Internetitis

No matter how often we older folks rail against the Internet and the fact that the entire world is on a phone, you have to love the internet! What time is it, what's the forecast for the next few days in Rome, take my picture, how far to Sienna, find the car, what to do in Venice when it rains, let's call the kids, listen to music, check Facebook, check out what the Great Schism was all about while driving. I COULD go on (you might say I already have) Here are some of my favorite "phone memories"

• Nuns taking selfies in St. Peter's Square

• A Shepherd, literally with a staff in one hand, a flock of sheep behind him and a cell phone in the other hand (checking Google maps for "pastures near me"?)

• Beggars with cell phones (call me old fashioned for even mentioning that one, of course they should have cell phones)

Of course when you depend on your cell phones (as we do) you get overly dependent on it and get the CT's (cell phone tremors) when for some reason you become disconnected. But you know there are still signs on roads or you could look at the art work involved in a statue instead of using it as a prop for you Facebook post. In Florence you would have thought the view of the city and sunset was manufactures for people to take pictures, nit to actually appreciate (oops- need to erase our pictures of Florence and the sunset from my posts)

As campers we are very appreciative of the Internet. In fact, I think we need to find a place to get haircuts. That's my last word on the subject.

Svend's thoughts

Hi,
8/20/2018
Starting the preparation for my fathers 90 year birthday. Reflecting on his time.
He is part of the generation that went from walking to flying. From getting the news over a cup of coffey to instant news on the computer.
3 generations and his brothe on the picture.

Some Notes on the Famous Brothers Hansen 

Everyone who lived through WW2 has a story to tell. Of course those who did the fighting on both sides have the most dramatic stories, but anyone who lived during that time has their own special experience that will always be with them. We’re fortunate to be hanging out with two people who lived through the war and are full of interesting stories. 

Villy and Egon, Svend’s father and uncle are brothers who lived within easy walking distance of the German border. Villy was 12 to 17 during those years and Egon 4 to 9. Both have vivid memories and life on the edge of such drama. 

How did they know their country was invaded? Their mother woke them early one morning to tell them their were German soldiers in the garden. 

The border between southern Denmark and northern Germany has always been flexible to say the least. Both sides of Svend’s family have a Danish/German mixture. 

In the Hansen family, from that day of the German occupation, no one in Denmark saw their German relations for over 5 years except for once when their mother got a special pass to attend her brothers funeral.

There were 2 sets of searchlights in the ares which the boys remember peaking through it the blackout curtains to watch for planes. There was a couple of times that   enemy planes were shot down. We recently visited a memorial in the woods near where Egon now lives, of a British plane that was shot down. Our friend Thomas also told of a memorial for a Canadian fighter pilot that he and his father organized a few years ago. The Canadian Air Force sent a jet to fly over the ceremony. In this small agricultural community there are still strong memories of that terrible time.

The Danes are proud of their resistance movement. Of course it was a David and Goliath situation. Little Denmark could not overtly fight against the Third Reich.  But

there were a few pockets of brave resisters. 

Near the border crossing there is a stone dedicated to Folke Bendotte. He was a Danish Diplomat who organized the evacuation of POWs and other refugees including many Jews from Germany. It was a famous convoy of white buses that drove the length of Denmark to security in Sweden.

Off We Go - Autumn 2018

September , 2018.

Goodbyes and Hellos

We left Boston for our camping spot in Jefferson New Jersey on Saturday morning. Naturally it was hard to leave those that we love, you know the usual suspects Amelia Erik, Sheila, Jennifer, Christine. and all of the other rascally relations.

We really love the quiet, secluded campsite at Marlon Dickinson reserve in Jefferson New Jersey. It’s quiet peaceful in the woods close to everyone we like to see. We enjoyed a lovely Italian dinner with Maureen on Berkshire Valley Road. Actually there were several families from Reverend Brown Schooll that Maureen and I knew. It was a trip down memory lane.

The next day on Sunday we went to Morristown to attend Megan Hoffnagle’s wedding. We planned our trip based on this happy event The bride was gorgeous (and I mean the real gorgeous), the groom handsome and we are lucky to be friends with the Hoffnagle family. They sure know how to throw a wedding bash.. We have been  at two of the three great marriage celebrations of the last few years. Magan and Alex's wedding was a joyous occasion in a beautiful setting at the Park Savoy in Florham Park, New Jersey. It was reminiscent of the amazing Amy-Nick wedding of 2016, featuring the lovely Ms. Amelia Hansen as one of the bridesmaids. (hey, it's my post)

Amazingly the Hoffnagles have not been forced to get 2nd jobs at the Quicky Mart and all three of their wonderful children are now happily married.

We managed to get in an all-call to our various Jersey Peeps and had a most enjoyable dinner at Sheridans, our hangout on the lake in Andover. As usual a wonderful time. The theme this evening was the impending tornado/hurricane/doomsday weather that was approaching. Many phones were turned on to the up to the minute path of this storm.

We decided to trust our luck and rejected the many offers for a bed in a real house and retired to our tin box in the woods.

Donner and Blitzen and falling acorns.

A few years ago When Svend’s uncle Otto was visiting us, he came out with the expletive, “Donner Väder!”

Hey, I said to myself, that means “Thunder weather” What a great expression. It beats the F bomb by a mile. It evokes unruly and maybe scary feelings, yet has a natural earthy quality. So I try to remember to use it when things are not going right., of course never actually doing so. Donner väder!!! But I do like to think of thunder and lightning as Donner and Blitzen.

We had major, donner and blitzen that night with a tornado warning thrown in. Additionally the oak trees were positively pelleting our camper with acorns that sounded like bullets. This is why we camp! We shut the blinds and watched Castaway, the worst Tom Hanks movie ever and ignored the peril we were in. Spoiler alert - we survived.

Interesting spider at the Mahlon Dickenson Park

ONWARD

We left NJ the following day and drove and drove until we thought maybe we were in Idaho, only to find ourselves still in Pennsylvania. Boy, and I thought Connecticut was a long state! (yes I know Texas is almost a thousand miles across - poetic licence here)

We decided to camp in a PA Park, the Black Moshannon State Park, a beautiful area near State College, PA. Of course as soon as we leave the highway for the long, windy, uphill road- the gas light goes on. Gas lights are notorious liars, but there was no hint of a gas station for the 20 plus miles uphill in a rainstorm.. ok, now I’m lying, the weather was beautiful. We get to our picturesque campsite and I foolishly said to Svend, let me go get gas while you set up. So we’re basically in the middle of nowhere, but we have a trusty GPS that lists gas stations..7.3 miles, 7.4, 7.9 etc. Why would I not choose the closest? It turns out because that was the most remote, the one over a mountain, the one with twisty one lane bridges and lots of woods and it’s getting dark. That’s why. Of course I’m blaming Svend for being in this scary situation. What kind of husband listens to his wife when she offers to get gas?

No doubt I tend to exaggerate at times, but it was a pressure filled drive that ultimately lead to me making it back alive with a full tank of gas. From then on I ask Svend "How’s the gas situation?" at least twice a day.

Our next spot was on the shores of Lake Erie in Port Clinton Ohio. We chose a hotel to take advantage of a fairly nice pool and free breakfast. For dinner we found a place right on the Lake and had various deep. fried items including perch. Good, but fried, deep fried.

Having never been in Michigan (how did we miss that?) we had to have lunch the next day over the border in an unremembered town in what can only be described as a dive. Of course the food was great and cheap. Never discount dives. Some choice menu items included frog legs, fried liver, fried gizzards (what exactly is a gizzard, I'm afraid to look it up), various lake fish smelts, catfish - fried of course. We chickened out and got chicken. Deliciously fried.

Stopping by the Chicago Marathon

Those who know us would not immediately associate us with marathons. We’re just not marathon people if you get my drift. But hey, we are retired and when we learned that our friend Walt was going to run 26.2 miles in Chicago. We said, why nor drive to Chicago and watch. When you retire, you can do things like this too. The marathon was on October 5th, and since we going to a wedding practically next door in New Jersey on September 30th the timing was perfect.

The camping road from NJ to the Delevich homestead in Lake Geneva was fun. Two things we learned. Pennsylvania is one hell of a long state. (beats Connecticut by a mile, many miles actually) and Boston is actually not the worst city in the world for traffic on a Friday night, it’s Chicago.

Anyway we made it chez Delevich in time for cocktails. Elsie always seems to know exactly when to announce cocktail hour. It’s a gift she has. We offered not to drink in solidarity with the marathon man, but fortunately we were over -ruled. Walt has mastered the art of Manhattan mixing since we saw him last. I don’t know how he found time with all the training for his big run.
Saturday was the day before the race and we helped  Walt train by going to breakfast at a great place in Lake Geneva to bulk up on carbs.I can only imagine how someone would feel the day before a marathon. I mean someone who is actually running. Svend and I felt fine.


Walt is an interesting guy, very funny, very smart, very crazy for running a marathon after 60 (just barely the whippersnapper) Of course he was nervous, but also philosophical  -“ If I don’t finish, so be it” sort of attitude. We love to joke around and make fun of Walt, but really we were very impressed by his decision to participate in a marathon! Again! You see this was not the first time we watched him run. He ran the New York City Marathon some time ago and we went to a few different spots to cheer him along. The fact that he wanted to do yet another was amazing to us. So here we were a good many years later in a different time of life and in another major city.
Chicago IS that toddling town which we found out the day of the Marathon. Walt was running with his good friend Mariano and Mariano’s daughter, Paula. He smartly stayed downtown the night before at Paula’s apartment so as not to be distracted before the big event.

We, the cheering squad, were up early the next day to take the commuter rail to downtown (via the cute town of Woodstock, IL in which Groundhog Day was filmed.)

Through the miracle of cell phone and GPS we were easily able to connect with Mariano’s wife Pinky who was waiting on the corner with a huge balloon with her daughter Paula’s big smiling head on it. She was easy to pick out of the crowd.

There were other marathoners in their group of friends. Some of them actually all the way from the Philippines. So we were actually a part of a larger group of onlookers. Of ocouse there was an app that many had that could track each of the runners o we knew when to expect our heroes. Life is interesting when you are tracking marathoners in a major US city with friends and new acquaintances. Beats lying on the couch.

Still smiling

The three compadres appeared on cue and seemed happy and still healthy. After a few quick pictures they were off to continue on their 26.2 mile journey. Elsie, Svend and I cut across the city to hang out at the wonderful high rise home of Pinkie and Mariana right near the finish line. Tough life, but we suffered through. Some of the members of the “Filipino mafia” as they called themselves started to appear with their beautiful marathon medals and smiling faces. 


Our hero Walt finally appeared intact and a second world class marathon successfully completed. We knew he had finished a while earlier thanks to the GPS, but surprise, surprise he found himself at the beer tent for awhile. A well deserved reward for an amazing feat.

 .

Honest and Amazing Abe

People ask, "What was the best part of your "Follow the Mississippi River" (sort of) trip. And I immediately say Springfield Illinois. What's in Springfield? The Abraham Lincoln Museum.

 
Now we all know Abe, the tall guy with the stovepipe hat. And yes we all know we have to revise history and say he really wasn't so great after all.. But I challenge you to go the Springfield Illinois and read everything you can about Abe and you will know, -he WAS great.

The other thing you'll realize is that no matter how fractured we feel today, it was NOTHING like what the country went through in the 1860s. Abe had nothing but trouble all day, everyday

From the initial vitriol in the press when he became president, the scary horror of a war among citizens of the same country, writing and then trying to figure out when to drop the

Emancipation Proclamation on the world that was not receptive to it, losing his beloved son, and of course getting assassinated just as the war was finally ending! After following the part of the exhibit of the last train ride and being in the replica of the Capital rotunda with the Battle Hymn of the Republic playing, I was literally crying by the time I left that building. Oh and then I fell flat on the concrete sidewalk with my recently replaced knee (and the rest of my older body parts!)

Of course it was my favorite place!

Don't even get me started on Mary Todd Lincoln, that woman they like to call crazy. who lived in Washington where the other woman

made fun of her not perfectness. The one who lost two children, a husband at her side. The one whose only remaining child had her committed?  It's enough to make anyone crazy (or maybe severely depressed?) Anyway she gets a pass from me for what it's worth.