This is Now.

Sent last night to the Trucker in Ohio.  It was nearly dark, but that is OK.  My focus was on the sky.

"Perfect weather this evening.  Cool.  Not Humid.  Breezy.  Quiet.  

Too quiet...."

This is why I weep.

That was Then.

June 14, 2015

A Quiet Sunday Afternoon At the Trucker's House…

...used to be when we came home from church with tired, hungry children, fed them a quick lunch, and tucked them in for naps. Then the dishes and the putting away of Sunday clothes. Finally, we could sit down for a bit of quiet.

Now the children are all grown up. The quiet has disappeared. Take today, for example.

Dear Son #1 & his Love had gone to early service at Evangelical Free Church. They were home and had the table set and were ready to put on the warm food by the time The Trucker closed up the sound board and I finished in the library and we got home. Shortly thereafter the girls came in, full of plans for the afternoon.

(Dear Son #2 had arranged to spend the afternoon learning to play golf with three friends. He asked them to teach him if he paid the costs. However, they refused to be seen on a golf course with him until he at least mastered chip and putt. I invited him to bring his friends along for lunch, since they were going back our direction anyway, but they were eager to get going and didn’t want to take the time.)

We sat down at the table and bowed for prayer. The Trucker & I hold hands to pray; the whole family used to join us before the children “outgrew” the habit. Now DS#1 & his Love hold hands too, which left the girls out. Prayer ended early, when snickers leaked out around the far end of the table. DS#1 & DD#2 had reached for DD#1’s hands to complete the circle, but as she is not one for holding hands, she resisted. Strenuously. Sigh.

As the bread was being passed, DS#2 blew through, having decided to change out of his church clothes before golfing. He again refused an invitation to lunch; his friends waited in DD#2’s jeep, which they had borrowed for the afternoon. Small cars may be easy on the gas bill, but you cannot fit full size friends in the back seat!

As the baked potatoes were making their rounds, DS#2 reappeared to tell DD#1, “The boat motor is up at Jordan’s farm being charged. You can find it outside the tractor shed.” (The girls were in the process of rounding up a group of friends their age to borrow DS#2’s raft for an evening on the lake.)

As the potato toppings began making their rounds, DD#1 became dissatisfied with the amount of salt coming out of the shaker, and gave it a hefty, DD#1-sized jolt. The lid popped out of the bottom and instantly there was salt over the table, the floor, and DD#1. (I had just refilled the shaker.) Her potato, where the salt was intended, was spared. Out came the vacuum cleaner, and down went DD#1 to change clothes.

Dessert was cookies, along with a bowl of watermelon and blueberries. While we were laughing about the fact that DS#1 dug out all the blueberries because he dislikes watermelon, and his Love dug out all the watermelon because she dislikes blueberries, The Trucker’s phone rang.

It was DS#2. On route 625, not even half way between home and his destination.  His sister’s jeep had begun squeaking, and then quit. Completely. The Trucker and the affected daughter left immediately, with friend Jesse’s car which had been left in our driveway, so the boys could continue their plans.

Meanwhile, DD#1 and his Love did the dishes and I cleared the table.

Shortly the investigative party returned. DD#2’s engine had locked up, a result of it getting thirsty for oil and her not noticing. Sigh. After DD#1 had come close to doing the same thing this past winter, and hearing both The Trucker and DS#1 instruct DD#1 on how to avoid such dangers in the future, this still escaped her notice. DD#2’s response, “I shall go down to my room and cry.”

The Trucker and DS#1 left with DD#1’s truck and a tow rope. His Love joined them for the experience. They hooked the rope to the jeep on one end and to the tow hooks DD#1 installed on her truck at the other end. Unfortunately the rope was a tad short, so The Trucker in the jeep had to ride the brakes hard a few times to avoid putting tow hook indentations on DD#2’s bumper yet. During the process, His Love made a comment that will be remembered in family history, “I have never seen this done before! Um, is this legal?” DS#1’s answer, “Probably not, but neither do we want to rent a towing dolly on a Sunday if we can help it!”

Back at home, both girls’ phones are buzzing with incoming and outgoing text messages as their group of friends are responding to the invitation and receiving information. DD#1 was scrounging through the fridge and cupboards for a snack to take along on the raft. Heaven forbid that we plan ahead and give mom warning of the food that would be needed. No, we just take what is there and say it will be good enough. Sigh. Hope there is enough left for packing four lunches tomorrow.

Then DD#2 came stomping up the stairs. “Will you come down to my room? My chair ate my phone and I can’t find it. It’s buzzing away in there and I know I am getting messages and I can’t see where to reach in!” (This is a decrepit red leather recliner she found for free at a yard sale and cleaned up.) Together the girls turned the chair upside down and shook out the phone.

The towing company returned, still chuckling over his Love’s response to what has become a somewhat routine solution in this household. The jeep had been left at the local repair establishment with a note that said: “red jeep - call 'The Trucker'.” They will absolutely love that message on a Monday morning, seeing as they are already engaged to put a new engine in the Tahoe that quit on me a week ago. (Also for oil related issues, but nothing that would have shown on the gauges!) It doesn’t always pay to buy used. Oh, how we miss our green pickup truck!

The Trucker was a bit discouraged. He asked me if I will mind being without a vehicle for the coming week. I reminded him of several points:

1. I seldom have time to go anywhere.

2. Several days DD#2 works 1 - 9, and I can do errands in the morning.

3. DD#2 can learn to drive her brother’s car and he can go back to his bike. 

4. We have three children working locally. I can take any one of them to work and have their vehicle.

5. I can always walk up Daddy & Mama’s and borrow their car.

6. We are spoiled with all our vehicles. Many families share routinely.

7. The children can bring home anything I need when they are out.

DS#1 & his Love left for their afternoon plans. DD#1 was in need of a nap, so she went down to have it in the meadow with the resident Halflinger. DD#2, her discouragement apparent, went to the back porch to answer text messages. The Trucker disappeared into the basement to watch an old cowboy DVD. The house is quiet. For now.

Spoke too soon. DD#2 came back in to vent her frustration, her regret at not taking her father’s advice against buying the jeep, her worries about what to do next. “It seems every time I get a raise at work, my jeep needs repaired!” I tried to comfort her, and encourage her not to “over-think” it, but wait til she gets the verdict. Eventually she stretched out for a nap.

Me? I’m wondering if it is safe to attempt a nap of my own. Better find something to do to stay awake, and thus be available to the next person coming through. And while I am at it, to praise God that He ordained the jeep to croak today, and not late last night when DD#2 was bringing little ones home from an event in Kutztown. Or Thursday, when The Trucker & I were planning to use it to go to the hunting cabin three hours away. 

The house is quiet again. Until they all begin returning home with tales of the day.

A Dark and Rainy Night

Just after darkness had fallen, on Sunday evening, June 10, the green Kenworth roared up our road and stopped by the mailbox.  The Trucker helped me toss out duffle bags, laundry bags, computer bag, dirty dishes bag.

Then he was on to the Philadelphia Produce Market to deliver the load.  As he said, the load "belonged to someone named Granny, and all I know about her is that her last name is Smith."  It's what happens to a sense of humor after too many days of engine noise and diesel fumes.

This Passenger unpacked, organized, began loads of laundry, washed dishes, dug food from the freezer to thaw.  Cats were fed.  Plants got their first drink in a week.

After unloading, the Trucker planned to go on back to the shop where the trailer was to be dropped for new tires, and sleep there, coming home later in the morning.  The Passenger generally stays up til hearing that he is settled for the night.

On this night, uneasiness ruled.  No discernible reason.  Just uneasiness.  The night was unusually dark.  Sheets of rain poured down.  The proverbial "It was a dark and rainy night."  The Passenger (that would be me) parked at the desk to work on updating a contact list.  12:30AM, the phone rings.  Way too early for the Trucker to be settled at the shop.  His voice is tense, the words choppy.

"I've had an accident.  Don't worry, no one was hurt.  It will be a while til I am done."  The words were heard before, but are never welcome.  They were not the jolt, but the tone of voice in which they were said, was.

We talked, he describing what happened, as the rain drenched him and the emergency workers.  I asked questions, listened, encouraged, waited.  Then another call, saying he was free to leave.  Then flooded roads stalled traffic, and he needed to stay awake as the long day and adrenaline rush faded.

A very short night, and a few long days to deal with insurance (and the lack thereof, in the case of the other driver) and repairs.  Eventually enough sleep happened to allow feeling somewhat rested.

We are grateful.  There was no loss of life.  The Trucker was not injured stepping out of the truck into the dark deluge, unaware his steps had been ripped away.  The repairs can be done by the Trucker.  Insurance is available if needed.  And since his repair work must to be accomplished outdoors in our driveway, the sunny, cool weather was an extra blessing.

It was a dark and rainy night, on the Schuykill Expressway in Philadelphia.

Firemen surrounded the hapless Lexus, and yanked it from where it came to

rest just behind the drive tires.  It will not be driving again.

They also unbent the bumper enough that it no longer scraped the tire.  And then

 the Trucker could pull to the roadside til investigations were completed.

The bottom step is gone, a fact the Trucker didn't know til his foot landed in

empty air.  So thankful no injury resulted.

Then there was the matter of the bent step brackets.

The Trucker is up to any challenge...

He uses the tools available.  A good yank from the Chevy, and all was in line again.

Lights off the bumper, and a bend where bends shouldn't be.  A new bumper is

in order, and that is not all bad.

The new bumper, with the old in the foreground.

A smaller version the Trucker has been wanting

to try, and now is as good a time as any.

And here is the Trucker's late father, in 2016, with his own bumper.  

The apple doesn't fall far from the tree.

Or maybe it's the bumper from the truck?

The 1987 KW

En route to a weekend with the Trucker's siblings and spouses, a detour happened.  To an overgrown, abandoned lot along Route 180 in Watsontown, PA.  The reason?

The 1987 KW bought  by the Trucker in 1992.  He drove it for one year.  

It was in rough shape.

The steps were too unstable to let me climb into the cab.  Though looking in, I still remember a little fellow in blue denim overalls, standing between the seats, not quite as tall as the shifter, but wanting to "help".

The heater on the top shelf was where my baby slept while I cleaned the cab and bunk.

For nights on the road, we made a little bed for him on the floor of the bunk.  Once in Florida, when I reached down to check him in the night, he was not there.  I still remember the shock and fear.  He had rolled back under the bunk, out of reach.  After I found him and calmed down, adjustments were made for his new-found skill of rolling over (even in his sleep)!

Here it is in better days.

Ronnie was four months old when we went to Florida for oranges in April...

...and ten months old when we went to Colorado for spinach in October.

This photo is from June of 1993, at the Transport for Christ Rally in Lebanon, PA.  It shows the paint job on the toolbox .  Ronnie is sitting in the bunk.

Memories....

The Dreamers Experience

Yes, the word Dreamers has a politically correct meaning in our world today.  But this post is not about that.

Instead, it is about a stop at...well, I needed to ask the Trucker for the location, again.  His response?  "It's up that way."   Intermission here while he heaves his tired self off the recliner and digs up a well worn map.

"Just off the top of my head I would say it's near Liverpool, PA."  OK, that will do for now.

A small restaurant/mini golf establishment that is found along Route 11 & 15 in Pennsylvania.  A place the Trucker had often wished to check out, but there is not truck parking to be had.  One also needs, when drivng north, to pass the place, take the next exit, and double back.

Anyway, the Trucker treated me to a stop there, en route in the big green (pickup) truck to a family weekend.

An older building, with a porch running its length.

 Vintage riding toys on the porch, near the window where

takeout ice cream could be ordered.

A bench, also vintage but very sturdy, with tables for

takeout orders behind and a Coca-Cola ad "be-front."

The bedpan-planter centerpiece was a unique touch.

As a customer you walk in, and give your order before choosing a table, if you know what you are hungry for.  Otherwise, a menu on a whiteboard will be rolled to your table.  Service is attentive, but informal.

The Trucker had his standard cheeseburger and fries.  His Passenger opted for a chili dog.  A tasty, messy business, that was.  We were too busy  consuming to snap a photo, unfortunately.

The walls were filled with vintage photos, any from the local area.  A shelf of toys and coloring books stood under a window.  

And just outside the door was a freezer with all manner of Popsicles 

and other frozen treats on the honor system.

The restrooms around the corner had outside entrances for "guys" and "dolls."  And the same key opened both!  The facilities were decidedly old fashioned, but adequate, and very clean.  However, a patron of Larger Than Average Size (ahem) would need to go back outside to turn around...

A covered pavilion with tables extended from the porch.  At

the far end were riding toys and a sandbox.

 A large backyard for children to run off their wiggles...

...and on the other side of the building, a small mini golf course.

This is Dreamers.  A perfect stop for good food, great ice cream, and a place to rest and recreate before continuing the journey.

If only it was accessible for trucks!

Thinking About things....Like How Appearance Affects Behavior

This morning the Trucker and I breakfasted at a truck stop in Fargo, North Dakota.  While we were walking across the parking lot hand in hand, an oncoming truck stopped, and waved us to cross the lot ahead of him.  A considerate gesture, although it may have been better in this instance for him to go on through first.

The Trucker was dressed in his trademark western style shirt, jeans, and boots.  I wore a pullover blouse, long, full skirt, and sandals.  (Not hard to see who is working and who is not, here!)

We entered the building, and while waiting for the Trucker to finish business, I paced back and forth in the lobby area.  (No way will I sit if there is opportunity to walk!)  At the coffee counter, the pig-tailed gentleman barista was serving a couple who stood out by their dress.  The man, with his short hair and beard, suspenders and plainly cut clothing, could have fit in at any Lancaster County Beachy church.  The woman wore a long, vested dress as is common in the Charity churches.  Her obviously abundant, pinned up hair was covered by a black veil that draped over her shoulders and midway down her back.  Apparently they had a specific way their order was to be filled, and the server was listening intently, and responding in a very respectful tone.

On my next pass through the area, a man wearing sweatpants and sandals, sporting tattoos on any exposed skin, was ordering a drink.  While no less respectful, the barista was much less attentive and responsive.

Now, maybe I am reading too much into this.  I don't know what the particulars of the two orders were.  But it got me thinking.

This Passenger dresses for comfort and modesty while riding the truck.  And as simply as possible, for time is usually of the essence.  And yes, I do wear a skirt.  Not always, but often.  It does require a bit more agility when climbing in and out, but in a skirt that is long and loose, any position can be assumed to relieve the stress of constant sitting without sacrificing modesty.  Leggings underneath provide warmth and comfort.  At night, it takes little fuss and space to remove the skirt and sleep comfortably in shirt and leggings.

Many people dress for comfort when traveling.  No argument there.  But they take it a bit far, in my opinion.  One doesn't have to look far to see very sloppy appearances.  You've seen them, I don't need to elaborate.  Behavior also seems to correspond with appearance.

Problem is, with the lowering of dress standards and behavior of the general public, comes the decline in self respect as well.  Not only of the wearer, but of those who interact with them.  I don't think people do this consciously.  It just happens.  I doubt that barista served the conservatively dressed couple more carefully because he thought they would be quick to anger and accuse if their order was not as they requested.  He just naturally responded to the respect they had for themselves and those around them, as evidenced by their dress and mannerisms.

As we left, I thought back to the many times busy truckers on a schedule at these facilities have stopped to open doors, say "excuse me, ma'am," apologize for a swear word, step back and allow me to precede them.  And so I posed a question to the Trucker.

"Remember when we were going across the lot, and that trucker stopped his rig and waved us across ahead of him?  Do you think things like that happen more often when I am with you than when you are alone?"

Reeling his brain back in from wherever it was at the time, the Trucker pondered.  "Never gave it much thought before, but yes, I think so."

There is chivalry, honor, and respect left in the world.  Often found at the most unexpected places.  Especially as believers, we are called to treat others as we would ourselves, or better, even as though serving angels unawares.  And our behavior toward others should not be dependent on how others present themselves to us.

But even in a truck stop or a travel plaza, modesty, femininity, respect for ourselves and others, have a place, and can be found.  There still seems to be instinctive courtesy among people, no matter how society and its popular attitudes attempt to squelch it.  And while I am perfectly capable of opening doors and entering and exiting trucks on my own, and would personally prefer to serve rather than be served, accepting the courtesy offered shows respect in return to the one offering it.

My appearance may attract more attention out in the world than I prefer.  But with God's help, I will bring honor to Him, rather than dishonor.  A smile and a "Thank you, sir," go a long way to make someone's day.

(Please do not take from this that I am saying only a woman in a long skirt or head covering is modest, or deserves courtesy.  A thousand times no.  We are created in God's image, male and female, whether we acknowledge it or not.  I have seen conservative women who are very immodest by their actions, words, and the cut and fit of their "plain" dresses.  I have also seen very modest women clothed in slacks and blouses, jeans and shirts.  There is no place for legalism here, but every place for openness to the Spirit.  And  a teachable heart, a willingness to honor the gentle guidance of husband or father.)

Lookout Pass

Come with the Trucker and I as we follow the swan down Lookout Pass on Route 90, starting at the top of the mountain just after entering Idaho from Montana. I clocked on the video at Exit 0. We are in the Coeur d’Alene Mountains, which are part of the Bitterroot Range of the Rocky Mountains.

This is the highest point on Interstate 90 between Missoula, Montana and Seattle, Washington. It is also a time zone border, with Montana on Mountain Time and Idaho on Pacific Time.

Apologies for the motion of the camera. Given the jolting of the truck, keeping it still was not an option. Please do not get motion sickness! And the bug splats on the windshield, well, they you always have with you, despite the Trucker’s best efforts.

Note the construction, two escape ramps, and the beautiful scenery! And the sound of the jake brake, holding us back to approximately 40 mph.

The pass was formerly used by the Northern Pacific Railway; the right of way is still intact and used as a rail trail. The Chicago, Milwaukee, St. Paul and Pacific Railroad ran nearby, using the St. Paul Pass Tunnel south of Lookout Pass. This tunnel was completed in 1908, and is now part of the Route of the Hiawatha rail trail. At the nearby Mullen Pass, the historic Mullan Road of 1860 is still in use.

(information from Wikipedia)

...and then Blogger told me that my video as too large to upload.  Being technologically ignorant of how to fix such things, this Passenger was able to learn how to pull off some scenes of the video as still photos.  Here they are, and now you don't have to deal with motion sickness or the roar of the jake brake!   (And yep, still got those bugs...)

The North Dakota Badlands

The name always evoked in me a sense of desolate emptiness, devoid of color.  Not so.

A short rest stop here, in the North Dakota Badlands.

The Theodore Roosevelt Memorial Park, along Route 94, in western North Dakota.

The sun's glare prevented me from seeing what I was photographing until

after the fact.  So...most of the plaque.

Easy to see how pioneers in their wagons could get lost down in there and 

wander indefinitely trying to find a way out.

Views from the overlook behind the rest area building.  The Trucker has at times seen buffalo grazing far below.

Caught the Trucker enjoying the view.

The lawn between the parking area and the road.  Yup, buffalo have been here.  Hopefully not when human travelers were....
I found photos on the internet of buffalo grazing on the Rest Area lawn, but could not share them here.
Can you imagine sending your children out to collect these to use a fuel for cooking supper, as the pioneers did??

The entire national park is surrounded by miles of wire fencing.  The driveways entering and exiting rest areas have cattle guards - metal pipes with spaces between - embedded in the ground.  Cattle, buffalo, and other large animals will not walk over them.  Which protects them and the highway traffic from each other.

Almost like this.  Didn't get a photo of the ones where we stopped.

The truck, gleaming from it's recent wash, ready to go.

The north is unusually green, even for this time of year.  Rivers are running full, carpets of green grass cover the hills and plains. The expansive sky, the largeness of it all, make one feel as if one could just run free, on and on against the wind.

Those black dots are cattle.  

And nowhere else have I seen water as deep blue as here!

And then it was back on the road again, headed west, the mountains in the distance coming ever closer.....