“They are the we of me.”

About a year ago I started walking. Leave the car somewhere and wander. Ramble. Meander. In warm weather. Cold. I simply walk. It’s helped to improve my Vitamin D levels, lose weight, stimulate my frontal lobe, and generally improve my disposition.

One of the things I do now is notice those historical markers planted in street easements. Some time ago – if I had to guess I’d say 1957 – the US government must have gifted bazillions of dollars to historical societies in towns across America to designate points of interest – historical, literary, and odd.

Yesterday, on a street I’ve walked many, many times, I noticed this one tucked in a hedge:

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One Woman’s Trash

antique-mirror-frameMy friend Steve refers to his flea market finds as “antiques of a dubious nature.”  I’m sure his wife calls them something else.  A few weeks ago I purchased this rusted metal frame during my Colgate University reunion weekend, intending to turn it into a wonderful memento.  When I brought it to the folks at Architectural Metal and Glass and tried to explain my vision, their reaction was, at best, dubious.  I picked it up today and I think they were actually sorry to see it go.  Perhaps it is possible to turn an ugly duckling into a swan?  Now if I can only figure out a way to hang this in the garden to reflect the hydrangeas while they last.  Nestling it in the shrub is not a practical solution.


Another Roadside Distraction

If you have reason to leave Route 17 at Roscoe, New York (Trout Town USA and Home of the World Famous Roscoe Diner) and begin to wind your way through hamlets like Walton, Masonville and Norwich, your head will swivel dangerously as you check out the sights. The Cannonsville Reservoir on Route 10 is breathtaking, particularly in dusk’s early hours. My friend Chris is fascinated by the number of houses that have not one, not two, but three grills on the front porch. It is truly inexplicable.


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