Old Columns: 1998-1999
These are some old columns I wrote for this site some years ago, when I was new to the whole Internet thing. I considered just deleting them, but upon reading them again, I realized that I liked them too much to lose completely. So I left them here, grouped together for anyone who's interested.
Kind of shows how I've matured over the years, huh? Or maybe I'd just like to think that.
December 14, 1998 AD
What a weekend. Me and the kids.
It started a few months ago. We were approached about providing a Christmas for a twelve-year-old boy with Cerebral Palsy. His name is Bobby. He lives near the city with his grandmother, and they couldn't afford much of a celebration on their own.
My kids really got into this. Nobody should be without a Christmas. So they started off organizing and collecting donations. They got enough to pay the back taxes on their house. I talked to the local library, who donated a book on the Civil War, which Bobby is interested in.
Someone, Mike I think, suggested that we get Bobby a Christmas Tree. I said I could handle that, and I called up the owner of the largest Christmas Tree Farm I could find. "Dad," I said.
My father, owner of Green Valley Farm in Slatington, said that what we were doing was admirable. He told me to let him know if he could be any help.
"Funny you should mention that," I said. "Guess where you come in?"
"Well," he agreed,"I can get a tree and a stand, and bring them out to you. How's that?"
"That'll be great," I said.
No, it wasn't. The kids wanted a road trip. So I had to call Dad back and arrange to come out for the day. And Saturday, my two assistants showed up with a van, and me, Dusti, Mandy, John, Marcy, Vesta, and Erica all rode three hours to get to the farm.
Interestingly, my father seemed highly amused when I showed up with the kids. I suspect this was largely because I turned into him about halfway there. ("We'll turn the car around right now! Don't make me come back there!")
The kids loved it; they had a great time. Dad got his assistant, Jared, to give us a tractor ride to pick up the tree. (The girls very much enjoyed watching Jared.) We cut down the tree, and baled it, and then it was lunchtime. My mom had sandwiches for us, and she had just baked cookies, which the kids went nuts over. Once again, I am forced to be the parent here: "You eat your sandwich before you go eating those cookies!"
Vesta and Erica sang for my mom. The kids all threw a football around the yard for a while. And Vesta fell in love with Rudy, my dad's beagle puppy.
And before we left, my father gave the kids all little rubber Santas, the kind that stretch. They spent the entire trip back snapping each other with them. Thanks, Dad.
It was a great day, showing my new family where my old family was. The kids got to do something new, and they saw what I was doing when I was their age. They want to go back sometime.
Why not? I'll try to arrange it.
And Bobby loved the tree, and all the presnts. His Christmas was happy, because of my kids. But that's another story.
-Lou
-Are we there yet?
December 18, 1998 AD
"I'm going on strike," I told all my co-workers.
I've been saying this for at least two weeks now. I don't know what the weather is like wherever you're reading this from, but here it's been tropical. At least for Pennyslvania in mid-December, it has. A week to Christmas, and we're in the mid-seventies.
I don't know, maybe I'm weird here. But it doesn't feel like Christmas. I can't deal with this T-shirt garbage when I'm out shopping for presents. It's Christmas, dammit. I want snow.
That's why I went on strike.
"I'm not doing anything Christmassy," I told everyone at work. "No shopping. No candy canes. No Christmas clothes---Nothing---Not until it snows. I'm not doing Christmas until I get some snow around here."
"What if it doesn't snow by Christmas Eve?" one of my friends asked me.
"Then I may need to rethink my position."
It felt good to take a hard line like that. The trouble is, it's hard to know who to send your list of demands to. I was, however, certain of one thing: I wasn't going to feel any Christmas spirit until we got some snow. Didn't have to be much; I'm not greedy. Just a flurry would do.
And then, tonight, just as I was giving up hope, it started. We all noticed it as we left work.
Snow.
And not just any little dusting either, it was really coming down hard. Snow! Allright! Good godalmighty, SNOW!
"Cool," I said.
Christmas can happen now. I give it my permission. I got my snow for the year, and I'm happy. Snowmen. Snowballs. Forts and angels and everything else. I was already out playing in it by the time my co-workers hit their cars.
I'm satisfied. I don't even have a Christmas list now---There's no need. I already got everything I asked for.
And merry Christmas, everybody.
-Lou
-And to all a good night.
January 5, 1999 AD
I made a friend last month---Someone I really got to care about.
Her name was Vika.
I met her at work---She was an exchange student from the Ukraine. I liked her immediately, actually. (Redhead---Did I mention?) I asked if she wanted to go out sometime, and she said yes, and we traded phone numbers. all the other customers watchingwere rooting for me.
We talked on the phone for hours a few nights later. And then, the next night, we went out. I showed her around my city---Nobody knows Lock Haven like I do. (In fact, if anybody out there is coming to Lock Haven, I give a great tour.) I told her about all the history of this city. She was impressed. I didn't even have to make anything up this time.
I picked up a bit of Ukranian, even. Add another language to my list. We had a nice time together.
But this is my life, and things can't be easy. Vika moved back to the Ukraine at the end of last month. And for someone I knew less than a month, I found I had gotten attached.
Honestly. I miss her.
Vika, if you're out there, I hope you fondly remember your gutsy American boy. And I hope you know that he remembers you fondly, and misses you very much.
-Lou
-Dosvidanya, Tovarish.
January 9, 1999 AD
The sixteen-hour sleepover from Hell.
For a few months now, the Junior Jaycees have wanted a sleepover, but we've been too busy. Finally, with nothing to do in January, I cracked and gave it the okay. I put John and Mike in charge, and told them to plan us a sleepover.
Remember how, not long ago, I said I wanted snow? I take that back. The night of our sleepover, one of the biggest storms this year was scheduled to break out. Adam called me a few hours before, and asked if we were still going for it.
I thought it over for a good half a second. "Sure," I said,"Damn the torpedoes, full steam ahead. Let's go for it."
We did. And around midnight, we got snowed in at Jaycee Hall. Which was okay, because we had some chips and salsa, coffee, soda, music---Enough to hold out for a few days, assuming their parents noticed they were missing and called for help. (Several of the parents have said I really don't have to bring their children back if I don't feel like it.)
We played CDs, we had a pillowfight, had an all-night Dungeons And Dragons game. It's been a while since I did that. We had a really good time.
The kids thought this was a great adventure. I had kids running into the parking lot every half hour to check the temperature and the snowfall. I decided, since there wasn't a damn thing I could do about the weather, I was going to think of it as an adventure, too.
And around morning, when the sun came up and we staggered off home, we talked it over. Once again, the Junior Jaycees had gotten more than they'd bargained for, and come through okay.
The kids want another sleepover immediately. I've requested a few months to recover from this one, first.
-Lou
-The journey of a thousand miles begins with me forgetting to turn off my coffee maker.
January 29, 1999 AD
This is the first column in a while, I realize. While it's been busy lately, nothing has happened that's exciting enough to justify writing about it.
Nothing was happening again last night. I sat and listened to my police scanner for a while, and then went out for a walk at two AM. I like to do that.
I have never made any secret of the fact that I love my city. Bellefonte Avenue, Church Street, Triangle Park, the Projects---I love it all. I always feel vital and connected when I'm in Lock Haven, and remote and distant when I'm not.
As I walked down Bald Eagle Street, I felt the city wrap itself around me, kind of like that old sweatshirt you only wear around the house. I felt comforted and secure. (Odd on the streets at 2 AM, but there you have it.)
You know that feeling you get when everyone else is out, and you've got the entire house to yourself? That's me in Lock Haven late at night. Nobody else is around, usually, and I have the entire city to myself. It's like everyone else has left, and I'm the last person around. I love that sensation.
Not that this is anything really special, but it felt good to me. And if anybody out there has any stories like this about where you live, drop me a line. I'd love to hear them.
-Lou
-Territorial, and proud.
March 8, 1999 AD
Ever think about how busy we are in this society?
Of course not. You don't have time to.
Stop for a minute---I'm ordering you to---And think it over. In this country, in this age, we can't be out of touch for a single second. We all think we're so important that the world will come to a grinding halt if we're out of touch for a moment.
We can't go out for a minute---Not without our cellphones. We can't go for a walk---Unless we take our damn pagers. We can't even afford the drive home, unless we have our carphones. We must be in touch every second.
I'm not sure anyone is really that important. We don't even have time to say full words in this society. We can't go out for lunch at Kentucky Fried Chicken---Too long to say, we don't have the time. We go to KFC. We can't Federal Express something---My God, who has time to say five whole syllables? We have to Fed-Ex it, that's faster. Time to cook a meal? Oh, who's got that? We microwave things in thirty seconds flat.
Last night, I was talking to my neighbor, Constance. Constance is like seventy, and a nice old lady. Very energetic and interesting.
I told her about the Labor Day Regatta in Lock Haven, and how all the vendors in town have booths. They sell their products every year for three days, and make a lot of money.
Constance wants to set up a booth. She wants to sell silence.
That's right. You heard me. She wants to sell peace and quiet at a buck a minute. A nice little soundproof tent, where you can just sit and not be disturbed. Just relax and do nothing, at your own pace.
Some people think Constance is batty. Not me. I think she's on to something big. She can have sixty bucks up front from me. I'd be her best customer.
I'd take all the silence she can provide. I wonder if Constance delivers.
-Lou
-Having my quiet time
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