were only a handful of people on board and we bonded when we stopped for dinner at a small restaurant. One of the passengers was a middle-aged Indian who was traveling from reservation to reservation to take part in a series of potlatch celebrations. It was fascinating listening to his stories. He was a living history lesson. I need to remember that this trip isn’t a twelve-hour trek at night through the U.P., it’s a three-hour drive on Highway 35 in broad daylight. I traveled this same route in a rental car with my sister, Linda, several years ago. It’s beautiful and woodsy with very few other vehicles on the road. So what are my fears? Covid is a big one. Buses are not equipped with the kind of ventilation systems as airplanes, even though Greyhound swears that “cabin air is replaced every five minutes with fresh air, maximizing the circulation of fresh air around the cabin.” I hope Jefferson Lines has the same ventilation system as Greyhound. I do have an N95 mask that I will be wearing on the flight to Minneapolis, and I can wear one on the bus too, but I am a bit leery about being with a group of potential virus carriers in an enclosed bus. This is crazy. I know I am trying to anticipate all of the things that could go wrong and wrest control from the fickle finger of fate. It’s not realistic. When I was young, overly naive, and clueless, I drove my Volkswagen square-back from California to Minnesota, by myself, with a sleeping bag in the back. I camped out at KOA Campgrounds and slept in the back of my car. I wouldn’t even think of doing something like that now, but I don’t want to shy away from the possibility of an adventure, however small. That’s what made me finally settle on taking the bus, the possibility of an adventure. I have no idea what kind of exciting things could happen on a three-hour bus ride, but I am going to find out. Even if all I do is admire the scenery and imagine riding this same road with Lin, it will be a different experience than gazing down at a miniature Minnesota scene from a plane. Minnesota here I come! I want to travel again. The fear of Covid is going away even though the actual Covid isn’t. I have been comfortably cocooning in my safe world for a long time, but lately I have also been opening up to the idea of an adventure. When I got an invitation to my cousin’s 50th wedding anniversary celebration, I said yes. It’s a golden opportunity to see my cousins and their families and to return, if only for a short time, to Minnesota, land of 10,000,000 lakes and land of my youth. Travel challenges my body, mind, and soul. I have a bit of fear connected to it. I get adrenaline surges about where to go, how to get there with minimal stress, and how to feel safe and have fun at the same time. It’s a time to learn and grow in a way that doesn’t happen when I am sitting around watching TV with a cat in my lap. This trip is an opportunity to explore new places and new experiences, and also to connect to the past and revisit old memories. I am very excited about celebrating this milestone with my cousin, being with my Minnesota family and friends, and embracing my midwestern roots. I wish that I could share this trip with my twin sister Linda, but she is gone. This time I will be traveling alone. I have traveled by myself before, but this feels different. It makes me miss her even more. I have so many great memories of our times together on the road. We flew to Disney World in the middle of a thunderstorm. We navigated our way from Detroit to Philadelphia to celebrate the release of her daughter’s “No Good Sister” CD. We drove to Georgia for the funeral and burial of her husband, Steve, and made a random stop to see Colonel Sanders’ first restaurant. It lifted our spirits and made us smile. We did a car trip to LA for our 70th birthday and got a giant, furry hug from Chewbacca at Star Wars in Disneyland. Sometimes we got on each other’s nerves but we also laughed a lot. I have never laughed as hard as I did when Lin and I were together. The last time I went to Minnesota, I went with Lin to our 50th high school reunion. We stayed at a motel right on the water, where we had a view of the city and watched the ships coming into the harbor. They were so close that it seemed we could almost touch them. I will never forget the beauty of the city lights sparkling on the water at night. We were looking at our hometown from a perspective we hadn’t seen before. Traveling with Lin was so easy. We each took a part and shared responsibilities for driving and navigating. We had about the same degree of stamina and seemed to run out of steam at the same time. We both loved museums especially when there were historical reenactors in costumes who made us feel like we were living history. What I will miss the most is the shared joy. The hardest part of traveling alone is experiencing something special but not having anyone to enjoy it with. This trip will be a whole new experience for me. Although I will be doing it by myself, I won’t be alone. I will be with my Minnesota friends and family. And even though Lin won’t be with us in person, she will definitely be in my heart and mind. For a look at one of our car trips check out this link. Linda wrote part of this blog when we drove to Duluth for our high school reunion in September 2016. You can also access it in the archive.
http://lolwc.weebly.com/blog/on-the-road-agai… My twin sister and I drove highway 35 from Minneapolis to Duluth yesterday, headed to our 50th high school reunion. As we zoomed along in our rented Prius we were filled with warm toasty feelings, having just spent two days with one of our best high school buds. The Minnesota scenery rolled by. Maple, aspen, and birch trees just starting to change into their fall colors contrasted with Christmas tree shaped pines.
We have a room right next to the Aerial Bridge, a famous Duluth landmark, and last night we were treated to a spectacular view of the glowing Bridge and the city lights reflected in the water of the harbor. That of course was after we went to the funeral home. This was not part of our planned visit. We had seen in the online newspaper that a close friend of my parents had died the day we arrived in Minnesota and that a viewing with her family and friends was happening the day we would get to Duluth. How could we not go? My sister wrote a wonderful description of the experience: "I don't have a bucket list. I have more of a sandbox pail list of things I wanted to do when limited by caregiving. So this trip feels more like a mini European vacation in the USA. This is a side of Duluth we are experiencing for the first time - amazing and weird. We went to Bell Brothers (funeral home) to the viewing of the 100 year old most beautiful woman I have ever known. It was packed - but the kids of Lorna and her sister recognized us and were so happy to reconnect. It was this Lorna/Lornie, Millie/Reuben, Inez/Howard, and Jane/Bob who partied with peanut butter sandwiches, coffee and cards during the depression. It was at Lorna's, a few days before our birth, where Mom said she felt she had arms and legs all over. We went up to Lorna's every New Year's Eve and played cards. We had picnics in Jay Cook State Park. Dad still wrote to Lorna (who quit driving at 95) until his death. What are the odds of Lorna passing so we could go to Bell Brothers?" - Linda This trip is about so much more than just our high school reunion. It is a chance to go back to the land of our youth, to marvel at the way things have changed and the way they have remained the same, and to see things from a different perspective. We are keeping ourselves open to whatever the universe has in store for us and we are ready to look back with older eyes. ![]() Lately I have found myself curiously interested in meeting someone to date. I’m not thinking major romance exactly, just going to the movies or out for dinner. The last time I remember actively pursuing dating was so long ago that I put an ad in the singles section of my local newspaper. There were no internet dating sites because there was no internet. The newspaper process was similar to internet dating. Most of the people in the ads were looking for someone athletic and thin with “no baggage.” I used to feel bad that I was not athletic or thin, and embarrassed that I had baggage, but lately I’ve begun seeing myself in a different way. Everyone has baggage at my age. My main baggage when it comes to dating is that I haven’t had a serious romantic relationship for almost 40 years and I haven't really dated in the last 15 years. That’s a fairly sizable bag. I would surely consider it a humongous red flag if someone I might be interested in dating told me this. It does conjure up the most negative aspects of being a "little old lady with cats," however I don't feel that it makes me a poor dating prospect. Despite the fact that I haven’t been romantically involved with anyone in a long time, I have had an abundance of love in my life. Over the last 40 years I have connected with people who I love and who love me, including my family, friends, and housemates. I have shared births, deaths, marriages and divorce, life threatening illnesses, travels all over the world, celebrations, earthquakes and tornados, and all of the mundane ups and downs of life with the people I love. I have grown and changed because of the people I love and the experiences they have led me through (sometimes kicking and screaming) that have enriched my life. Just because these experiences didn’t involve a significant other doesn’t mean they were any less meaningful.
Like a schoolgirl asked to write about her summer vacation I feel compelled to document the highlights of my trip to Washington D.C. (It goes without saying that my nephew's wedding ceremony and reception were the absolute pinnacle of wonderfulness). - scroll over for picture captions - We rode on a bus. I got a chance to go with the wedding party to take photos at some of the classic sights in DC including the war memorial where John proposed to Julia, the Supreme Court building, the tidal basin where there were still a few cherry blossoms, and several other scenic spots. John and Julia did a "first look" of each other in their wedding finery at the war memorial. It was soooooo romantic. It got less romantic as the temperature rose, but while the happy couple and their attendants were out getting roasted on the marble steps of the Supreme Court building, we were in an air conditioned bus. We saw the Capitol. My sister and I got a personal tour of the Capitol from a lovely young intern of my State Representative. I remember being that young once. All the opportunities of the future are spreading out before you. She had just graduated from college and this was her first job. My first job was not this fun. I cried every night for the first month. Despite what my teaching credential said I was not prepared to be the only adult in a roomful of junior high students. She wants to be a teacher too. That's good. After the initial shock, I enjoyed it. I also enjoy being retired. And even if the whole world isn't spreading out before me like this young intern, many new opportunities are in my future. We visited the American History Museum. My sister and I both had this as a high priority of things to do in Washington. We saw an exhibit featuring an entire house that began its life in the 1700's. It was donated to the museum, carefully demolished and rebuilt inside the museum. I wish my Dad had been able to see it. He would have enjoyed examining all the joinery and hand hewn beams. We all would have gotten a kick out of the outhouse, or as he called it, the “privy.” We also saw the real star spangled banner. While my sister and I were resting our sore feet on a bench in the darkened room where it was displayed, a group of about six young girls came in and stood in front of the glass window facing the flag. They sang the entire national anthem in the sweetest, most solemn voices. I applauded when they were done and they thanked me. Next we headed to the First Ladies dress exhibit. My favorite was Mamie Eisenhower's red 1950's ball gown with little cap sleeves. A group of Mennonite women came into the exhibit while we were there. They were dressed in identical traditional long dresses and took pictures of the gowns. You could tell they were really enjoying checking out the fashions even though they would never in a million years wear them. We didn't have enough time to see much of the Presidents exhibit, but we did get a look at the toys of presidential children, including Amy Carter's dollhouse with miniature photos of her and her parents. We were in history heaven. I took another bus ride. I booked a bus tour of the monuments. My sister wasn't able to come so I went by myself. It was supposed to be a three hour tour but the guide mixed the three hour tour people with the six hour tour people and all of a sudden I was on a six hour tour of all the classic Washington sights. I've seen many of them once before on a previous trip, but this was better. The guide seemed to genuinely enjoy sharing what he knew even though he's probably seen these things a billion times. I thought I wasn't going to feel that sense of sadness and despair that I had the first time I saw the Vietnam memorial, but I couldn’t help myself. It's an overwhelming monument. It begins innocuously low to the ground but, as you walk along the wall, it starts to tower over you and the names of the dead grow with every step. I flew home. As I was going through security at the airport I heard people applauding and cheering. It turned out that a group of WWII veterans had arrived on a special flight sponsored by a group called “Honor Flight.” They arrange for veterans to visit Washington D.C. to see the World War II memorial and other monuments free of charge. As each veteran came through the gate they were greeted by a host of volunteers. In the corridor by the gate where they deplaned was a men's chorus singing military songs. Every veteran had a volunteer helper guiding them through the corridor, most of them were in wheelchairs. There were tears and salutes and everyone was taking cellphone pictures of them. I thought of my Dad and all the stories he told about his experiences in the war. I wished he could have done this too. The flight back home was quite bumpy. I don’t like bumpy. I immersed myself in writing some blog entries and low and behold the time literally flew by and before I knew it I was in Phoenix for my connecting flight home. Writing this blog has advantages I hadn’t even thought of. It kept my mind off the turbulence and made me so relaxed that I even fell asleep for a while. I hope I didn’t embarrass myself by snoring.
![]() I knew that there would be a ton of things to learn on my trip to Washington D.C. and I expected to expand my knowledge at the Smithsonian Museums and the National Archives. I didn't expect that just getting from one place to another would be a learning experience too. My sister and I had decided to use cabs as our main form of transportation, especially because it would make it easier for her husband to get around. As it worked out, he fell the day after the wedding and spent most of the trip in the hospital or a hotel room. Gratefully, he is OK. We decided to stick with taxis for transportation even though it was just the two of us. In addition to getting back and forth from the hospital, taking taxis made it possible for us to get in a bit of site seeing together and for me to do some solo exploration. ![]() Here is what I learned by riding in taxis: 1. I became an expert at hailing a taxi. Where I live you CALL a taxi. I have had other people hail a taxi for me but I had never actually done it myself. This was a confidence building experience. I learned to step forward, arm slightly bent, and execute an attention getting wave. My sister called this flapping, which conjures up the image of two beached seagulls pumping their wings up and down. It would definitely get attention, but not the right kind. 2. Gracefully entering a taxi is difficult for a little old lady with cats, and even harder when there are two of them. Gone are the days when a taxi was a regular car. Now taxis come in all sizes, including SUVs that are so high off the ground it takes mountain climbing maneuvers to get into them. I think it would be nice if they hired people to shove you into your taxi, in somewhat the same way that they have people shove you into the subway trains in Japan. Getting into the taxi is not the end of the struggle either. Once inside you have to scoot on your butt all the way over to accommodate the other passenger, like you do getting into a restaurant booth. There is no way to look graceful doing this. 3. You must enunciate your destination very clearly to the taxi driver. Otherwise you could end up in Georgetown instead of at the George Washington University Hospital. They don't sound the same to me but evidently my California accent was difficult for the taxi driver to understand. 4. Conversation with the driver is optional, but can be very enlightening. Basically I want the driver to concentrate on getting me to my destination safely so I would wait for a clue to determine if I should say anything. A driver with earbuds in his ears or the radio tuned to a station that is in some unidentifiable foreign language is an indication they aren't in the mood to talk. I did have some very interesting conversations, however. ![]() One of the drivers was from Ethiopia. He told me they are on a different calendar than we are (who knew?). We talked about all the wealth of information in Washington, and about genealogy and how important families are. Evidently in Ethiopia there are not extensive family records like there are in the U.S. He said he had a Grandmother in Ethiopia who used to tell him stories about her life. I told him I hope he writes them down because those are important stories than need to be saved before they are forgotten. My sister and I rode with a man from the Mideast. There is a large mid-eastern community where my sister lives so they hit it off quite well. He grilled me about the California drought and Governor Jerry Brown, a Democrat. We learned from him that Ronald Reagan, a Republican, was the best President EVER. On my way to the airport to go home I had a native Washingtonian for a driver. I think he was the only driver I had during the trip that was actually from Washington, or at least the only one I talked to. I found out he was 75 and his mother was still alive at 98. Not only that, he was from a family of 12! His mother must have been one tough mama. His youngest sibling was in their late 40's. I could tell he was not very steady on his feet and I felt guilty when he got out of the taxi to deal with my bags. We agreed that it's important to keep busy as you get older and that falling is a big problem. Losing your balance isn't something you think about when you are young, and then BOOM, you're retired and belly down on the sidewalk. We compared injuries. He'd had a concussion; I'd had a broken ankle. I have to say I enjoyed my cab rides as much as I did seeing the sites of Washington. As my sister said when I told her about the driver from Ethiopia " 'The better to write about.' said the Blog Wolf." |
Leslie Masona woman in search of her post-retirement future Guess what! By subscribing, you get notices about the latest Little Old Lady with Cats posts sent to your mailbox!
* * *
The Book Naked Little Old Lady with Cats A collection of Little Old Lady with Cats blogs * * *
WHAT IS A LITTLE OLD LADY WITH CATS - REALLY?
(from an entry posted on 5/1/2015) “I definitely fit some of the characteristics of a little old lady with cats: Retired - check, Single - check, Like to knit - check, Have cats - check. . .I do not want to get stuck in my Little Old Lady persona, however. In fact, this blog is a risk taking experiment in exploring and redefining what I want my retired life to look like.” Categories
All
Archive
June 2024
|