April 29, 2015

Yesteryear
One year ago today: April 29, 2014, some electronics.
Five years ago today: April 29, 2010, once each.
Six years ago today: April 29, 2009, on anti-virusware.

MORNING
           Here is the place I wish I’d gone in Deland [instead of iHop]. Cook’s, where instead I stopped to ask for directions to the Stetson Mansion. This is the restored house of the hat guy, which is advertised on several places on the Internet. The material fails greatly to mention the place is not a museum, but a privately-owned house where you have to make an appointment as such. They don’t like to tell the admission fee, so typical of American stupidity. It is $20—cash only.

           I found Cook’s odd, in that some staff (it was busy buy not that busy) were glad to give me information, others were like I was a traveling salesman trying con a free lunch. Small towns! My stay in Deland was 22 hours. Most people were very friendly but you still have to be careful. From what I say, although I know it cannot be, the town is totally populated by Anglos.
           It is a small town I could live in. That is sheer supposition, mind you. Just one of those things one like to know just in case. The townsite is really in the middle of nowhere and but for that university, well, you know. The only other industry was fruit and maybe tourism. The lack of motels should tell you how far it goes with that.
           One of the Gresham books from last day is “Ford County”, a non-fiction work and first of that kind I’ve read by this author. It is about the crimes of a small community, Clayton, near Memphis. Some would find it shocking for it delves into the criminal mind. I get a laugh at the goings on, from drunkeness, to threats, to con operators, it is a must-read for anyone who thinks skullduggery is only rampant in the big cities. No man, it is just easier to see sometimes.
           The book is ruined by a final chapter on AIDS. Even in its time, 2009, it is the usual sappy drivel of how hard life is on the victim. But that’s ALWAYS the deal with homos, it is all about them, their suffering, their hardships, them, them, them. All about how it is never their fault and how hard life has been and how rejected they are and on and on. As if any shame or embarrassment they cause their families (right or wrong I’m not saying) is nothing compared to their own almighty situation that is by far the only important thing in the universe.
           We get it, John, stop what you are doing and hug a queer or you are not caring enough. The book is otherwise about crime and gains nothing by the inclusion of such a topic at the end.

NOON

           “The toughest part about these spontaneous last-minute trips out of town is having to buy my ticket two weeks in advance.” --Me, I said that.

           My new friend and I drove the scenic route of the city, including the historic district. I doubly appreciate her time because she’s seen it all so often. This house was one of many that I would have considered a castle when I was a kid. Imagine, to live in a house where you have your own room. Wouldn’t that have been something?

           I’m told later there are some bad parts of town. I never saw any. As for the reputation that Deland is full of churches, I saw a few. There were a lot more florist shops than churches, actually. I’m of the opinion I might get bored quickly in Deland unless other circumstances worked out perfectly, and I’m too old to hope for that.
           The university is the focal point. Should anything happen to that outfit, the town would implode like dozens of others along that stretch of river. My companion tells me there are numerous, well, she avoided the term “ghost” towns, saying abandoned cities. This is the same river that goes through Jacksonville, strange that the river would flow “backwards”.
           Instead of dashing for the ocean like most rivers, the St. Johns (from the Spanish “San Juan”) flows northward up the state for 300 miles, then abruptly turning east to the Atlantic. And it is a very picturesque setting, much more so than most of the Mississippi. The land prices reflect this. All that remains untouched are the swampy headwaters and the more marshy lakes along the path.
           We went to the riverbank for an hour, watching the turtles and manatees. Or she did, I could not make out the mammals other than the swirling pattern on the water surface as they rise to breath. So you know, there are no houses of the historical kind that are for sale to fix up. All the really nice ones are long taken. That’s why I was intrigued by the relatively open areas to the west of town. This river is a good ten miles away and the road is old and narrow. That area is something I’d like, a short ride out of town.

           Right on the river? Forget it unless you are a millionaire. We also swung past a group of marinas, including one being rebuilt that might bring a tear to a boater’s eye. A few years back, it was the one where the super-elegant teak boats were docked. Many were priceless antiques. The place burned to the ground.
           My friend, I still have not come up with a nickname, had moved her boat from there just a few days earlier. I’ll dig deep and see if I took any photos of her cruiser. Sadly, she does not use it much anymore. She also showed me a field where circuses used to hold up for the winter, similar to the RingLing Bros. in Sarasota. Just nothing that gigantic.
           This level of exercise got me tuckered out. All these action was the morning because at noon, I had a train to catch. With so much to think about, I didn’t sightsee on the journey back. Instead, I dozed and read Grisham novels and thought about the trip. That is why I travel. There is only so much adventure that can be squeezed out of staying in one spot too long. And I’ve been cooped up in this trailer four years already. Well, more like three when you add up all the weeks and months I’ve been away during that time. Colorado alone was three months away.

AFTERNOON
           The train ride gave me plenty of time to think. I am on my second Grisham novel, more his traditional style, “King of Torts”. He keeps your interest by his keen knowledge of and exposure to the way lawyers look at matter, exotic territory to most people, but all his crimes are at the bottom line the games of children. Lying, cheating, stealing, demanding a share of what is not their own.

           In this book, a drug company is trying to cover up human tests that drove some of the patients to murder. Grisham somehow avoids the eventual repetition of Clancey and I appreciate the effort. He himself once said it is far easier to write books than to try to sell them. (He reports having a trunkload in his early days that he could not give away.)
           This pretty picture is north of Sebring, orange grove country. Through the Makralon you can see although this is springtime, the oranges are fully grown on the trees. Does that seem right to you? What? Makralon? Oh, that’s “bus glass”, which may surprise you is manufactured by Bayer, the aspirin people. They call it “transitional” material, something between metal and glass.
           Unusual sighting of the trip was a Caterpillar graveyard. I must, given time, get in there and photograph this thing, you have never seen the likes of it for sheer size. It is a wrecking yard of Caterpillar equipment that goes on forever. When I came to my senses and realized what I was seeing, I snapped this picture that shows maybe a fiftieth of the incredible size of the lot.

           Don't underestimate what I just saw. I was shocked by the size of this junkyard and people on the train gasped when they realized how often they had passed it without notice. I borrowed a line from that Doctor who does the nature documentaries, "Are you SEEING this?"
           On this trip, I realize the northbound leg could have been in two sections with a stop at my favorite roadhouse in Winter Haven, then continue on in the late train. No way would Amtrak consider letting me do that on my ticket despite the way the train was more than half empty. This is the fourth time I’ve been through Winter Haven and I’ve met people who don’t like the town for no particular reason. It is much more my type of neighborhood than what the area around here is turning into in places. There’s nothing wrong with my place, but there’s nobody to hang out with. The only people with more money than me live way out on the beach.

EVENING
           It takes more than an overnight to see Deland, so you’d be wise to have transportation. That’s a requirement just to get into town. There are things to see and do that I went past. Like this museum of art, which is across from the university. I asked if there were any events (non-sport) on campus and one student said not really.

           There is a chapel attached to an traditional building called “Elizabeth Hall”. For all I know, Hall is a surname, but she said there are times they let students put on plays and other performances. In a chapel? Then again, when I had my first rock band, one of the few places that would let us play was the basement of the church on Sereda Avenue. Nothing this week, she said.
           You can tell how old a town really is by glancing at the tombstones on any graveyard near downtown. This place is from around 1900, the reason I point this out is that using architecture or official records can sometimes lead you down the garden path. The older houses look more like 1850 New Orleans, some look like old photos of Paris with all the ice-cream trimmings. Deland is around a mile long and six blocks wide.

           The breakdown of the trip expenses are:
                      Transportation: $83
                      Accommodation: $74
                      Food: $38 (for two)
                      Books & Newspapers: $9
                      Entertainment: $24 (for two)
                      Jukebox $10

           Due to rounding, that comes to $238. And an adventure to remember, which is what it is all about. I kept the jukebox category separate because I'm finding I have a knack for that. Ah, I hear all the goofy juke-box heroes say the same. No, I'm saying the opposite. Goofs annoy people playing what their own lousy tastes, I play what the audience wants. This takes years of being on stage to get it right. And all I can say is this has, on occasion, been spectacularly successful.
           Deland is around 250 driving miles away.


Last Laugh


+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Return Home
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++