A Quit-Smoking Journal ...

Day 1 (Wednesday)...

With one cigarette left still in the box sitting on my kitchen counter, my alarm clock wakes me and I make the decision to not smoke.  It's a decision made on a whim and one that I've made in the past.  The difference between now and the other times is back then I used to carry my cigarettes around with me "just in case".  My "quitting" then would simply be cutting back.  This time, that last lonely cigarette remains on the kitchen counter with the lighter, both untouched.

My morning coffee and time out in the new back yard were hampered by thoughts of a nice long drag from that tobacco stick just 10 feet away, but I refused.  I can do this this, I told myself.  The self-help books my therapist had given me and the talks with him allowed me to learn the tools to be able to cope with the negative feelings associated with quitting.  It was the physical addiction that was scaring me!



Day 2 (Thursday)

Awoke still smoke free.  I thought I would have trouble sleeping since I went to bed last night thinking of smoking.  I get out of bed and immediately head to the kitchen to make coffee.  The cigarette pack is still there, right next to the coffee maker, the neon-green lighter resting on top.  I spent the morning watching the news and preparing for a full day of sweating.

All I thought about all day was smoking.  Work was kind of slow, making the habit that much more intolerable.  When I finally did have someone in the store to talk to I realized that I was jittery and couldn't get a grasp on what I was actually talking.  I swore up and down to myself that they probably thought I was the worst salesperson they've ever dealt with.  After they left I looked in the mirror and was shocked at how red my eyes were.  Now I realize they probably thought I was stoned.

After work, I went over to my friend's house to go swimming and to cool down in his house.  I felt bad that I was forcing him to go out side to have a cigarette in his own house.

Day 3 (Friday)

STOP MOCKING ME, EMERGENCY CIGARETTE!!!!

Day 4 (Saturday)

The cravings are not subsiding.  Sometimes I don't think about it, but when the feeling hits me, it hits with the force of a bullet, nearly knocking me off my feet.  I take a deep breath, hold and let it out slowly.  Then I snap the rubber band on my wrist and finally I start gnawing away at the pretzel logs I purchased yesterday. 

A part of me (the evil part) is saying I made a mistake.  The good me (learned optimism) is saying I have done this good for more than nearly 48 hours, that I've already saved almost $30 since Saturday and that it will get easier. 

...the evil part is saying bullshit....go ahead and smoke...

This Fall on FOX ...

Ed. note: The following post is scripted as a commercial. And, if you're offended in any way, please get over it. Thank you.

(fade-in: quick clips of raging fires, wars, hurricanes, George W. Bush, Wall Street, Famine, etc. Menacing music playing softly...)

Announcer (voice-over):

In a world gone wrong.
In a time with little hope.
Where do we go?
And to whom do we turn?
(Cut to the FOX logo with "Coming this fall" scrolled beneith...)

Announcer (voice-over):
Coming this fall to FOX...
(Cut to an aerial shot of a Malibu mansion on the side of a hill. Music changes from menacing to slightly more light-hearted...)

Announcer (voice-over):
In a Malibu mansion...

(Cut to a shot of a long white stretch limo driving up a winding driveway towards the camera...)

Announcer (voice-over):
One man will hold the answers
(Cut to close-up of rear door of limo being opened up by a driver. A sandled foot steps out onto the gravel driveway...)

Announcer (voice-over):
One man will change the world...

(Camera pans from sandled feet standing on driveway upwards, slowly revealing a white flowing robe, a thick twine of rope tied loosely around the waist, long slender fingers intertwined together infront of the man's chest. The camera raises further as the music builds to a beautiful harmonic pitch. A face is revealed, bearded and long, eyes looking towards the sky. The sun shines down from behind the man, giving a halo of light around his head...)

Announcer (voice-over):
The son of God...

(Screen shows shots of people emerging from cars pulling up infront of the house. Twelve people in twelve different cars, young and old, black and white, men and women. As the announcer speaks, the people line up side by side facing the front of the mansion. Nervous smiles and looks of amazement are shown across all of their faces as they wonder what they are about to take part in...)

Announcer (voice-over):
These twelve men and women were chosen from thousands of entries across the globe. They will live in this oppulant mansion overlooking the Pacific Ocean. And they will tested on their will power and, more importantly, their faith...
(Screen shows screen shots of other names of shows...)

Announcer (voice-over):
From the combined creators of The Bachelor, Joe Millionaire, The Surreal Life and every one of Flava-Flave's shows comes the ultimate reality show. A show that will test the limits of human compassion to win the ultimate prize...

(Screen shows the large double doors to the mansion slowly opening up and stunned gasps from the contestants as they see who walks across the threshold. Camera shows close-up of sandled foot stepping out onto the marble step as the name of the show spirals onto the screen...)

Announcer (voice-over):
The Rapture...

(Screen shows reactions from the contestants...)
(1st Woman):
Sweet Jesus.
(2nd Woman):
Oh my God.

(man):
Holy *beep*

(Jesus looks down from the steps, arms raised outward, smiling)

(Jesus):
Welcome one and all to my home...
(announcer):

These contestants will be fighting for their very souls and the winner will receive eternal bliss at God's side.

(screen shots of contestants taking part in chosen battles: following special written instructions to turn water into wine, building a fan to part the waters of the backyard swimming pool, revealing their deepest sins in the confessional booth.)

(Shot of woman contestant in the confessional booth. Floating crosses of assorted sizes and styles floating in the background behind her)

(Woman contestant):

I'm a born again Christian. My entire life is devoted to serving Christ.

(Shot of same woman in the kitchen of the mansion slamming a frying pan down on the countertop. Other contestants stand around looking in her direction, obvious signs of arguing permiate the room.)

(Same woman contestant):

Don't *beep* with me people or I will slice you up, fry you and serve you to the homeless!!

(Shot of same woman contestant back in confessional booth, looking into the camera and smiling.)

(Woman Contestant):

I am very into my volunteerism and charities.

(Multiple shots of contestants in different forms of challenges.)

(Announcer):

Each week is a different challenge and each week a contestant must be banished from the mansion until only one remains...

(Shot of Jesus holding a wafer.)

(Jesus):

This is my body. Will you eat me?

(Shot of each contestant as the announcer speaks each word)

(Announcer):

Who.....will....be....saved....

(Shot of Jesus)

(Jesus):

You are banished from this house...

(Shot of male contestant in the confessional booth)

(Male contestant):

There ain't no way I'm spending 7 years during The Tribulation without taking some of these bitches down with me.

(Aerial Shot of mansion)

(Announcer):

This fall on fox... The Rapture...

(Shot of FOX logo)

(Announcer):

Save the date...

(Fade to black)

The Good, The Bad and the Rapture ...

So, doomsday is less than 24 hours away and there are mixed views about how it's going to happen.  Some say that, beginning at 6pm EST in New Zealand, earthquakes will ravage the world.  Others say it is The Rapture, and Jesus H. Christ himself will swoop down from the heavens and carry his Believers away, leaving the rest of us behind to clean up the mess.

Well, let's just be realistic about it, shall we?

a)  Nothing will happen and all the false prophets of the world will say they got the date wrong.
b)  Earthquakes, volcanos and every other natural demise known to mankind will simultaneously erupt destroying the human waste and no one will be alive to record it.
c)  The Rapture will indeed happen and those of us "left behind" will clean up the mess, get on with our lives and wait out another 7 years before Armegeddon wipes us off the face of the earth.

So, considering 'a' and 'b' leave nothing to think about, let's consider 'c'.

For those of us not wisked away, the first thing we have to look forward to is our immediate survival.  I'm not talking about panic and chaos in the streets.  That'll come soon enough.  I'm talking about dodging the unmanned cars hurtling towards you or the unpiloted planes falling from the sky.  If you're sitting there talking and all of a sudden the person infront or beside you disappears, use the old '50s mantra:  Duck and Cover.

Second comes the mass hysteria and confusion for those of us still here.  However I believe that, with all the news coverage and gossip leading up to this, People will quickly realize what had happened and they'll wonder why they weren't taken away.  Well, get over it!  I, like you and really the majority of the world, are sinners in one way or another.  And, figuring they have nothing to lose now, looting and other crimes will be on the rise.

Third will finally be acceptence.  We're here...we're sinners...get used to it.

As we all get back to our normal lives, the Anti-Christ will rise to power.  I was convinced that it would be Oprah, but now I have to wager a guess and say it may very well be Lady Gaga.

It's ironic how quickly she has gained not only popularity, but such a large number of minio--I mean followers.  And, even more strange, 48 hours before Doomsday, she's touted as being the most powerful woman in the world, knocking Oprah off the stage.  And her followers already think of her as perfection, almost "godlike".

The bad thing is, not only are we going to have to follow her commands and obey her world power for seven years until the Final Battle, but we're also going to have to all go out and buy (loot) every one of her cds.

Crap....is it too late to redeem myself and become a Born Again?

Let's Make Paul Lynde Proud ...

Center City Philadelphia is a great walking area and virtually impossible to get lost in.  There are two main things to remember:  numbered streets go north and south, named streets go east and west.  It's a simple grid pattern mapped out by William Penn to designate residential and commercial areas, surrounded by gardens and orchards.  His intention was to make Philadelphia a rural town similar to English villages rather than a city.  However, being a main port, the residents sold and divided properties closer to the Delaware River, building rowhomes and tenements above street level shops and the "village" quickly grew into a city.

Although his original plan for many open green spaces dividing residents and buisnesses faded quickly, what remained of his map were the 5 main parks precisely placed in the center of each section of the city; Northeast Square, Southeast Square, Northwest, Southwest and Center Square.  Today, renamed and still prominent in a Center City map, all but 2 of these squares have seen many life altering changes.  Northwest Square was swallowed up by the Benjamen Franklin Parkway and turned into a great fountain and renamed Logan Circle.  The park blended in nicely with the grand boulevard, but crossing 6 lanes of circling traffic in order to reach it left alot to be desired and the park is used more as a photographic backdrop than a crowded gathering spot.

Franklin Square, originally Northeast Square, became an unused plot of land after The Ben Franklin Bridge was built to connect Philadelphia and New Jersey.  The base of the bridge ended right at the eastern edge of Franklin Square.  Then, in the '80s, the Vine Street Expressway interchange to the bridge and Interstate 95 all but completely blocked the square on the north end.  The neglected park soon became home to street people and drug users.  This changed a few years back when developers transformed the dumping ground into a family friendly park.  Complete with fountains, snack booths and a miniature golf course, the park quickly turned into a three-season destination spot for locals and tourists alike, with the main attraction paying homage to one of Philadelphia's world-renowned industries.  Philadelphia was once the world leader in the carousel industry with 3 of the top makers of the 19th & 20th centuries based here.  Even today, when you come across a carousel that displays an assortment of realisitic animals and figures, this is known as "The Philadelphia Style".

Washington Square and Rittenhouse Square (Southeast and Southwest Squares respectively) are two of the least touched, as far as completely altering.  Through the years, both of these were used for different purposes (Southeast as a mass burial ground for Civil War casulties and Southwest as a sheep grazing area), but each developed tight and wealthy residential neighborhoods around them.  Washington Square today remains a quiet place to walk your dog or sit in the grass and read a book.

Washington Square



Rittenhouse Square

Rittenhouse Square, on the other hand, has become the hub of activity and the place to be seen.  Located in the middle of the most exclusive neighborhood in Center City and the high-end shopping of Walnut Street, Rittenhouse Square is surrounded by fine dining and designer boutiques.  It has gained more popularity over the years with the college crowds from neighboring University City.  It's a place where, nearly any time of day or night, you can catch musicians or performance artists or watch the bevy of dogs playing in the fountain, all under a great canopy of century old trees.  The park also plays hosts to such annual events as flower and art shows.

Out of all five original squares, only one has been so completely transformed that it bears no resemblence to it's original design outside of it's shape.  Center Square was exactly that.  Located in the exact center of Penn's Philadelphia, the site now sits beneith the stone and marble mammoth structure known as City Hall.

This now iconic structure was and still is the largest municipal building in the country and the 2nd tallest masonry building in the world (short by 1'8").  Designed to be the tallest building in the world, it fell short of the Eiffel Tower and the Washington Monument, mostly due to the 30 years it took to build.  The clocktower is topped by a 27 ton statue of William Penn who is facing northeast towards the Fishtown area of the city, reported to be where he signed the treaty for the city with a local Indian Tribe.

With the westward developement of Center City in the 50's and 60's, big changes came into play with the biggest being the removal of "the Chinese Wall".  This viaduct carried train tracks from the then Broad Street Station west to 30th Street Station.  The stone bridge, with it's small barrel vault openings over the north/south streets, literally cut the city in half.  With the arrival of the electric train however, Ed Bacon, City Planner, set out to demolish the wall, along with Broad Street Station and put all the trains underground, creating a whole new corporate developement site aptly named Penn Center.




Broad St. Station/train shed/Chinese Wall

 Originally spanning two blocks, but extending to five over the years, Penn Center replaced the Chinese wall with open plazas, mid to high rise office buildings and an underground shopping complex complete with an ice skating rink.  It was designed with the intention of bringing workers in from the suburbs and get them to there place of employment without ever having to step outside. 

Penn Center Complex looking west

A dark, unattractive tunnel under six lanes of heavy traffic connects Penn Center with City Hall at Dilworth Plaza, an equally unattractive cement multi-level plaza on the western edge of what was once Center Square.

The grey granite slabs of paving, grey granite benches and grey granite railings make the plaza cold and barren.  The trees planted between the lower plaza and City hall is pretty much the only green there is and, instead of the aroma of fresh spring and summer blossoms, the air is filled with the stench of urine and body odor from the countless homeless people that take up residence in the plaza all day and night.  As with many urban developements of the time, modern meant stark and stark meant cement, and what lacked was the idea of an inviting green space where people can relax.

But soon that may change.  With the near completion of the 10 year painstaking soot removal and refurbishing of City Hall and the completion of the Residences at the Ritz-Carlton tower across the street, focus is now being directed on Dilworth Plaza and what its true potential is.  I have seen renderings of a great lawn, of an ice skating rink for the winter and fountain display in the summer, of small food sheds and outdoor cafes.

Rendering of new Dilworth Plaza

Sure, all of that looks good on paper, but is anyone thinking about the future?  No one has proposed easy access to the plaza.  City Hall/Center Square is cut off in all directions by six lanes of traffic.  You see all those kids in the rendering above?  What parent in their right mind would drag their kids across six lanes of traffic to play in a fountain?  The area around City Hall is becoming more and more residential and tourist driven as older office buildings are being converted into hotels and conominiums.  Dilworth Plaza can potentially become their "Rittenhouse Square", but not if it means risking your life to get there.  The northeast corner of the plaza faces the Ben Franklin Parkway with the Philadelphia Museum of Art in the distance, the Franklin Institute, the Free Library and the soon to open Barnes Museum.  Love Park, another gathering spot is directly across the street.  The newly expanded Convention Center just opened its doors a block away.  All of this growth going on around Center Square and the desire to revamp Dilworth Plaza is front and center, but no one has thought about how all of these new residents and tourists and conventioneers are going to get to it.  If it's not thought out soon, the "new" Dilworth Plaza with just be an enhanced version of the old one.  A place where, during the week, city hall employees will sit out there for 15 minutes and shovel down their lunch or make their way to the subway and trains underground to go home, leaving the rest of the days, nights and weekends to the homeless.

Developers really need to consider at least one, if not two pedestrian bridges, one on the northside of Dilworth Plaza that will lead people towards Love Park, the Convention Center and the Museum District.  The 2nd bridge needs to be on the Southside, towards the shopping and residential district.  As it is right now, if you want to "legally" get from South Broad Street to Dilworth Plaza, you have to first cross Broad Street and then stand on a little island in the middle of traffic and wait for another light to change before crossing into the Plaza.  On that island you can only hope that no out of control cab will be heading your way because there isn't anything between you or it. 

Another area to look at is the City Hall Courtyard.

Probably one of the most beautifully secluded areas in Center City, it is also one of the most under utilized.  Pedestrian walkways through the City Hall complex connects East and West Market Street and North and South Broad Street.  Outside of going from point A to point B or going down to the subway from the lone entrance in the center of the courtyard, nothing goes on here.  This is the perfect spot to house a small cafe or coffee shop (hell, if Starbucks only knew of this hideaway).  Some benches, trees and shrubbery is all that's needed to make this courtyard more entising.

These are just a couple of my own ideas, probably never to be realized.  The important thing that needs to be realized is that it's not always true, what they say in that move:  If you build it, they may not come if they can't get there.

The Center Square on television has never been the same without Paul Lynde.  Maybe this time, this city can make our Center Square into something it never was....good.

Back Yard Progress. Slow n' Steady ...

So, I had mentioned in my last post that the back yard is slowly taking shape after I had finally destroyed my nemisis, the evil Curly Willow.

The first couple of pictures are the yard during the tree's demise.

Although, still messy, I have dug up hundreds of bricks long buried beneith the mountains of dead branches and began laying out large planting areas and throwing packets of seeds.

What Makes You Happy? ...

A conversation last night had Ric ask the question:  What makes you happy?

For years with him it is a consistent ritual that happens twice a week: 

     Sunday - Burger Night
     Wednesday - New Comic Book Release Day

It's these two simple weekly events that apparently make the mayhem of the days between more bearable.  Being an artist, I would think that Ric's happiness (outside of a long and happy relationship) would lie in his artwork.  And I would wager a guess that it does.  However, he also admitted that the creation process is time consuming and frustrating and happiness mostly comes when he can begin to see the end result. 

Other simple pleasures for him are at night when, watching television, his husband, louis, falls asleep in his arm.  "When he's able to fall asleep like that, I know he's content and that makes me happy."

Michael, being imaginative and creative, tends to find his happiness with his hands.  As long as he's making crafts, working in his garden or creating a 12-course meal with a 40lb tofu log he's happy.  And unlike Ric (and myself), Michael doesn't find the creation process difficult.  Instead, he finds it invigorating. 

Donny, the bartender on duty, replied with cooking dinner for friends and getting ready for his trips to his Florida home.  He made a point as to say "getting ready for his trips" instead of the actual traveling part, stating that nowadays the times in the airports are the most frustrating.

When the question was posed to me, I couldn't answer at first.  But when I finally did, it was writing.  But even the answer itself wasn't simple.  It was more along the lines of :  "I don't know.  I guess...I don't really... If I were to pick something...  I guess I would be happy writing."  It wasn't that wordy (at least I don't think it was), but it was that confusing.

Truth be told, I can't remember the last time I was truly happy.  (ironically, as I just began typing that last sentence, The Who's "Behind Blue Eyes" started playing on the radio.  This has really been my personal theme song for quite some time).

But back to the topic at hand.  I can remember as a kid, spending hours curled up on the sofa reading a book or sitting out on the front stoop sketching.  I had alot of alone time creating houses and cities and planes out of a several year accumulated bag of Legos.  Even in my teens I had developed a desire to write, penning my first book (about 300 hand written pages in 2 spiral bound notebooks) at the age of 19. 

I had taught myself to paint, first in oils (yes, a special shout-out to Bob Ross) and then, almost as a dare to myself and a promise to a former employee, in watercolors.  My first watercolor (actually 2) were of a co-worker's parents' home she was going to frame up and give as a Christmas Present.  Although it took me several weeks and a couple of tries, I managed to complete them and was very pleased at the result.  Apparently so were other co-workers because I ended up doing 3 additional house portraits (pencil sketches) for that same Christmas.

Over the years, I decided to do a few more house portraits for my brothers and sister when they purchased their first homes.  One summer I had even done a portrait of my then 6-month old nephew from a wallet size photograph.  This had actually brought tears to my sister-in-law's eyes that following Christmas.  This life portrait branched out into an oil portrait of my old dog.

There was definately a talent there that I had let slide over the years as the hell of real life began to envelope me.  I stopped painting and stopped writing.  The creative side of me cowered away in a dark closet while the real me fought not to come out of it.  I would always tell myself that someday I'll start again, but the weeks turned into years and soon became a decade.

Yes, nearly 10 years had passed before I knew it.  My father had quit showing his disappointment in me for not continuing with my creative side and my mother never really showed her support one way or another.  And I always looked at myself as a failure for giving up and wondered if I would ever get that passion back.  But life kept smacking me in the face with one bad relationship after another until I finally gave up on that as well. 

My last relationship, which ended this time last year, lasted about 8 months.  During that whole time, I thought I was happy, but looking back I knew I wasn't.  I think it had been just a desperate need for a relationship after nearly 10 years of not even a single date.  Although it was a nice relationship, we were in 2 completely different places.  He was successful, making 6-figures and I, along with so many thousands of others, had the economic rug pulled out from under me and was on the verge of being evicted.  It wasn't that he made me feel good about myself to make me think I was happy, it was more like he was a nurturer and comforted me when I was at one of many low points in my life.

I had no money and couldn't date like a normal person and he was spending money left and right (something I didn't like him doing, but I had to swallow my pride).

When Christmas started to approach, I began to panic.  Although he understood and insisted that I not get him anything, I was someone who was (what I thought) in love and I became overwhelmed with guilt.  So, I gave it some thought and thought what would make him happy?

His life was his house, a little bungalow in Jersey.  So, after some self coaching and pep talks, I finally picked up my old watercolor tablet and a paintbrush.  From a digital photograph I had taken at dawn's early light on a cold October morning, I began sketching out my first house portrait in 10 years.

Almost immediately, my frustrations started to build at my inability to get the perspective right or the proportions.  More than once I threw up my hands and screamed at myself, crumpling up the paper and throwing it away.  I stewed in my own failure for days and weeks before panic started to set in.  Time was running out.

I started again and this time I wouldn't give up.  Instead of giving all of my time into making it look just right in pencil, I did a quick rough sketch that turned out halfway decent and then pulled out the watercolors.  I stayed up late at night and did a little at a time, spending most of the evening just staring at it.  When I neared completion, I would force myself to change something or add some color, knowing full well that watercolor can be very unforgiving. 

It was literally down to the wire as I finally called it finished and penned my name the morning of Christmas Eve.  I didn't have the time or the money to have it custom framed, so I just bought a piece of matboard and carefully wrapped it.

When I presented the gift, he looked at me and said that I shouldn't have gotten him anything and I just nervously smiled and said I didn't buy anything.  I watched as he carefully unwrapped it, not knowing what it could possibly be, but then, even through the sheet of wax paper I had placed over the image, he could make out what it was (or what he thought it was--a photograph).  When he lifted up the wax paper, he let out a gasp and immediately burst into tears. 

"Did you do this?" 

I knodded, my own tears welling up as the nervousness and tension from weeks of work drained out of me.  He was so happy that when I came over a few days later, it was already framed and proudly displayed in the dining room.

The end result made me happy. but the weeks leading up to it made me unable to start painting again. 

Writing was the same for me.

Michael urged me a several years back to start a blog.  When I did, I went at it full throttle.  It started out as a blog about The Post Bar and its cast of characters, but quickly spread into something more personal as I started describing my day-to-day observances.  But instead of continuing on, I started to lose not only interest, but the desire to write.  Again, things around me just never seemed to go my way and I fell victim to depression and listlessness.  Nothing I had to say seemed important enough to write about and my look at the world around me became as gray and lifeless as November.

I tried a few times to get back in it, but weeks and months began to pass without a single posting.

Several months ago, Michael suggested I start a new blog.  This is it.  It seemed like a good idea, but I'm limited in my writing time and I'm still having difficulty in finding things to write about.  It seems that the subjects I think I would tackle wind up similar to this:  describing everything I see wrong with myself and my life instead of writing about the lighter side of things.

So, back to the original question:  What makes you happy?

I really don't know.  I haven't found it yet.  I love my friends and the time I spend with all of them.  Is it enough to make me happy?  Of course not.  There's still the alone time.

My yardwork is about 1/2 done as far as the planting areas.  It's mostly seeded and those are beginning to come up.  There's still alot of work to be done, but I'll soon have a place where I can sit in quiet and think about what makes me happy.

Hopefully I might find it...

Jell-O and Other Childhood Memories ...

With friends the other night at Tavern on Camac, somehow the topic of Jell-O and molded desserts became the topic.  This brought back childhood memories that I thought I'd like to share...

Growing up in a small town in Delaware County wasn't like growing up in one of the many small towns dotting our country where, viewed from the air, you follow a single road across the land and suddenly are surrounded by houses and mom and pop stores and a town square complete with a white-washed band stand only to find yourself back in the rural farmland once you reach the opposite end.  Delaware county is a densely populated make-up of middle and upper-middle class towns stretching southwest of Philadelphia.  Big employers had been the Philadelphia airport, Boeing, Septa and an assortment of refineries lining the Delaware River south of the city.

Back when I was a kid, the western edge of Delco was still rich with farmland (once you traveled through the immediate outlying suburbs of Philly), but have since been replaced with large shopping malls, mcmansion developments, apartment complexes and corporate parks.  Hotels now dotted the land where cows once grazed, as the route 202 corridor on the westernmost edge of the county developed into a sprawling field of low-rise glass and concrete office buildings and research and development labs.

The town I grew up in, Clifton Heights, had also been farmland and Victorian homes.  On the eastern edge of town was Darby Creek, lined with mills creating everything from paper to leather to cotton.  The mills kept the town alive, even during the depression.  Baltimore Avenue, the main street running through the small downtown section, was like any other storybook small town street complete with a movie theater, bank corner drug store, elementary school and high school, fire house, town hall, all nestled together among the tiny shops and houses lining the 5 block distance.

(Downtown Clifton Heights, circa early 20th century.  Believe it or not, outside of asphalt and alot more signage, this block looks exactly the same)

As the years wore on and after having gone through a 2nd world war, growth in Clifton Heights became more and more aggressive.  Newly paved streets replaced open fields and farmland.  The Delaware County Rowhome, a contemporary take of its Philadelphia counterpart popped up like long strings of dominoes.  On the western edge of town, Baltimore Avenue was widened to accommodate the traffic as expansion extended westward into Secane, Springfield, Swarthmore and the county seat of Media.

Fast food restaurants, motels, car dealerships and supermarkets grew from the ground like mold spoors.  And the icon of them all was the Bazaar of All Nations, the first "indoor shopping mall" in the area.  The Bazaar became a mecca for every resident of Delaware County.  It was the heart and soul of the area and a place where you not only shopped, but hung out as a kid.  It was such an icon that, after its demolition nearly 20 years ago, a local filmmaker decided the legacy needed to live on through memories, photographs and interviews.

Between the Bazaar and my house was a little wooded area and working farm called Burn Brae.  Burn Brae was originally a hospital "for the insane".  Through the years, the large Victorian house became a private residence.  I'm not 100% positive, but I remember hearing that, at one point, it was part of the underground railroad.  The house near the back of the property still remains (I think), but the woods closer to my street have all been uprooted to be replaced by a development of duplexes.  But it was in these woods that my friends and I would sit under the shelter of an enormous oak tree, smoking our cigarettes and flipping through girly magazines.

Washington Avenue was a small street lined on both sides with about 60 rowhomes.  From as far back as I could remember, the people who had lived on my street had mostly remained there for nearly my entire childhood and well into my teens.  Even now, I can mentally walk up one side of my street and down the other and remember every family that lived in each of these homes during my childhood.  A few that stand out more than others are the "hippies" who lived at the bottom of the hill.  The smell (later in my life recognized as pot) filled the air almost all the time around that house.  The crazy old woman who lived up at the top of my street was one of the nastiest bitches I ever knew and would ever know.  So nasty was she that in the mornings she would hang out in her bathroom while the kids were on their way to school and, if a one of us touched the waist-high fence that bordered her property, she would fling open the window and dump cold water down on us, all the while yelling and screaming.  Her death stared could only be compared to Judge Judy when someone is acting stupid.  Somewhere in my neighborhood (although not on my street) was a Korean War vet who was laughingly know as Fingers.  Often seen walking the streets, he would not only talk to his fingers (and the wiggling motion kinda gave the clue that they may have been talking back), but he actually argued with them as well.

My friends all lived on my street as well.  Summers were spent hanging out along the street playing with matchbox cars or G.I. Joe's (the ones with the fuzz buzz, thankyouverymuch).  Sleepovers and Saturday morning cartoons were often the weekend at someone's house.  Later on it was hopping on our Schwinn's (the spoiled kids got the Huffy sport bikes) and exploring the neighborhood, venturing further with each passing week.  Weekends during the school year and every evening in the summers were spent roaming the corridors of The Bazaar or hanging out at the Putt-Putt mini-golf and arcade.  With the teenage years came our own discovery of pot and those trips to the Bazaar and Putt-Putt were teamed up with many runs to the McDonald's or Popeye's across the pike.

Even into our late teens, the circle of life remained the same, only now used cars replaced the used bikes.  It was almost like a scene out of American Graffiti, the way cars would continuously pull in and out of the parking lot and circle around the Bazaar only to come back again ten minutes later.

It wasn't until I had seen that show "The Wonder Years" that I realized that growing up on Washington Avenue was like growing up on any other small street in the country, at least back in the 60's & 70's.  When a family bought a new car, it was a big deal for everyone on the street.  Papas would stand proudly over the new family wagon, bragging about the newfangled power windows and hi-fi stereo while wiping a clean cloth across the faux wood panel running along the body.  Mamas would bring out freshly brewed coffee in a steaming percolator and start distributing to the other mothers who could care less about the car and more about who's child did what.  And the kids would run around screaming on the street until dusk even if it were a school night because they somehow knew that the parents would be setting a bad example by making the kids go inside while they hung out chatting all night.

When a family went on vacation (only 1 time a year), usually to the mountains or down the shore, they always left on a Saturday morning, but not before another ritual would take place:  again, the Papas would gather around the car, making sure it's packed correctly, tugging on ropes, talking about the fastest and easiest route and making sure the the driver remembered to have the car serviced.  Again, the Mamas are inside finishing up the last of the coffee, talking about what to visit and agreeing over the frustration of having to clean the house and do all the laundry in time to leave at a designated time that had already passed by.  And again, the kids are running around the street, excited for no other reason than being a kid.  At least until you reach the rebellious stage (13) and you feel you're too old to be going away with "The Parents", but are forced to anyway.  These kids stand against the car, moping and speaking to no one.  These are the kids who, when the time finally comes and they are all safely in the car, has his head leaning against the window frame looking like he's on his way back to school instead of the Wildwood beaches.  And these are the kids who would have a blast on the boardwalk and on the beach and have the time of his/her life, until it was time to join the family again for the annual all-you-can-eat fish n' chip extravaganza dinner.

These were some good times growing up and, as the novelist, Barbara Kingslover once said:

"It's surprising how much

memory is built

around things unnoticed

at the time..."