Old Barn ... New Barn

One night in the summer before 7th grade, my mother sent me to pick up my two sisters at the barn that was about a half mile from our house. You had to walk through an old vacant estate to get there, and she didn't want them walking back through that area alone. My sisters rode horses at this barn, and hung out with their friends there. I complained about the task but then set at it, and showed up at the barn. And there, to my amazement, were a bevy of cute 13 and 14 year old girls - not one guy in sight, except ancient Mr. T, who managed the place. All the girls were in jeans, and all smelled slightly of horse manure, but they were all cuties. Like puppies or kittens ... all cute in their own way. I walked home with my sisters, but then had to tell my buddies in the neighborhood of this discovery of mine.

"How many are there?" "There must be 15 or 20 of them. Really. All cute."

The next day, we all trooped down to the barn to pick up the girls. And pick them up we did. Within weeks we had paired off, my guy friends and my sisters' girl friends, and some were going steady, and the more forward of the group were having make-out sessions up in the hayloft. There were barn parties that fall and winter, including one at a cabin in the woods, and many of us smoked our first cigarettes there. Not a good thing in hindsight, but we were starting to experience the grown up activities.

A year or so after that first encounter, the girls all moved their horses to the New Barn - at the Strawbridge Estate on Mill Road in Radnor. The boys were still hanging out there during that summer. We watched the girls ride more than ride ourselves, but sometimes we would go on trail rides with them, or they would chase us around in the fields on horseback, or we would rile up the cows in the adjoining field, or hang out in other places on the estate while the girls rode. Sometimes we'd hang out in the tack room and shoot the breeze. Occasionally they would get us to muck stalls with them, or move hay bales, or do some of the other work required at the barn. The Strawbridge mansion was vacant then, but we found an open window on the first floor, and so we would go inside, play hide and seek, explore each room, and on at least one occasion we ordered pizza for delivery, and then pretended we were Main Line Blue Bloods when the pizza man came: "Daddy, the pizza man is here" in what passed for a Main Line accent.

After that summer, I think the "boys going to the barn" phase finally ended. The girls continued to ride; some still do. However, while none of the "steadies" lasted that long (and I still have the ID bracelet that I gave to my steady then), those friendships endure. My sisters still stay in touch with the "Barn Girls", and at our annual Turkey Bowl gathering, many of the original group from 7th grade still gather.

Today, I went out out for a run at lunch, in the neighborhood across the street from my office. It's a residential development, and I usually don't go there, but I wanted to change it up today. House after house, a long rolling hill, curved around, I saw a creek running through an open space area behind the homes, and then came to an intersection ... and stopped in my tracks. There on the far hillside, through the trees, was the Strawbridge Mansion. Not a surprise to me - I knew it was still there ... but now I was getting the view from what used to be the fields where we used to hang out. I remembered that when you left the paddock, you crossed over a bridge and a little creek, and the path to the field hugged the hillside along the creek, which flowed down into a larger creek in the meadow. I could see the small creek now, and could imagine the path along it, with the Mansion and the barn in the foreground. It was the only location in the whole run where I could actually see what I used to see here. The little guest house that sat below the mansion, where the boys would hang out and smoke, was gone. The rusty iron fencing - gone. The creek disappeared into a culvert under the road and re-emerged in the backyard of the local MacMansion. It still flowed down and into what was the meadow where the ring was (see photo)... but the ring was gone. The meadow gone. Horses gone. Girls gone. The world of 1968 gone. Except in my head, where all of these memories were suddenly unleashed by the proximity to place. It was a nice visit back to 1968, brought about by the winter view of the mansion visible through the trees. When summer comes, that view disappears. I really hadn't seen that view since 1968.

As I ran back to the office, this rhyme popped into my head:

Curiosity killed the cat.
Some day it may kill me.
But till it does I'll look around
And see what I can see.

It sounds like something by Ogden Nash. Not sure if it's his or mine. But it perfectly described what I was feeling on my run and the spontaneous visit to 1968.

So what's good with the world: sisters ... who have friends who are Babes. Memories that can be stored up for so long, and suddenly unleashed by a sight, or a smell or a song. Breaking up the routine and being rewarded with the unexpected.

Leaving your comfort zone ...

I made my singing debut last night, on a raised stage in front of an audience of about 80 retirees at the Granite Farms Estates community near Media. I was not the star attraction - that honor belonged to my wife, Barb, who has given concerts in this community in the past, and she was accompanied by John Grecia, an amazingly gifted pianist and musician. She did a program of love songs and standards - Gershwin, Kern, Rogers and Hammerstein, and John did an out-of-control "Kitten on the Keys", among other songs. Towards the end, she called me up to do a duet with her. But let me backtrack for a moment about the journey to that point.

Barb and John have worked together many times in the past, the first time being 19 years ago when they were in a production of Music Man together. They are both graduates of music programs at West Chester University. They fill in for each other when they each need backup support - she for her school programs and he for his church choir activities. They are both very musical and very professional. They had a one hour rehearsal last weekend and ran through her list of about 18 songs. I stopped by to rehearse my one song. It has originally been just the first verse of the song, but John said "You can't stop there - the crowd will love this ..." and so we agreed to add in the second verse. I went home and printed it out - Barb said I didn't have to memorize it - just have it up on the music stand.

Last night we rode down together to the venue - set up the gear on the stage, and went into a back room to practice. Watching them rehearse was a marvel. John would improvise the intro, and Barb would come in, sing a few bars, tell him the tempo she wanted, he would make a few notes on his music, and then they would be on to the next song. More of the same thing - just running quickly through the transitions - beginnings, endings, changes in key. I was looking forward to practicing my one song end to end - but we just ran through it the same way - quickly, with a reminder that the turnaround at the end of the first verse is short, and the one at the end of the song is long. And then the MC came in to say "time". I went off to sit with the audience, while they went backstage to be introduced.

Sitting in the crowd, I marveled at how smoothly the two of them worked together, and how the songs came out effortlessly. They are both great musicians, Barb's material was the soundtrack to the lives of the people who she was singing to, she was in great voice, and she nailed her high notes. It reminded me of watching the figure skating pairs at the Olympics - you know the big throws are coming up, here they come, can they do it, here it is .... NAILED IT! Now we can breath again. Till the next one.

And then, it was my turn. I joined them on stage, and brought along my music stand and lyrics that I had left off stage. I told the crowd that I've been told I sing like a lawyer ... and I got a nice laugh. In the first verse, my microphone squawked at me - we didn't do a sound check here - and so I backed off the mike. I survived the experience. I actually enjoyed the experience ... it's a song I have always wanted to sing - and here I was doing so on stage with two gifted musicians. I told them afterwards it was like going out for a test ride in a Ferarri.

So, I left my comfort zone last night. I've performed as part of a group before, but never quite so alone on stage in front of a crowd, and singing. But it was enjoyable to try this out, to fulfill a dream to be the person up there doing it, rather than sitting there and watching it. Barb's daughter recorded the second verse of the song ... and you can view it on YouTube here: Doug's debut.

I am a bit wooden, a bit nervous. I am going to hold on to my day job for now. But last night, I left my comfort zone, and briefly flew to a place that I had never been before. And I enjoyed the view.

What's right with the world: people with talent who make it look effortless; the music of Gershwin and friends still being performed; having a spouse who opens doors for you; and leaving your comfort zone ... in a Ferrarri!

Ground Hog's Day ...

Ground Hog's Day is definitely something that's right with the world. Not the movie by that name (although it is a classic), but the actual event held in Punxsutawney, Pennsylvania. I had always wanted to go to Punxsutawney (derived from Indian word for "town of the sand flies") on that day ... and several years ago the day fell on a Saturday, so Barb and I went off to check it out. Every hotel in the area was booked, so we had to stay at a rest stop motel along Route 80 outside of DuBois. We arrived there late Friday, and went right to bed, because we had read that you need to get to Punxsutawney quite early to get tickets to ride one of the buses that takes you out to Gobbler's Knob, where the festivities are held.

We were up at 3:00 a.m. and on the road shortly afterwards, and picked up company along the way. We arrived in the town in the dark, and had to search for parking. Got our bearings ... found the place selling the bus tickets ... they also stamp you with a groundhog paw stamp. Then off to the lines of school buses - must be every bus in Jefferson County called in for service. The ride to the Knob is not that long - it's a park on a hillside about a mile outside of the town. We arrived at about 4:15 a.m. And were not the first ones there. There were already thousands of people present, bonfires burning, porta potties set up, a snack bar doing a brisk business, and music blaring from a lighted stage at the bottom of a natural amphitheater. Women in colored t-shirts were dancing on the stage - the Groundhog Dancers - they were in motion up until the climax of the morning - the ceremony with Punxsutawney Phil, Seer of Seers, Sage of Sages, Prognosticator of Prognosticators and Weather Prophet Extraordinary. That's his full name. I imagine his friends just call him Phil.

The buses continued to arrive and depart for the next several hours, bringing thousands more to the Knob. On the stage, there was as variety of entertainment - game shows with audience participation, rock anthems and dancing, shooting of t shirts high up into the air to land in the crowd, several wedding proposals (both accepted), the introduction of dignitaries and guests, and fireworks simulcast to music. People were roaming around dressed up in a variety of costumes and headgear that reflect their take on what the well dressed groundhog fan should wear on this occasion. Lots of weird fur and funny hats. Mirth was in the air. The snack bar was serving hot dogs, coffee, hot chocolate. Somewhat bizarre to be standing on a hillside in the middle of Pennsylvania in 29 degrees at 6:00 a.m. in February, eating hot dogs with sauerkraut and watching fireworks (bursting above the clouds - and so more of a colorful glow than the summer version), while listening to Copland's Fanfare for the Common Man. And that's the charm of the whole event.

At about 7:00 a.m., the Inner Circle arrives - about twenty men in top hats and black suits. They are the Inner Circle of the Punxsutawney Groundhog's Club, the group that takes care of and nurtures both Phil and the annual event. They go through a lot of hocus pocus and finally at 7:25 a.m., they pull Phil out of a tree stump on stage, talk to him in Groundhogese, listen to what he says, and then announce whether he has seen his shadow or not. If there is no shadow, then spring is near. If he sees his shadow, then it is 6 more weeks of winter. Then they broadcast Bill Murray's heartwarming speech from the end of the movie, and then everyone goes in peace.

The buses are still running - but you are in a crowd of 35,000 people - and so most of us simply walked back into town. It's about a mile, down hill, and it gets your feet moving, and by the time you get to town, you can feel your toes again. The town is quintessential Pennsylvania small town, but with a local twist. There are statues of groundhogs everywhere, that theme is everywhere. There is a large central square, and they have ice carvings, wood carvings, benches - and of course what are they carving? Groundhogs. There is a gift shop that sells the largest variety of groundhog themed chotchka in the world. But we found that most of the energy of the day was left up on the Knob. We thought the town might fill up with events and such, but it was pretty quiet. We went back to our motel and took a nap.

We returned to Punx for the night's activities - but there weren't any to speak of. I think the action was the night before. There were some rowdy drunks in the bar of the local hotel, but we walked the streets for a few hours and did not see too many other people in our travels. We did see Phil's home - he has a place built for him in the town library, and a window allows him to see out to the town square, and also allows visitors to see him. He wasn't there when we were - he had done his duty for the day and so perhaps they gave him the rest of the day off. We went back up to the Knob, by car this time, and it was hard to believe that this township park was the scene of all of that madness just hours before. The stage was still there, with the artificial tree stump where Phil was displayed. And you could see the small "waiting room" below it where they kept Phil until it was time for his prediction. And I thought "what must Phil have been thinking, hearing all of that noise outside, four hours of rock anthems, and then being pulled out into the cold, and held up in the air before thousands of screaming humans?" I imagine it was "This ain't gonna end well".

They rolled up the sidewalk at about 6:00 p.m. and we took that as our cue to leave. Had dinner at a diner in DuBois. The next day, we took the long way home, via Indiana, Pennsylvania, and visited the Jimmy Stewart Museum. It was actually enjoyable - he had quite an interesting life, and his home town remembers him lovingly in this museum. Then the long ride home. We filmed a lot of our trip - and now, three years later, I finally strung it all together and hope to get it posted up to YouTube. If you like sitting through someone else's home movies (and who doesn't?) then you will love this version. But actually, it gives a nice tour of the events of that day. I'll post a link when I overcome the last of my tech obstacles and get it posted.

But back to Punxsutawney for a moment, to close with the speech that Bill Murray gave at the end of the movie Groundhog Day:

“When Chekhov saw the long winter ... he saw a winter bleak and dark and bereft of hope.

Yet we know that winter is just another step in the cycle of life.

But standing here among the people of Punxsutawney...

and basking in the warmth of their hearths and hearts...

I couldn't imagine a better fate ... than a long and lustrous winter.”

From Punxsutawney,
it's Doug Humes.

Not just another bedroom community

Newtown Township is hosting their twice a year book sale next week at the meeting room at the Township Building adjacent to the library. The sale includes not only books, but videos, CDs, audio books, and games & puzzles. I drove over yesterday to drop off a few boxes of books. The books are kept in one volunteer's garage until a few days before the event. The Township sends workers over to load the boxes of donated books and bring them to the sale site. Volunteers then sort through them and separate them into paperbacks, hard bound books, and the other categories, and then a further sort by subject matter: fiction, history, how to, etc. They will be open for business there from February 1-5. Go to the Library's website for more details.

I recognized all of the the volunteers. I have worked with them all on various township events. I spoke with the woman whose garage is the permanent home of the used book collection prior to sale. She has been involved in the library for as long as I have lived here, and is also involved in other community affairs and events. My wife and I occasionally attend a local church where we know the choir director, and we see our library volunteer there as well. She is a person who is involved in the world, not just passing through it. We talked about how we see the same faces at our different events - the same volunteers. I told her that is why I was drawn to the local historical society; because I ended up meeting all of the people who make a difference in the community: the organizers of the 4th of July parade, the people behind the historic sign project in Newtown, the people who volunteer on Election Day, who support the fire department, who put on Heritage Day and the Fall Festival, who run the school tours, who attend the Township meetings, and serve on various boards and committees in the community. I told her that at one time I saw all of these people together in one room and thought "what would happen to the township if a bomb went off in this room?" She said "then we'd be just another bedroom community."

I asked as well what happens to the "leftovers" after the sale. First, the library takes selected items to put on their $1 cart at the entranceway. A second non-profit organization takes selected books to sell and raise money for women in need. A third non-profit then agrees to take the balance. And then the library starts collecting books for the next sale in August.

The Township Library is a public charity, and so gifts of money or property to the Library are permitted as charitable deductions on your federal income tax returns. The Library will give you a receipt - but they do not list all of the property that you gave them, or value it. It is up to you to decide what the value is. The IRS regulations (see Publication 526) state the basic rule that "If you contribute property to a qualified organization, the amount of your charitable contribution is generally the fair market value of the property at the time of the contribution." There are certain record-keeping requirements as well. You need to have a written acknowledgement of the gift from the qualified organization, and then you must list each item, and your calculation of fair market value. At higher contribution levels, more detail is required. I have in the past used a basic Excel spreadsheet for clothing donations. I suppose I can use the same form for the books. But do I make a list of every book in every box? In theory I suppose you need to do so. I have not given it much thought - my main mission was simply to get these boxes of books out of the house. The charitable deduction is icing on the cake. If you are not abusing your deductions, but giving an honest estimate based on some logical method, then I am counting on the IRS not to audit me on this basis alone, and to look at my spreadsheet and agree that I have met my burden of proof.

Public libraries, community volunteers, charitable deductions, and cheap books and CD's, all things to be thankful for today.

A funny thing happened on the way to the office ...

My commute to my office is ten minutes. Today, it took me past the post office, where I stopped to mail letters. Two Girl Scouts and their moms had set up a table and were selling Girl Scout cookies. I had money in my pocket, they had cookies, and so we made an exchange. I support their cause - scouting and the values it instills - while they cater to my weakness - cookies.

When I left, I stopped at the traffic light. Today is the coldest day of the year so far, 17 degrees with a wind chill below 10. At the traffic light were college students, Penn State students, standing in the cold and holding donation cans. "Canning" in their parlance. I was a Penn State student; my son is a current Penn State student. I know this drill. They are raising money for The Four Diamonds Fund at Penn State Children's Hospital, to benefit the fight against pediatric cancer. The fundraising ends with the annual event now known as THON.

THON started at Penn State the same year that I did, 1973, when it was known as the IFC Dance Marathon - and at that time the "marathon" part of it got more attention than the fundraising part. But with each year, as it raised more and more money, its fame spread. In 1992, THON raised more than one million dollars in a year for the first time. Last year THON raised over $8 million, of which about $7.5 million went to the Four Diamonds Fund. Today, it is the largest student-run philanthropy in the world. Since 1977, THON has raised more than $69 million. And who is this mysterious IFC that started and continues to be one of the primary organizers of the event? The Interfraternity Council - the fraternities and sororities at Penn State. Many other groups now participate and contribute - but the beating heart of the effort has been "frat boys" and "sorority girls". $69,000,000.00 for pediatric cancer. Not bad for "frat boys" and "sorority girls".

The visit to the post office and the traffic stop each left me financially lighter but feeling good about the world I was passing through. As I pulled into my office lot, I navigated past two runners, running on the coldest day of the year. No sitting at home complaining for them. They are out taking inventory of what they've got inside, and developing the qualities that can deal face to face with adversity in life.

In my ten minute drive to the office, I encountered all of these wonderful people, out making a difference in the world. You can be one of them too. Buy the cookies. Fill the cans. Donate online to THON (see DONATE NOW at the website). Take inventory of yourself and exercise all of those things that we each have inside us that contribute to the common good.

Our Capacity for Wonder

In the summer 2003, NASA launched two dune buggies aimed towards Mars. They both landed successfully in January 2004, and began tooling around on their scheduled 3 month missions. They are still there 7 years later. Spirit stopped communicating in March 2010, but NASA has not given up hope; Opportunity is still moving around, taking photos, analyzing samples, sending back data. Meanwhile, in 2005, the Mars Reconnaissance Orbiter was launched towards Mars as well, and now continues to circle the planet, sending back data and taking photos, including a recent one showing Opportunity at the edge of a crater it is studying.

In elementary school in the 60's, we brought in TV's and watched every single manned launch. Now, these amazing feats of technology are taken for granted. But sometimes we need to be reminded of the amazing things we can accomplish - and we need to look at pictures of the surface of Mars, and exercise our sense of wonder.

For Whom the Bell Tolls ...

I biked to work today.

On the way, I came across a situation that had not occurred to me on a bike before. Rounding a downhill curve, I came upon a stopped school bus facing me, red lights blinking. My on-bike computer, safely enclosed inside my head, immediately began analyzing the situation: "a school bus, stopped, blinking, cars have to stop, I'm a bike, do I have to stop, what's the purpose of the rule, to protect kids crossing the street, am I a threat to them if I blow through, of course I am, the rule applies to me, it applies to everyone, it is a rule of safety and that trumps everything else ..." That analysis was completed in about a half a second, and I stopped. When the bus resumed, the bus driver looked at me, waved and smiled, and I smiled and nodded back. The social compact was respected. She did what she was supposed to do. I did what I was supposed to do. No one was harmed. We all went on our way.

Not even worth mentioning really, except that less than 24 hours ago, on a nearby road that I have regularly biked, a biker was hit and killed. He was headed west on West Chester Pike, passing the north bound on-ramp to what old timers here call "the Blue Route" - an interstate highway. He was apparently hit from behind by a woman turning on to the ramp. My son had called me later in the day to ask whether I had biked in that day. He heard the news report of a biker down. At his job, a person who had driven past had seen the aftermath, and it was not pretty.

It is a crowded area of large roads handling lots of traffic. I am actively afraid when I either run or bike past here, and must cross the mouth of the on and off ramps. People hit them flying, ready to gear up for that high speed merge that is coming up, or come off flying, still used to interstate speed as they exit. I know. I drive as well.

Some people jump immediately to the next question of "who's at fault?" or "Was he wearing a helmet?" (yes). "Is the driver or biker someone I can abuse because of their sex, race, politics, age ... " It is amazing to me the level of nastiness, prejudice and vitriol that is exposed in the comment sections of online news reports these days. It scares me, frankly. Thoughts that should never be thought, much less see the light of day, are freely posted by anonymous trolls ... who then go out and mingle with the rest of us all day.

I'm a lawyer - so of course people think that my first thought is "who is at fault and how do I profit from that?" Actually, most of us lawyers (particularly transactional lawyers!) don't think that way at all. We are in the business of dealing with people and their problems. Every day this is what we do. We see the dark side of the human condition. Lives are lost, or permanently damaged. There is pain and anguish for everyone involved, for their families, their friends. Physical pain, emotional paid, scarring, many lives changed and irreparably harmed. That's what I immediately think of. The loss, the harm, the lives affected. And of course my next thought is "there but for the grace of God, goes me."

We all make mistakes in life. Fortunately most of them don't result in our death or the death of others. But sometimes they do. Let's leave the finding of fault to the lawsuit, and find some other lessons to take from these tragedies.

I biked to work today. I was sharing the same roads with walkers, runners, cars and trucks. The rules of the road apply to all of us. The three C's of high school driving class - care, courtesy, consideration for others - apply to all who use the roads. If I see a biker who breaks the rules, that does not mean that all of them do and I can therefore pin a label on them and care less about them. If a driver breaks a rule, that does not mean all of them do, or all of a certain class do, and I therefore can be less courteous to them. If a walker steps in front of me, with his Ipod on, that does not mean that I get a free pass to be inconsiderate to all walkers, or all of them wearing Ipods. Leave those excuses for trolls.

When you see me on my bike, think of me as an eggshell out there, as fragile as can be. Stop for a moment right now and come up with the ridiculous mental image of me as an eggshell on my bike. Add legs, skinny little arms, think of me as grade A extra large, or perhaps think of me as a brightly dyed Easter egg. Fix that image in your head - think of every biker as a large Easter egg on a bike. We crack easily. When you hit us, we crack. When you come too close, we crack. When you throw things out the window at us (trust me, this happens), we crack. Our little section of the road is typically not there for our needs. It is too narrow. It is where the deterioration occurs. It is where storms wash the debris. There are branches down, washouts, piles of gravel and pebbles, things we have to avoid. At bridges, the road typically narrows even more. And at highly trafficked highways and interstate on-ramps, it can be downright frightening. When we reach these areas, we need to share the road with you - so please have a little patience with us and slow down for us and trust our judgment here. We wouldn't be out there unless we thought it was necessary. We would rather have dedicated lanes and bikeways to do our riding and commuting. But until that day comes, we have to share the roads with you.

As eggs on bikes, we have two single layers of insulation to protect us from death and disaster. The first one is our trust in you, as another human being, to use care, courtesy and consideration when you are near us. The second is your trust in us to do the right thing and give you the same respect. That is the social compact between us. It applies to all of us - every color, age, size, and condition. Drivers, bikers, runners, walkers.

That social compact appears to be frayed or broken in much of our anonymous dealings with each other. Let's work to change that in our daily lives. Let us take as a lesson from this most recent tragedy the reminder of how much we are dependent on each other to pay attention when we are out there, whether it is driving next to each other at high speed on the highway, or sharing the road together. Put the damn cell phones away. Save the Ipods for a more appropriate time. Be aware of places and situations where accidents occur, and respect them. Obey the social compact. We are all fragile eggs, and we all shatter on impact.