Morning in a new locale....a VERY bad day

Dec. 22, 2013 – 9:00 a.m.

It’s going to be an interesting few months.

I am back in Georgia for the first time. My previous ventures have been along the coast via I-95. This time, I’m about 50 miles below the western North Carolina border at Unicol State Park, which is located near a small tourist trap town named Helen. I will be wintering here through the end of March when I plan to take a one-month Southeastern sojourn en route to Wall, SD where I will again spend the summer.

It is about 9 a.m. and I arrived last night in darkness after a terrifying trip over a mountain with incredibly tight turns. It was at night, raining and fog was dense. The curves were sudden and sharp and, filled with too much caffeine to begin with, trying to maneuver a trailer both up and down the mountain became a constant series of getting too close to the edge of the road and a rollover and suddenly finding myself in the middle of the road with oncoming traffic.

Normally one would find road signs warning of the curves. But it was dark and I found few. I finally realized my GPS was showing me where the curves were and I used it to help guide me down the mountain with great care. My top speed was perhaps 15 miles per hour.

When I arrived at the park, I went to the lodge to check in. The lodge is a very nice place which is also the local wedding and business meeting venue. I checked in and then went to the section of the park where I would be staying.

The two campground host sites are at the start of the camping area and, fortunately, one of the hosts was there and welcomed me. There are two problems with my site. First, it is a back-in type rather than a pull through. I am not very good at backing the trailer in. In fact, I’m horrible at it. Second, to make things worse, the location of the electric and water system is at the very front of the site. But all RVs and trailers have their electric and water lines at the rear. I suspect I am going to have to buy an extension cord – a very expensive proposition for a 30-amp line. I’ll wait for that and use a standard 15-amp line until after Christmas, as I won’t be in the area for a few days as I visit my friends for the holiday.

And since it was so dark, I simply pulled in instead of backing in and connected my electric. And so, as the rain continues, it remains dark this morning. I look at the road with a bit of trepidation as it is narrow and there are trees on the other side. I say to myself: “self, you got in here last night so you should be able to get back out.”

I’m going to wait until it gets lighter before attempting to do so.

I look out my window and see the mountain I came down. It is not as large as the Rockies, but it is certainly large enough. And I realize that either my damn fool luck continued or angels were guiding my path. In this case, I’ll lean towards the angels.

So the tasks for today are to back in and then set up the trailer. That’s more work than it sounds like because things tend to fall down when you are driving. A tight turn, for example, can mean your food pushes too hard against the cabinet door and it opens, spilling things. Fortunately, the jar of spaghetti sauce didn’t break open. I also have to unsecure and set up a number of items.

After that, I’ll head into town. Helen is a small town that re-invented itself as a Bavarian village. It hosts various festivals and during the autumn foliage season is packed with visitors from Atlanta.

Dec. 22, 2013 – 7:30 a.m.

Did I mention I suck at backing up?

The site is large and after a few tries, I was able to back the trailer back on the road, which is quite narrow. And so began my efforts to back it up. I really don’t know where to start. By that I mean on the road. And even after 3 years of trailer living, I don’t know how much to turn the steering wheel.

And so, low on gas anyhow, I tried backing in several different times. There were poles on each side of the site, road signs, etc and I managed to miss all of them. On about the fifth try, I finally got the trailer in the exact angle I wanted, and the back wheels of the trailer slipped off the road. The rains, nearly constant for the past 24 hours, turned the ground into mud and as one of my tires went off the road, it skidded and jackknifed. 

About the only thing preventing the trailer from going down the road and smashing into the trees is a small stump. This is a possible problem as it may be an issue in getting towed out.

I called my insurance company, which includes road service and they are sending a truck out from a town that is around an hour away. That was about an hour and a half ago. If this is not a state maintained road, the insurance company says, I’ll have to pay for the tow. And just the other day, I paid off the credit card. They’re also bringing some gas, which I have to pay for.

Anyhow, at the moment, I’m waiting and waiting and there is a zombie next to me. He isn’t really a zombie, I think, but he is tall, lean and gaunt with a fairly large goatee. He has dark shadows under his eyes. He looks like something out of a horror movie or, this being the south, (name of movie), He is in the maintenance department of the park and he has to wait for the truck to arrive.

Did I say my stint here was going to be “interesting?” Every fiber of my being wants to flee and head for the coast where it’s warmer and I know the people there.

Dec. 22, 2013 – 3:43 p.m.

Did I mention I suck at backing up? Well how about driving forward?

Yes, the tow truck did arrive and yes I was pulled out safely without damage to the truck or trailer and yes the insurance covered it. So I drove around the loop back to my site and I asked zombie man to help me back up. I couldn’t do it.

And so, giving up in frustration, I went around the loop again and pulled into the site. Clipping the water/electric line with the trailer.

Naturally, the trailer was damaged. In fact, so was the chain saw I had used to remove a stump that was in the way of the tow. The door to the storage area was completely destroyed and the post that holds up the awning was ripped off and so I had to spend more than an hour reporting the claim to GEICO. The lady who took my claim had to read off many things to make the claim legal. The result of this is I have to call a number for an RV specialist in Macon tomorrow. So I sit here in near darkness (the rain continues to pour and the sun is beginning to disappear) with no water or electric.

A trailer has three energy systems. The first is standard electric. The second is battery power, which will enable lights and a few other things, but not the AC outlets that include microwave, television and other appliances. The third system is propane gas, which powers the stove and, when electric is down when travelling, the refrigerator. So dinner is going to be something out of a can cooked in a pot that won’t be cleaned. The dog is fine with everything, just laid back and accepting what he can.

But the lack of power also means I can’t recharge the phone. Hopefully I the people will make repairs, but they have been working on this in the rain for hours now without even getting it shut off. And it continues to darken.

In the meantime, the maintenance people are working on fixing the leak. The water is filling up the hole where the damage is as fast as they can pump it and they can’t shut it off. I took my hose and added it to the drainage. Naturally, someone ran over the tip and so it is no longer useful. My other hose is in the storage area, behind the crushed door. I just realized that the tools to put the jacks down and release the safety chains on my hitch are also there. That means I will have to finish the destruction of the door, meaning that I can’t unhitch the truck from the trailer.

I have just made a decision. I’m turning the lights off, having a bag of peanuts for lunch – way overdue and not good for a diabetic. I am going to take a nap. Perhaps it will be over when I wake up.

Did I say my stint here was going to be “interesting?” This is just about the worst day I’ve had on the road. Will someone please explain to me why I decided to leave my comfortable apartment for this life?

Dec. 22, 2013 – 5:00 p.m.

After more than a few anxious moments trying to find an adaptor, I have power back on a limited basis. I have been able to jury-rig a line using standard 15 amp current, the kind in your home, to the neighbor’s power line. At least I won’t have to spend the fast-approaching evening in darkness. My laptop, telephone and ipod are recharging. It is not too cold and I can heat the trailer with gas instead of the portable electric unit I usually use.

The water is finally shut off, but the maintenance crew has now gone off duty. Repairs won’t be completed until the morning. It is inconvenient and really smelly in the bathroom as I had to take a dump.

I was able to break open what is left of the storage door and get the tool I need to unhitch. Hopefully, the morning will bring some calmness.

I am presently eating a cheese sandwich with some juice. Having not eaten all day, my blood sugars became low. And a side effect is intense anxiety. It’s sort of like a major caffeine overdose. I feel myself starting to calm down as the food starts to enter the bloodstream.

I hope to be on my way out of here before noon tomorrow as I will head north, minus the trailer, about 350 miles to visit friends in North Carolina for Christmas. It will be a good time for me as I enjoy being in a house instead of a trailer. I will not be alone and am looking forward to, of all things, a long, long, long tub bath. RVs do not have bathtubs and I haven’t soaked my body since last March when I was doing so every day at an indoor spa at the campground where I was staying.

With all that has happened today, I am doing a re-evaluation of my lifestyle. I have to ask myself if I should stay on the road or find a permanent address. Much will depend on what the adjuster decides. The last time I had minor damage, in the same area in fact, the vehicle was totaled. This was because the wood floor would rot if repaired. I have no idea of what will happen next. If it is totaled, I will have numerous options.

If not, I am pretty much stuck in this lifestyle. I continue to regret my decision to trade in my 2006 pick-up for a new model. The payments on the truck will run another four years and, at the moment, there is not much equity in it. So if I get rid of the trailer, do I also rid myself of the truck?

If I choose to stay in one locale, it would mean getting a far less expensive vehicle in order to pay rent. And it also means an end to the workamping I have done recently. I only took home an extra $7,000 doing this, but it enabled me to pay my travel expenses. When I was in “Geezerland,” the 55+ apartment complex in Port Jervis where I lived, my expenses exceeded my budget. I would have to find something part-time.

Anyhow, this is something I will need to consider only if the trailer is totaled. In the meantime, it is dark and the rain continues to pound on my roof, making it seem like the inside of a drum. It should lull me to sleep as I watch a movie on the laptop. How about that old favorite “Goodfellas?” I can watch someone else have a bad day.

December 23, 2013

4:30 p.m.

It took an entire day to get power. I was supposed to head north to spend Christmas with friends in the morning, but could not until I got power. I couldn't leave without it because it will drop way below freezing and I needed the electric heater to keep the trailer warm enough to not freeze pipes. 

Around 2 p.m., water was restored. And when the people working on it turned on the power, the entire box fried and they had to replace it. By the time I got power, the water appeared to be percolating out of the ground. They tell me they won't turn the power off. 

So after all day, I took off. I needed gas and paid about 20 cents more per gallon in the tourist trap town than another five miles away. After a 330-mile drive, through many country roads as well as the Interstate, I am with my friends -- in a real house -- with a real bathtub! I am wondering why in God's name I want to go back?

Merry Christmas everyone. 

50 Years

It is hard to believe that half a century has passed since the day in Dallas when the President was murdered.

I remember the day vividly. Karen Brown. my lab partner, walked into biology claiming the President was shot. I thought it was one of those wild rumors you here in high school. It wasn't. It was Ironic I also learned about 9/11 in much the same way.

The rumor became fact when Mr. Keogen, the principal, came on the speaker system announcing what had happened and began playing the broadcast from a news station. I was stunned. And I reviewed what I knew about John Fitzgerald Kennedy.

The first time I saw him on Television was at the 1960 Democratic Party Convention. I usually ignored politics, but I vividly remember Kennedy's acceptance speech, calling on Americans to join us and promising in that Baaaston accent "And we will win in November."

That was when I was in seventh grade, and it seems that I was the only one in our school who wanted Kennedy to win. At that time, I attended a school in a very upper class area (think horsey set) and so most of my classmates said they wanted Nixon, not because of who the man was, but because he was a Republican. But I wore a button that said "If I were 21 I'd vote for JFK. I bought another one a few years ago when I visited the JFK museum in Hyannis, Massachusetts. Anyhow, my man won and a year later the girls were styling their hair like JFK's beautiful wife, Jackie.

Of course, a year after that, we ninth graders were terrified by the thought of a nuclear war. Since we were young children, we had done "duck and cover" drills and by now we knew that if a nuke hit us the only good that would do would enable us to kiss our ass goodbye.

But we survived. But a part of us died a year later on Nov. 22. For my generation, many of us regarded the murder as a loss of innocence. Kennedy was a man who created in us a desire to serve America. "Ask not what your country can do for you, but what you can do for your country," was something we aspired to. It's ironic that only a few years later half our generation were risking death while serving in the military while the other half protested the government. If JFK lived, I wonder what our involvement in Vietnam would have been.

A moment in history. Vice President Lyndon Baines Johnson is sworn in as President abord Air Force One as Kennedy's widow, Jackie (right) looks on. 

There has been a never-ending chain of thought about a conspiracy involving the death. I personally believe Lee Harvey Oswald acted alone, but only because I know Cecil Kirk, a sergeant with the District of Columbia's Metropolitan Police Department, who analyzed a negative of a photo of Oswald holding the same rifle found left in the Texas school book depository building. Every camera's lens leaves certain patterns on the negative and under microscopic examination of the negative, it is certain that Oswald's camera took the picture. And it is certain the photo was never doctored.

And of course, more of my generation's heros were also murdered. Martin Luther King and Robert Kennedy. Is it any wonder that by the end of 1968, certainly the most turbulent year of my generation, that we became cynical and apathetic? I often wonder how much we would have become involved with drugs if it wasn't for the trauma.

But that is history and it is 50 years. A day that was so important to us is given a brief note, worth perhaps a half a period,  in the social studies curriculum in New York State where I taught. As our nation becomes older, we must cram more history into the same amount of time. I wonder what people will think of that day in another 50 years when those who lived through it are long dead?

Statue of John Kennedy in front of JFK museum in Hyannis, Massachusetts, where the Kennedy Family had its compound.

Don't let it be forgot

That once there was a spot

For one brief, shining moment

That was known as Camelot

-- Lerner & Lowe, from their Broadway musical, "Camelot"

Cats and our lives

The Musical "Cats" isn't for everyone. Some people look at it as a bunch of songs with people dancing and walk away from it. My son's neighbor hated it when he saw a live performance. My friend, Joyce, who rescues cats, didn't even bother to finish watching it with a friend. Others, like myself, look into all the different personalities and realize that they are portraying the folly of humanity. 

"Cats" is based on some poetry by T.S. Elliot and I first became aware of it long before it made its Broadway debut. I was attending a class in advertising copywriting at J. Walter Thompson. It was an in-house course, but open to others via NYU's school of continuing education. I had taken about half a dozen other courses there, and was usually the "star" student simply because I had more experience than most of the other students. But this was different. This was for advertising in the "real" world at what was then the world's largest ad agency. The competition was brutal. 

Anyhow, the agency had a division for Broadway theater and one of our assignments was to create a theme for the incoming musical. One of the women in the class, who was a secretary at the agency, came up with "Cats: Now and Forever" and was offered a full-time gig. The slogan, of course, was the heart of the campaign of the longest-running musical in Broadway history.

There was a movie made of the musical, but it was never a blockbuster. Simply put, the film used a stage just as in the play and cameras changed angles, did close-ups and other fairly standard fare. I never got to see it in person, but saw it via a VHS tape borrowed from my local library. Decades after the class ended, I was working across the street from the theater and on Wednesdays saw it was packed with Japanese tourists. I guess some smart people made it a part of tour groups and made a profit on the tickets as well.

But I digress. Perhaps deliberately. As I write this, I have just recovered from a crying jag. For those of you who don't know the plot, this is the night of the Jellicle moon. and as we are introduced to the cast, we are aware that one will be taken into the heavens to be reborn. 

Perhaps the most pathetic creature is Gruzabella. Once the most glamorous of creatures, the life of the party if you will, she has met life head on and is now disheveled and ancient. All the other cats shy away from her. In the end, she is the one who is taken up. And we sort of suspected she would be the one all along. But prior to ascending, she is once again accepted by all the other cats. And you suddenly realize that they may well be her own children. 

Each cat is given a song that reflects its personality. Gruzabella's song is called "Memory" and it was a monster hit when the show made its debut. And as I listened to the words, I thought of my mother, my marriage, my other relationships and myself. So here are the words, and some of my thoughts about them.

Daylight
See the dew on the sunflower
And a rose that is fading
Roses whither away
Like the sunflower
I yearn to turn my face to the dawn
I am waiting for the day . . . 

The ex is named Rosemary. And she loved roses. When we were first married, she would tell me that she would prefer a single rose to a more expensive gift. But they eventually the roses would wilt and die. Towards the end, she didn't want me to give them to her any more because of that. And so, there was one less thing I could offer her, never understanding what she really wanted or needed and certainly not knowing if I was capable of giving it to her. 
Midnight
Not a sound from the pavement
Has the moon lost her memory?
She is smiling alone
In the lamplight
The withered leaves collect at my feet
And the wind begins to moan 

Memory
All alone in the moonlight
I can smile at the old days
I was beautiful then
I remember the time I knew what happiness was
Let the memory live again 

My mother barely knew her father. He was killed in the trenches of France during the First World War. To make ends meet, she became a vaudeville performer named "Baby Peggy," The theater bug never left her. And she often spoke of them. When she drank too much, which was often, she would sometimes do her routines if she thought no one was looking. The smile on her face was one I will always carry with me. She was indeed beautiful then. And I suppose it was a time when she knew what happiness was. Her resemblance to Elaine Page, the actress who plays Gruzabella, is also haunting. In the meantime, the withered leaves collect at my feet where my campsite is. The wind has moaned and rain has attacked in force. There were tornados nearby several times this year and it is fearful when they come.

Every streetlamp
Seems to beat a fatalistic warning
Someone mutters
And the streetlamp gutters
And soon it will be morning 


I hate this time of year. The days become shorter and the nights seem to last forever. I will rarely see daylight in the days to come as I will be working in a sealed factory when the sun is out. It depresses me and I seem to be the someone who mutters, mostly about being alone. It soon will be morning, but the morning can't seem to come soon enough. I feel incredibly lonely, knowing that much of it is because of the decisions I have made. And I regret so many of them.

Daylight
I must wait for the sunrise
I must think of a new life
And I musn't give in
When the dawn comes
Tonight will be a memory too
And a new day will begin 

It's a fight. Not only is it dark, but it is cold. It is a wonderful time to look at the stars here in the Kentucky hills. but it's lonesome. You can only pet the dog and be comforted so much. By now, I thought I would have someone to share this adventurous life with, or perhaps have settled down. There is a woman out there I would marry in a moment. But it isn't going to happen. 

Burnt out ends of smoky days
The stale cold smell of morning
The streetlamp dies, another night is over
Another day is dawning 

I feel old, and burnt out. I know my days are coming to an end. My street lamp is beginning to go out. I fight this by exercising and trying to fight off the cravings for food and keeping on a diet. But I have already done a lot of damage to myself. I am now capable of only fighting back and do no more harm to myself. If another day dawns, I am grateful. But still have to deal with it. 

Touch me
It's so easy to leave me
All alone with the memory
Of my days in the sun
If you touch me
You'll understand what happiness is 

These are the lyrics that bring me to tears. And I think mom, the ex, and myself all have this need to be touched. It was so easy to leave the insanity of both of them, Yet as I face the endless days of winter, I realize how much it might have mattered if I had reached out with every ounce of myself. I always held back, a lesson from the insanity I lived with, perhaps not realizing that my own insanity was far more destructive. 

Look, 
A new day has begun.

I certainly hope so. 

There's no place like home?

Home is where the heart is, so the cliché goes. But at this point in time, I haven’t a clue where home, or my heart is. Right now, home is where I park it.

As I write this, I am on the road again. I spent about three weeks back in the East, camping in Northern New Jersey and then visiting friends in Western Virginia. Now I am in the hills south of Louisville, Kentucky working for Amazon shipping out holiday season packages until Christmas Eve. After that I haven’t a clue where I’m going, at least for the long term.

The RV Park that is my home until Christmas Eve, located in the Kentucky Hills. Beautiful foliage is at it's peak for the moment.

I’ve been to some of my “homes” of the past on my visit here.

As I visited my friend and high-school prom date Emily in Denville, I stopped by at the house my parents moved to from the city when I was about six. It is a touchstone in a way in that it was really the last place I felt secure before my parents separated less than two years later, leading me on an insane and nomadic life for nearly a decade. Possibly a reflection of the way I am today?  I had met the current owner a couple of years ago on a previous visit and she was gracious enough to permit me to view the inside of the home, which has much changed since the 1950s. But it still has an incredible, wonderful view of the lake that was so much of my life then. The house sort of looked the way my parents hoped it would be.

As soon as I arrived in the area, I arranged to visit with my son, Matthew, on Long Island. I have become quite proud of him, as he has overcome many things to become a productive member of his community in many different ways. He still lives in Ronkonkoma, where my children were raised, and I stopped to look at the old homestead. Not much has changed. Some trees have been knocked down and there have been minor changes in the gardens. The new owners have added a cement walk and driveway instead of the gravel we had. I hope they don’t get too much flooding as a result of water runoff. But as I looked at it, it was as if it was simply a place where I spent about three decades. It wasn’t a home. I suppose I never felt very comfortable there. It was even somewhat nomadic as I moved from the master bedroom to the living room and then to one of my son’s bedrooms after he left for college.

In Port Jervis, NY, I stopped at the senior citizen apartments where I lived until hitting the road about two years ago. I lived there while going through my divorce because it was in the same state and thus made the divorce costs far less expensive. The place reminded me of a prison, with its sameness in every one-bedroom apartment. I had dinner with one of my then neighbors, Donna, who told me the complex had gone down the tubes quite a bit and many people, herself included, moved. I am told the place has been accepting welfare people, and getting more crime and drugs as a result.

For a few days, I stayed the last days of the season at Rockview Valley RV Park, where I spent the summer of 2011 and a month in 2012. In 2011, it was a place of refuge as I stayed off the road and just rested there and used the pool. In 2012, I spent a month there recovering from pneumonia that I caught in the south. The neighbors were nice people who had been there many years and I renewed acquaintances with a couple of them. But as the season ended, I had to move on. Last year, I stayed in a location in the camp I wasn’t comfortable with and though there are more desirable campsites available next summer, I don’t know if I will go there as I may head back to the Dakotas for the summer before returning to Oregon.

Oregon is a wonderful place, but it can also be depressing during the constant winter rains. And while there are places there where I’ve made my home for a few months at a time, it is just as much of a workplace as a home. As for the Dakotas, there are places where I feel more than welcome. But there is a feeling of being solitary. I don’t like being solitary any more.

And so, for the two weeks, I was at a county park in Jefferson Township, NJ. In some ways, this is a home, though the only person I know is the ranger. It is where I camped when the ex and I separated. It is the place where I started trying out my first trailer and went through an incredible rainstorm that turned to snow overnight. It is another place to retreat to. The other day, Emily and I walked along a lake in the park, and took a long hike in the woods. I felt safe, even when we got a little lost and had to backtrack as we were getting close to losing light. But it is not a place I can stay.

One day, I visited my friends Frank and Gina. They helped house me at times during the divorce when I had to be on Long Island for meetings with lawyers and such. They made me welcome, but I always felt uncomfortable accepting their hospitality. And they have moved to North Carolina, like many others unable to afford the cost of living on Long Island. They were in New Paulz, NY to visit their son. They have invited me to spend Christmas with them and I may. It’s a trip of more than nine hours although I haven’t any other plans and being alone on Christmas isn’t something I really want.

And I also visited several high school classmates. We lived in Morristown, NJ but none of us has remained there, though two of them still live near the town. A few years ago, I took a look at the house I lived in when I went to high school. It is a pretty Victorian-era home built shortly after the Civil War. When I returned to college in the 1990s, I took a course in American social history. The house clearly followed the advice of Domestic Diva Katherine Beecher, sister of Harriet Beecher Stowe and the author of many books and editor of a women’s service magazine. She was sort of like the Martha Stewart of her day and was a strong advocate of fresh air, among other things. My old room had a three-sided window arrangement. But it was also a place of high drama as my mother returned to her alcoholic ways.

So I ask myself “What is my home?” and “Where does my heart lie?” I find I don’t know the answers, and that surprises me. If anything, my last three years have been a quest to discover who I am and where I belong. A couple of my friends from Florida call this a long-term visit to “Munzerville.” Its sole resident is getting real tired of being a road warrior. I have seen many wondrous places and have met thousands of people from all over the world. But it is still a solitary life. And I’m sick of it. The other day, I went to Mammoth Cave National Park, and earlier this week I was at Shenandoah Valley National Park. Both places are magnificent, especially during this colorful autumn season. But I felt as if I was simply showing up rather than a sense of wonder.

People who know me well are aware of why I chose to return to the area where I grew up. But the reason for the visit included unrealistic expectations. So that is why I’ll be spending the holiday season working for Amazon in Campbellsville, KY. And, after that, I suppose I will visit another home away from home, a RV park in Georgia. The people there probably saved my life as they got me to their doctor when my April 2012 bout with pneumonia was at its worst. So I will also feel safe and welcome there.

But I’ll still be alone. It sucks. And yes, I’m feeling sorry for myself. I understand that, but I don’t care. I’ve been doing some binge eating too, gaining back about 5 of the 25 pounds I lost over the summer. Someone I spoke with recently said they admire my plans. Hell, I just don’t have any. Home is where I park it. So, I’ll continue to write about wonderful places with nice pictures because it’s all I can do for now. But my hope for the next year is to find someone to share it with. Is anyone out there listening?

Wild, Wonderful and ?

Tuesday, Oct. 30, 2013

 Follow the yellow brick GPS?

I started the day in Winchester, Virginia. My campground was about 400 yards from Interstate-81, so naturally I figured I would take this main road south, eventually merging into a westbound Interstate highway that would lead me to Campbellsville, Kentucky, my destination.

The GPS had other ideas, and so I headed westbound on a local highway. The West Virginia border was only about ten miles away and I figured: “OK, I’ll take a few state highways.”

Six hours later I finally reached an Interstate. Route 79, I think. And I had travelled about 175 miles over backwoods country roads, mostly along State Route 50, which was usually a two-lane road. And I guess I had a lesson about just how wild West Virginia is.

I’m near Charlestown, the state capital, spending the night at a truck stop as I write this. Hopefully the trucks that are spending the night with me will be on their way before I wake up. Getting lost in the parking lot, I discovered I had moved into a parking spot, only in the wrong direction and will have to back out in the morning.

But though I’ve met only a couple of West Virginians, I’ve had quite an education about a land we think of as hillbilly territory.

As a child, I watched a CBS report on poverty in this area. It spurred a lot of social programs under President Lyndon Johnson. Yet I cannot comprehend if there have been any real improvement over the more than 40-year span since Johnson’s “War on Poverty” was enacted.

As I drove through these wild roads, it was clear that there were many abandoned homes and farms throughout the area. Time after time, I wanted to stop and photograph these dilapidated buildings, but the roads had no shoulders and I was towing a trailer. It was also raining and frequently the clouds reached down to these mountain roads, creating a dense and scary fog. It reminded me of the first day I was on the road with a trailer back in March of 2011 as I drove along I-84 in Pennsylvania. The mountain snows were melting, creating a dense fog and making me unable to see more than a few feet in front of me. I was too terrified to try to pull off because I couldn’t see the shoulder either.

Fortunately, both times, I eventually came out of the fog. At one point, I did find a turn-off in the mountains. It was at the entrance to a coal mine and there were warning signs about blasting with dynamite.

At one point, there was a truck about three vehicles in front of me that seemed determined to go about 15 miles per hour less than the posted speed limit. I’m sure it made the drivers behind him go crazy but it was quite welcome to me. I was on strange roads and difficult weather and in no particular hurry.

Somewhere along Route 50, I went through a small town that had a McDonald’s restaurant in it. It was just about the only fast-food joint along the entire route. And I suppose it featured some downright friendly women too. As I made my order, I was addressed as “Darlin,” “Hon,” “Sweetie” and “Suga,” which I wasn’t quite used to hearing. I also couldn’t understand much of what the women were saying to me. Their accent was strange. I apologized for not understanding, telling them I was a dumb-ass New Yorker and not too bright.

As I continued my journey, I began climbing up into the mountains. Occasionally, the state added a “Truck Land” for people like me to pull over and let those following me pass. This was a good thing because without shoulders, it was the only time they could.

This went on for many miles as I watched my miles per gallon indicator drop from 12 to about 8 miles per hour. You may not think that makes much difference, but think about how you would react if you suddenly lost 1/3^rd of your mileage.

As I reached the top of Allegheny Mountain, elevation 2,850 feet, I also passed into a small area of buildings and found a place to pull over for a while. I was very tired. Even though I was only about 80 miles into the journey, it had taken me nearly four hours and darkness was clearly going to come soon.

As I continued, I passed mountaintop wind farms, and drove through Mongahelia National Forest and civilization became very rare. But finally I reached a state highway that had four lanes and eventually reached the Interstate where I finally was able to pick up gas. I was down to ¼ tank from hauling the trailer over the mountain and wasn’t sure when I would be able to gas up.

And so I drove towards Charleston, the state’s capital. I stopped at a rest stop for a nap and looked at the “you are here” part of the map. It seemed after all that driving, I had barely moved.

But I am a better nighttime driver anyhow as there is less traffic to distract and, especially heading in a west-bound direction, significantly less glare. At twilight, I passed by Annie Oakley Road and was reminded of a rip roaring tale a woman once told me about a shootout her mother had with local hunters. A couple of days later I mailed her a note telling her about my trip and was given a warm response. We hadn’t talked to one another in several years.

About 3 a.m., I found the truck stop, walked Pup and finally fell asleep, exhausted.

Wednesday, Oct. 31, 2013

The next morning, the weather remained about the same with lots of clouds and rain. But the daylight along the Interstate brought some beautiful foliage and I enjoyed it thoroughly, taking just one picture through my car windshield to prove I had been there.

And suddenly, I had crossed the Ohio River and my West Virginal explorations were over. I was both relieved and unhappy. I had just gone through some of the most incredible scenery I’ve ever seen, and never took a picture.

A few miles into Kentucky, I stopped at the welcome center rest stop and walked the dog. I was exhausted and fell asleep for a few hours before moving on. But craziness continued to follow me. Insects swarmed the truck while I slept. Would you believe they were ladybugs? Perhaps it had something to do with the fact it was Halloween, but the darn things were tenacious in holding on even as I was flying along the interstate at 60 miles per hour.

Atlas Slugged

Note: Written in 2013, this entry has become part of a book published in February of 2015. It contains about 40 individual stories about this giant storm. I am pleased to have been part of this project. Unknown to me then, tens of thousands of cattle died in the storm as well as many buffalo. The book depicts the plight of cattle ranchers as well as town dwellers like myself. 

Thursday, October 3, 2013

Today marks my last day of work at Wall Drug, a tourist mecca located off Interstate 90 next to the Badlands National Park in South Dakota. I was scheduled to end on Monday, but was asked to stay on a little longer. I am told we can expect some snow, about 8 inches, according to the Weather Channel. So I've decided to wait out the storm before heading East. It's crazy. Four days ago, it was 95 degrees.

Friday, October 4, 2013

11 a.m.

By now, I had thought I would be heading into the NYC area, if not already there. But things change and so I sit in howling prairie winds of about 50 mph in the Badlands of South Dakota, enduring two days of rain, now sleet. This early-season snow is now expected to be up to 24 inches in the area, but thus far it has not turned to snow.  For the first time in my wandering, I feel marooned -- and it is not so bad. 

I have heat, plenty of provisions and while I don’t have Internet, I have electric with which to write on the computer and watch cable television. I have just spent an hour listening to the Beatles and now Abba fills my ears. It is time to think, meditate and put thoughts to paper.

I had expected to leave about three days ago. My summer job had been scheduled to end at the end of September, but I was asked to work an extra three days. It was fine with me as I needed a few more dollars and the people I worked for were very kind and supportive. But with the extension of work, there was also a bit of chaos as the government shut down. Most of my friends live in fairly populated areas. I live in a small town of 800 and the nearest town of any consequence is Rapid City, about 50 miles away. 

Wall is located at the west entrance to Badlands National Park, and much of the town depends on the tourist trade from that park, as well as the mini-empire built by the owners of Wall Drug, a major secondary tourist destination. The only thing like it that I know of is South of the Border at the North-South Carolina border along Interstate 95 along the Atlantic Coast. 

Many of our visitors just don’t know where to go next. They were able to get into the National Park and see some of it, but the scenic overlooks were blocked off by cones, and in the middle of the “loop” there is a roadblock with police sending people back out the way they came. I don’t know how this barricade can be enforced as the road is a state highway leading to another small town called Interior, which has a population of 80. 

At this time of year, kids are in school and the weather is usually good.  It is a time when many older folks travel in bus tours. Groups ranging form 25 to 60 or so come through our area on the way to the Badlands and Mt. Rushmore, about 90 minutes from here. But even though the road is somewhat open, it’s impossible for a bus to turn around on the narrow roads. I am told that police are issuing tickets near Mt. Rushmore for those who pull over to take a photo of the monument from down the road. There is a way to get a great view of Mt. Rushmore by travelling along a road through Black Hills National Forest but it is too narrow and tunnels too low to accommodate buses or RVs. 

The incredible beauty of the Badlands National Park attracts thousands of people every day and with the government shutdown, bus tours were changing plans. The threat of snow added to the problem and they started heading south -- an economic disaster for the town. 

I talked to a tour director who was looking for an alternative attraction, suggesting the nearby Minuteman missile silo, Custer State Park’s famous wildlife loop and the casinos at Deadwood. But after that first day, the buses pretty much stopped coming through Wall, utterly destroying the town’s economic structure. People were told not to come in and a skeleton staff held the fort. Why? Because the buses have stopped coming. On Monday, we had about a dozen. By Wednesday, there were none. Yesterday, there were two, both headed eastbound in an effort to veer away from the storm. 

And the tourists were not very happy. They spent very little. I joked a lot with them and did my sales routine for our empty bottles of snake oil medicine, and I got many laughs and smiles. But most of them felt trapped with the bus as they were going places they really didn’t plan on going. 

The blizzard is another factor as buses change directions, heading south. 

As I spoke to people, I learned that they are mostly either conservatives or liberals. There seemed to be no middle ground. Each side blamed the other. But there was one thing they all agreed upon with me. The fact is, at this point both sides are determined to win. And the demand to be the winner is destroying the country. It reminds me of the later years of my marriage. And as I look upon it, I realize how both of us were so immature about it. There was no avenue to compromise. And so it is in our political arena. It makes no sense to me, but plenty of nonsense exists. 

The winds continue to pound the trailer. In Wyoming, about an hour from here, Interstate 90 is closed as high winds have created white-out conditions. I am content to just sit in my wind-blown trailer and write. Even without snow yet on our section of Interstate 90, I would not like to be on the road towing the trailer in the ice and high winds. It has been raining since last night and a large puddles dot the landscape. I checked out the area around my trailer and discovered my 30-amp line was in one of them, so I removed it and placed it in a higher position. This is an area where many wagon trains moved through as they followed the Oregon Trail and the Mormons headed to Utah and the prospectors rushed to California. I think about how tough conditions were, as people had to reach their goals before the winter set in. My trailer seems small and fragile, but both gas and electric heat and some hot cocoa, which was heated up, in my microwave, comfort me. It seems I have little to complain about. 

My neighbors have left. Fran and Valerie, the ones on my left, are now in Arizona while Paul, my right-side neighbor, is holding up in a motel while his RV is being serviced in Rapid City, about 50 miles away. We weren’t as close as many neighbors are, but that is none of our faults. All of us are older and we came home tired from work and wanted to do little but rest. There were no outdoor activities such as cookouts because the flies are nasty and aggressive. Fly swatters are one of the biggest selling items in the store. 

The town’s homecoming football game was scheduled for tonight. I haven’t a clue if it is still scheduled, but many of the town’s social activities surround the high school athletic activities. The school has about 150 children and of the 70 or so boys; about 50 of them play football. One of the executives at the store philosophically stated that at least the storm would bring “football weather.” I noticed that one of the major South Dakota colleges has its games in an arena. In such a small town, the football team is in a league where only nine players, instead of the usual 11, play at the same time. I had hoped to view the game and take a few photos. I grew up loving high school football and liked to photograph it in my days as a newspaper reporter. 

Anyhow, the wind continues to blow; the trailer continues to shake and I am contemplating another mug of cocoa to go with my lunch. I’m not sure when I will begin to head east, but it’s time to trust God that things will work out and I need to be patient and wait for His guidance. 

4:30 p.m.

The snow has finally arrived. It is supposed to last through the night. We’ve gotten about a couple of inches so far. I was napping when the man next door knocked on my door and let me know the store, and most of the town, had closed down – something unthinkable in normal weather. We’ve also cancelled the homecoming football game. According to the CBS affiliate in Rapid City, Interstate 90 is closed from here to the Wyoming border. I suppose this is good for the town as travelers will be able to stay at local motels. 

There is snow in the trees and it is clinging to them despite high winds. The station says we’re getting 40 mph winds with gusts to 65 mph. I’ve seen a few branches go down and I’m concerned that the tree next to my rig might be next. I’ve watched the trunk wiggle slightly, but the wind is blowing away from the trailer. Power is still working here, though the cable system tends to go out for a few moments. Toward the west in the Black Hills, thousands are without power. 

I was soaked this morning when I took the dog out. Since then, I’ve let him out several times, but he does not want to take a dump without me with him. So I suppose I’ll have to get out my boots and walk him. I normally am walking three-to-five miles a day. But I’m not going to expose myself to these elements.

Pup wanted nothing to do with the snow and rain. I had to fight him to go out. He decided to drag his bed onto the rug and just hang out.

Wild weather is happening all over the country. About 300 miles to my east, there are tornados near Sioux City, Iowa, which I went through as I headed west last year.  In the meantime, there is a major tropical storm in the Gulf of Mexico and the Weather Channel says that conditions in California could cause several forest fires. I suppose some will say this is the result of global warming. All I know is five days ago it was 97°. At least the flies have disappeared!

I don’t have Internet service and I sort of wanted to post information on Facebook as the storm continues. But I also find myself feeling liberated from it. The phone works just fine and even though it’s not a “smart” phone, I can still text and send photos to people. I may be alone, but I’m not quite isolated. 

It’s about 45 minutes since I started writing this and we’ve added another inch of snow. I’ve just grilled a small steak and nuked some veggies and I’ve got plenty of food. Let it snow. Let it snow. Let it snow. 

10 p.m.

I was semi-asleep when suddenly my C-PAP sleep unit stopped working. I got up and dressed to go outside to re-set the circuit breaker. As I went outside, I realized the street light was off. The entire town was in darkness. There were many times I wished the light would go off. It is directly over my front area and many nights its light has seeped into my interior and kept me awake. 

There is complete darkness. While the snow is only a couple of inches at this point, there is, of course, no starlight. Even the ambient light from the nearby Interstate highway traffic is gone as the road is shut down. The trailer has both gas and electric heat so I turned on the gas system before going to bed for the night.

Saturday October 5, 2013

6 a.m.

My bladder awoke me. It is still dark and, after taking care of my business, it was Pup’s turn to go out. I tried to open the door and it wouldn’t budge. I checked the locks and realized the door was unlocked. I pushed hard and the door started to open. It is blocked by snow. Eight hours ago, there was only an inch or two. Now, the drift in front of me is at least four feet deep.  Pup has to be pushed out. He is not very happy about it. A Florida native, he has rarely seen snow, and then only a few inches. The worst he experienced was in October of 2011 when we got about six inches of snow in a freak October snowstorm while we were in Virginia. The snow is at least four times taller than him and he is very upset. He desperately scrambled back into the trailer, his business undone. We still had no power.

I made a call to my girlfriend in New Jersey to let her know I was safe. She had seen the storm on the news and was concerned. After I hung up, the phone crashed. I had not bothered to re-charge it. I figured I could give it a brief charge after daylight via the outlet in my truck. 

10 a.m.

It is now daylight. And as I forced the door open, I realized that there is no way I’m going to reach the truck. This isn’t just a drift by the trailer. The entire area is covered in two to four feet of snow. The wind is blowing hard. There is still no power. I had to literally kick pup out the door with my foot. He wanted nothing to do with the nightmare outside the door. And he still refused to go. 

From my door to my truck, wind had created drifts as much as 5 feet against the truck and trailer.

I decided to get dressed and go out to plow a small path for him with my body. As I went outside, I realized just how bad the snowfall was. My pick-up truck was covered with snow up to the windows. I can barely see the top part of my picnic table. I sort-of plowed a small walk with my legs and came back in to get the dog. I placed him into it and he looked confused and forlorne. It is like he is in a canyon with walls more than four times his height. And he still isn’t going. After a few minutes, I let him back inside. He dragged his bed over the throw rug for maximum warmth and went back to sleep. 

The snow is supposed to be over in a few hours, but the wind remains, causing white-out conditions. I tried to take a couple of photos, but the auto-focus mode isn’t working. It can find no contrast and I have to manually focus it. I went back into the trailer and had some breakfast. Without power, there is no toast and the eggs are being cooked over the stove. I normally have cereal for breakfast, but I am out and the oatmeal I planned can’t be cooked unless I boil water, which I won’t do when the trailer shakes as it was doing. But at least I have heat and battery-powered lights. With the power out, people all over town don't have these things. 

From my trailer to the neighbor -- high winds caused white out conditions, closing down everything, including the Interstate highway.

After that, I decide to write – on paper as the computer is out with no power. The gas heat continued to work but I began wondering if I would run out of propane as I had not refilled the tanks all summer.  I also tried to remember if I have a shovel with my tools. It was a moot point as my storage doors were completely under snow. 

It’s supposed to be in the 40s tomorrow and in the 50s on Monday. I wondered if this will be good enough to get me out of here. But I was thinking that I probably won’t move for another five days. I have friends from Florida in New Jersey and I hope I will get there in time to see them. I kept trying to focus on something I learned a long time ago – if it was meant to happen, it will happen.

In the meantime, I went back to bed with a book.

Noon

It’s quite bright now and though it is impossible to know if the snow has stopped, I can feel sections of snow that have been clinging to the trailer starting to drop off. Getting out the door remains a problem as drifting continues to block it. I can barely open it now. Pup finally has decided his bladder can’t take any more and he creates some yellow marks. Nothing brown is in sight. The only electrical device that I have that works is my Kindle. It too, needs recharging; but I’m using it to figure out what time it is. 

Despite the high winds, snow still clings to the trees, almost desperate, it seems, not to be blown into the infinite prairie. I continue to watch the trees sway, especially the trunks, hoping that one will not destroy the trailer. I just herd a noise like a huge cat pawing my front. It’s the snow dropping off the curved front of my trailer. As I write this, the winds continue to rage. I don’t know how far east the storm is heading. I have, of course, experienced many blizzards. East Coast ‘noreasters are always a fact of winter life. But I can’t remember high winds for so long. 

Until the blizzard hit, I was walking 4-6 miles each day. I realize that I probably will never do so again unless I return here in the future. It saddens me somewhat. The mile-and-a-half loop I have taken through town and out towards the highway has become a part of me. I will miss it as I try to find a new walking route in New Jersey and wherever I go from there. 

I am reminded of a scene from the last Harry Potter movie where Harry, apparently dead, visits a place called Kings Crossing. The area is surrounded by white clouds and it is hard to discern any details. The thought of this being a temporary tomb for me is upsetting. I realize that without a phone I am truly isolated and alone. I hate the snow. I have been to the South or the Oregon Coast over the last few years. My soul seems to not want to accept a return to Eastern winters, something I must do if I am to continue my relationship with my girlfriend. I think I am being subjected to another lesson in patience. I can’t wait to get out of here. I want to be with her and the delay is unbearable.

Hooray! The power has returned. The television has lept into life and the Weather Channel is on. The storm will end later today, and the temperature will rise somewhat. But winds approaching 50 mph are constant. Deadwood, a town a little more than an hour away, has gotten more than 50 inches of snow. The channel says we’ve gotten about two feet. But the wind chills make it feel like 18 degrees. Ironically, it’s in the 80s where I want to be.

After about 20 minutes, power is again lost. So it’s back to bed and book. While the heat keeps me from becoming too cold, thee is a draft ad it is not pleasant.

As the storm ended, this jackrabbit took refuge under my trailer. I suppose his hole was snowed in.

4 p.m.

The power is once again back on. As I look outside, there is the sun trying to peek out behind the storm clouds. The snow seems to have stopped, but the wild winds continue. Most of the snow has blown off the trees now and the top of the snow is covered with leaves and branches. There is a wild pattern of drifts. On my door side, it they exceed five feet. On the other side, you can see patches of grass. I nuked some food in the hopes of having a hot dinner. I will reheat it in an hour or so. The gas heat is again off while the electric heat is blasting away. The Interstate remains closed and I suspect it will be until tomorrow. I haven’t a clue when, or if, my street will be plowed. Anyhow, it’s time to also start thinking about packing for the trip. I’m not sure what I want to do, but everything except the computer desk should get done in the next day or so. After that, hopefully, I will be able to load things into the bed of the truck and hitch up. 

The television is my company at the moment, but it’s time to get off the Weather Channel and be entertained. Perhaps I will compare the views of Fox News and MSNBC and see who’s blaming who about the government shutdown. I’ve been so isolated, I don’t even know if it is shut down. Maybe I’ll watch an episode or two of NCIS or a college football game where weather has not cancelled out the day.

Sunday, October 6, 2013

5 a.m.

My bladder wakes me up and as I start to get up, I realize that I am quite warm and comfortable. The winds have stopped and the drafts no longer are a factor. I look out the window and realize that even though it is still dark snow is beginning to melt. It is the beginning of the end.

7:30 a.m.

They’ve plowed the roads. I have no clue how I’m getting outta here but I want to get out of Dodge. I want to go where the sun is shining and the snow is non-existent. I discover there has been enough snowmelt for me to check out the town and get some food. I had everything, but am used to having fruit. The food store is open and I thank the owner for coming in. He didn't. He was trapped in the store and slept in the office. I go to the Subway sandwich shop at the gas station, hoping to snarf some breakfast. They can't open it until the manager gets in. The power outage has crashed the registers and she is the only one who knows how to reboot them.

Noon

The snowmelt is now quite a bit. Yet there are still places where drifts create havoc. I take a walk through the town both to see what happened and to get some exercise after being confined for days. As I begin my two-mile walk, I meet the store's general manager, Mike. He tells me that the store is closed for a second day and there has been much food spoiled due to the power outage. Rather than try to salvage it, they have thrown it out and will let insurance handle the lost. That's hundreds of meals.

The town's community center was closed as drifts were nearly at the top of the doors, even after a day of snowmelt.

That's me standing in front of some plowed snow at the gas station. Notice how quickly the snow was melting, which created more hazards. 

Dozens of truckers found whatever place they could to park and headed for motels to ride out the storm. The Interstate was closed Thursday night hours before the snow hit the area.

Even after a day of melting, most of my picnic table remained under snow. Note all the holes from leaves and small branches the wind blew from trees. 

Huge plows had to be used to clear the Interstate. 

Buffalo Gap National Grasslands offices were closed due to the government shutdown. Walks went unshoveled and the four-wheel vehicles the rangers had remained locked in the garage.

After half the snow melted, the drift over this car reached the second floor of a local motel.

While the roads in town are now passible, the Interstate remains closed. Towards Rapid City, a rescue worker I meet at the Subway store tells me that while most of the Interstate is clear, there have been incredible drifts that have formed under bridges and still need plowing. 

I talk to a couple of truckers and they tell me they have been in Wall since Thursday night. The Interstate was closed even before the snow arrived because it was already in Rapid City and there is nothing to speak of between Wall and Rapid, I observe dozens of trucks parked along the towns roads as well as at the truck stop. Most headed for motels immediately, so the motels were packed despite the weather.

Tuesday, October 8, 2013

8 a.m.

My site has had enough melt to clear. I hitch up and head east, even though I had to leave a hose and television cable at the site as they were still way too deep under snow to get out. It takes a few hours, but I finally am out of the snow. By 4 p.m. I arrive in Sioux Falls. It is 79 degrees!

* * * 

I wrote the following on September 30^th, just before the parks closed. It, too, is a part of my recent life and I would like to share it.

* * *

Monday, Sept. 30. 2013

I don’t know very much about Macedonia. I know that it used to be part of Yugoslavia. But I probably couldn’t find it on a map without looking a bit – which is rather embarrassing for a former social studies teacher. In fact all I know about the country is it is where Alexander the Great was from (not Greece as most people think) and that Yugo cars were probably the worst automobiles inflicted on the American public. 

But the company I work for uses a lot of foreign students through an exchange program for summertime employment. And one of them was Ana, who spent the season with her boyfriend here. Ana and I recently starting working together and as we talked during slow periods, I discovered that she had done little sightseeing, just a visit to Mt. Rushmore. And though the pair will have departed for a tour of New York, Philadelphia and Washington, DC, they never visited the Badlands National Park, which is only a few miles away. These students don’t have cars and while some of the locals take them places, the pair weren’t able to go to what I feel is the most beautiful place in North America. 

Anyhow, I arranged to change shifts with someone and decided to take them on a three-hour tour before going to work. We left at 8 a.m., an hour after sunrise. This is a good time to tour because you can catch the most brilliant colors of this incredible fantasy of geology. As we headed to the Badlands, the couple adored the farmland and ranches. They were rarely out of town and had not viewed the vast agricultural community of the prairies. In a few more miles, we reached the entrance of the park. When you are a geezer like me, you can get a “senior pass” where you spend $10 once and you and the party in your car are admitted to every national park in the country for the rest of your life. The trip was free and the only expense I had was a few gallons of gas.

As we moved through each scenic overlook, the “oohs” gave way to “wows” and “amazings” and finally, to “this is the best day ever.” I had had my doubts about taking this trip, but they were all gone over the 24-mile loop we took. Over the summer, we had sold many souvenirs, postcards, and stuffed animals of prairie dogs. We passed through a major prairie dog town several miles long and the kids finally got to see these creatures, which they adored. 

We made a pit stop at the visitor center and the kids got some chips (they hadn’t had breakfast) and I bought them some raspberry candy sticks. They had never experienced this incredible taste. After that, we went to the most scenic locale for a few last shots before heading back to town. On the way back, I pointed out a building where there was once a nuclear missile control bunker and then took them to a decommissioned missile silo. We got back into town and I arrived only a few minutes late for work. After work, I put the photos I took of them on a disk and printed a couple of photos of them together as well as one of the three of us. They gave me many thanks and I went back to my trailer for dinner.

It was a far better treat for me to share something I loved than for them, though it was an incredible experience. It got me thinking about the times I was in Europe. Hospitality can make a fantastic experience for all. Yet while we sometimes can go out of our way for someone from another country, what if we began a “host mentality” for everyone? What if we reached out to others and shared things that we find special? 

Or is that what most people do? Is this just something new for me?