This Caterpillar was Discovered

strolling along the pavement in the small town of Mt. Gretna, Pennsylvania, yesterday.
If you believe he is yours, Viewer Dear, you may look for him near the house with the tea set displayed on a bench (Please know, however,  that he was moving right along.  There's no telling where you might find him).

He seemed attracted to this Golden Shrimp Plant blossom that was posing nearby. (Though the blossom truly was charming, I'm  wondering if poor Mr. Caterpillar was aware that Ms. Blossom could never go strolling with him).

At any rate, Dear Viewer, let me know if you can give me the identity of your (strikingly handsome) caterpillar.


****

Now, to tell you what brought me to the small town of Mt. Gretna, Pennsylvania, yesterday.

1. It's the state where I currently live.

2.  It's a mere thirty-five minute drive from where I currently am residing.

3.  It's about a five-minute drive from the home of a  friend of mine.

4.  This friend and two other friends of mine had planned to meet at the home of the friend mentioned in No. 3 to have an outing here at Mt. Gretna (a birthday luncheon in honor of the fact that each of us was born).

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5.  I suppose another factor (in the planning of this outing)  is that Mt. Gretna is a lovely spot to stroll around and have a celebratory lunch.*

*It's on the National Register of Historic Places, after all!
*It's a chautauqua town. (Dear Reader, this, of course, brings me to all kinds of other interesting tidbits concerning chautauquas, but I'll just leave it at this:  the word chautauqua  [noun or verb] describes a system of education flourishing in the late 19th and early 20th centuries, originating at Lake Chautauqua, New York.  The words Tranquil, Spirirtual, and Cultural are clues to [and descriptive of] this system).

This is NOT Mt. Gretna.  It's merely a town I was passing
through En Route
(lovely in it's own way, I'm sure, but
not close to the real thing).

6. It was a superior day, weather-wise (which made for a superior drive to the home of the friend)!

The whole outing, in fact, turned out to be superior!

In the short interaction my three friends and I had with Mr. Caterpillar, he seemed to have a similar sentiment about the day (though he was [understandably] limited in his expression of it). 

Once Again, I'm Talking about a Twist

Just a tiny twist, this time.  Or, I could call it a spin, Reader Dear.

Before I spin the spin, here's a bit of background information:  The HM  is out of town.  He's far out of town, in fact.  He took a trip to Germany for a horse event and will not return for two more days.   Soon after he left, I chopped up the apples he had helped my small actors to pick from my apple tree, and I made some delicious applesauce.
I was sorry not to share the applesauce with anyone, but it was just a small bowlful, and I promptly savored all of it on my own.

It's not a stretch for you to imagine (I'm only supposing) that I had the idea of gathering a few more of the apples that were left hanging on that tree, and chopping, cooking, and bringing into existence another small bowl full of applesauce.

This afternoon the weather was quite lovely! After heat and humidity and scattered fierce showers over the past several days, locally we had white cotton-candy clouds and blue sky and balmy air.  I hopped into the car and drove to "the Patch."  It's a small plot of land about a half-mile up the road where the HM has a fenced-in area for his horses.  It's also where I had fancy ideas (about ten years ago) for a tiny orchard.

This background material may not be at all necessary, but I feel I should let you know that two of the three fruit trees that were planted during the fanciful-fruit-tree-growing phase  have succumbed to less-than-ideal supervision of their growth (seems they did not do well without supervision).

The pear tree and the cherry tree now R.I.P.

But the apple tree lives on!

And so, I gathered my small box of apples, just the ones I was able to stretch far enough to harvest.  They will be enough to make another bowl full of applesauce.

Then, I was ready to leave.  But, ah, what peace and tranquility!
I sat for a while and basked in the beauty.
 
 Eventually, of course, I really was ready to go (you know, go home and make the applesauce).   First, my plan (if I have to say I had planned it) was to back up, turn around, and head up the hill.  Except that, in the course of my backing,  I had a sudden inspiration to stop and record the moment.  I stopped the car (alas). I got out of the car and took pictures of my fruitful tree (It was pruned, some years ago, by a friend who is an accomplished fruit-tree-grower.  I give Gerry full credit for the fruitfulness!)


I photographed  the horses, as well, (I give the HM full credit for their health [though I'm happy to say that I tossed them several apples]).


Now, I was ready, once again,  to get home and process apples!
I climbed back into my car and attempted to leave.
*********
But, Reader Dear, here comes THE TWIST!
i.e. THE SPIN!

When I say "spin"
I mean that I spun!
I spun and spun!
Then I spun some more.
Backward and forward! Forward and backward!
Alas, deeper and deeper into the mud.

The nearest neighbors live
uphill several hundred yards.

Maybe they could help me, I thought.*
I really did not wish to impose, but,
bless him, the good neighbor man quickly went into action.

He was afraid, however, that he might break my "plastic" car.

He and his wife  have bought one of these foreign "plastic" cars (he said the word "plastic " a little derisively)  for his wife to drive.

These "plastic" cars are so liable to break!*

*********

I called AAA.

AAA was not sure, they told me, that they could help me out.  I was too far off the road.  When they had asked, I had hedged a bit.  

"You're along the side of the road?" they had questioned, and I had said, "Well, just a bit off the road."  But, then,  they had pressed for a number.  I deserve, Reader Dear, no medal of honor for my honesty, but I did confess that my car was, indeed, stuck in a meadow several hundred yards (or more) off the road.

They would have to come "assess the job" they told me.  They may not be able to do it.  They didn't want to end up also stuck!

My neighbors were very kind.  Dick and Alice visited with me on their porch, offered me a drink.  Dick had taken his chain down the hill* and tried to attach to my car.  We chatted about our neighborhood, where Alice grew up, and now where the two of them have lived for sixty-one years.

*My idea was to dump the apples from the box, flatten it, fold it in half, stuff it as deeply as possible under the wheel that had the most serious spin.  Dick was doubtful, but he flattened the box, did the placement, tried to hold the cardboard in place.  I was relieved that I didn't run over him.  The cardboard did absolutely no good.  
**********

Two hours later.
AAA arrived.

As the knight in black boots and reflective clothing extricated my car, I took one final photo of the spot where I'd been spinning.

Then I drove home and tried to put a good spin on the story.







I had a nice, lengthy visit with the neighbors, I thought.  I'm much better acquainted with them now.  And, too, I learned new things about the history of the neighborhood!

**************

(I  don't recommend  a stunt like this, however, by way of gaining social contact with your neighbors, Reader Dear.  [Perhaps you could drop off a few of your extra zucchinis. Or, if you've got no garden produce, bake a few cookies to deliver.  [It shouldn't take you more than an hour or two]).

Talkin' Bout my Generation

Listener Dear, if you know anything about this blog, you know about the local concerts at the park on Sunday evenings in the summertime.

Likewise, if you know anything about my generation, you know about Woodstock.

If you've never heard of this three-day event in upstate New York, you're likely not part of my generation,  Dear One .  Maybe you're very young, and know nothing of the history of the United States.   Perhaps you don't even live in this country.  You may not care for music,  may have never heard of a musician named Arlo Guthrie (and his father Woody).  How about Bob Dylan?  I hesitate to ask it.  Do you...er...know anything at all about the war in Vietnam? Or, ahem, president Richard Nixon?  How about Martin Luther King, Jr.? John F. Kennedy and his brother Bobby? Marching for Civil Rights? For Women's Rights?  I sure don't mean to be rude, but, Reader Dear, is there anything you know about this whole pot-smoking, bra-burning, protesting shebang of an era?

 Whatever.  Just google it all, Reader Dear.  Be sure to include the year 1969 (A.D. --though, looking backward through all those decades, one might be tempted to think it was B.C.)  My generation was young in those days.  We wore bell-bottom pants and tie-dyed shirts.  We wore flowers in our (long) hair. Some of us called ourselves Hippies.   Some of us smoked pot.  Some of us bummed rides.  Some of us (about a half-million strong) took off to New York for three days of music (Sigh, don't look at me, Dear Reader.  I wasn't groovy enough to be at this fantastic and free-wheeling event, though I pondered the trip.  [Since we're doing time travel here, you might say the event "went viral"])

Dance to the Music:
Sly and the Family Stone

 Back to the present: There are three times during the summer when a Saturday night concert is held at the park.  This one that I attended yesterday was billed as Woodstock Anniversary Celebration.

Yes, yes, Reader Dear, fifty years ago many in my generation spoke of each other as "brother" and "sister" (slight smile) and talked quite a bit about "peace" and "love." We wanted nothing to do with war, anymore!  Though the performers at this local event did not fool me into thinking they were the originals, it was fun to have the old memory jogged as far as singers and songs.  Here's just a tiny sample, Listener Dear.

Now, this next song was not performed at Woodstock.
It's about Woodstock.
The song is Woodstock.
Joni Mitchell

(It's a long song. Here's
a link with a great rendition by Cosby, Stills, Nash
Camera footage of the actual Woodstock)

Some of the lyrics:

"I came upon a child of God
He was walking along the road
And I asked him, where are you going
And this he told me
I'm going on down to Yasgur's farm
I'm going to join in a rock 'n' roll band
I'm going to camp out on the land
I'm going to try an' get my soul free
We are stardust
We are golden
And we've got to get ourselves
Back to the garden

.....
By the time we got to Woodstock
We were half a million strong
And everywhere there was song and celebration
And I dreamed I saw the bombers
Riding shotgun in the sky
And they were turning into butterflies
Above our nation
We are stardust
Billion year old carbon
We are golden
Caught in the devil's bargain
And we've got to get ourselves
Back to the garden"

********

Janis Joplin:

 Take a load off Fanny
The Band

Though it's hard to wrap it up,
I'll have to close. with this one:


"It's getting to the point where I'm no fun anymore.
Sometimes it hurts so badly* I must cry out loud."

*Wow, talk about projecting 50 years into the future!**
**Here we are; my generation's got heads, hearts, and hips that are hurting, as well as many other parts of the anatomy!***
***And, sadly, we didn't do such a great job at getting back to the garden, either.

On second thought, Listener Dear, I'll close on a more upbeat note:

Well, that's it!

The concert ended.
I gathered up my lawn chair,
said goodbye to friends.

And, just like that, it was fifty years later!

Hot Summertime

My Small Actor and Tiny Actor spent a chunk of the day with me today.
To begin with, we were at the local mall, where they suggested a "ride" on the massage chairs would be fun.  Reader Dear, they were taking a break from acting, so I decided to give them a treat.  I'm sure there was a life lesson involved here: A chair that is fed a dollar bill and promises a good time may turn out to be less exciting than a free lollipop at the bank!  It may, in fact, cause one to cringe and say "Ouch!"

Well, then, back from the mall, they were given a job by their horse-raising grandfather (aka HM, aka Poppy).  Poppy suggested a wage of two dollars each if they cleared all the dried-up corn stalks from the garden and fed them to the horses.  Lousy wages.  And hot and sticky working conditions!  Yet,  Reader Dear, they appeared to be having fun!

They harvested apples from my (relatively) little apple tree.  They played with Poppy's chickens.  They played with Poppy's cats.




They even played with your insects, Reader Dear (um...no one else wants to claim them; and anyway, who knows what spot those insects call home.)

To top it all off, there was the garden hose!

(Alas, no photos. Things got way too tricky for the wielder of the hose and wielder of the camera [self-same wielder of the words in this blog] when the wielders of those  water guns got way too wily!)

Hurrah for hot summertime!

ON THE ROAD AGAIN!

Just can't wait to get on the road again!!

I'll admit it, Willie sings the song so much  better than I do, Reader Dear, but not with more feeling!

I didn't rush to the mailbox today.  The first time I had called PennDOT,  more than a week ago, a guy named Kelvin had verified that the papers the doctor signed on my behalf had been received.    Reader Dear, I smiled and started singing Willie's song!


The neurologist's appointment I'd kept the day before had been strategically planned months ago to give me just the right amount of time to get the papers signed and get them to PennDOT by July 28, exactly six months post-seizure.  

"But, we cannot accept these papers," Kelvin was now saying.  "They will have to be signed again AFTER July 30!"

The tune in my head sputtered to a stop immediately.  "My seizure was on January 28!" I cried (Reader Dear, I tried not to roar).   "That was six months ago!  Are you telling me that I must now wait a week and go back to the doctor,  fax the papers again?!  And then, how long do I wait for the letter of verification?!"

"Sorry," Kelvin said.  "Yes."
"Three to four weeks for the paperwork to go through."


************
 Plans were made to return to the doctor's office.
Did I dare go on July 30?
(I would not push my luck, I decided.  I would wait until July 31).
 ************

On the last day of July, just before I called for an Uber ride to the good doctor's office, I thought I'd call PennDot again.

Lo and Behold!    A robot informed me that the current status of my drivers license was "VALID".   Dear One, there was no way I could trust it!  I called PennDOT and pressed "5" for a live person.

"What is your name?" I asked when a real person answered.

"Kelvin," he answered.

When I demanded of Kelvin that he give me an explanation, he said,
"Seems the paperwork did go through.  Your license is now valid.  But you are not legal to drive until your license is returned."

"I can't believe you, Kelvin!" I said.  "You know you gave me a different story last week, and put me into a real funk!  Now I'm going to call you and talk to you every day until you prove yourself to be trustworthy!" (Here I must admit that I laughed, Reader Dear.  It was no joking matter, of course, but I hoped for Kelvin to get his facts straight in the future and humor is a great learning device [I just made that up*]).

So, expectations being what they were, I waited until after supper this evening and then strolled to the mailbox.  No need to take another roller coaster ride!  I supposed that even when I got the letter from PennDOT weeks from now, I would need to make a return trip to the PennDOT office.

*********
And then, Reader Dear, I made a miraculous discovery!

I tore open the letter from PennDOT.

My actual license was enclosed!

My heart did a loop-de-loop!
(Not to be confused with other heart activities!)

I grabbed my car keys!

"I'll be back later!" I yelled to the HM.

I headed for the highway!

Where shall I go?! I thought to myself.  "California?!"

"

* I just made up the part about humor being an enhancement to learning.
Sure sounds good, however.  I stand by the statement.
(If I try standing on my head by the statement, perhaps you'll remember?)