The Mysterious Disappearance of Olive, My Trusty Green Train Case

If you don't know what a train case is, meet Olive:

 

Back in the day we didn't travel so light like now.  We packed an enormous suitcase (sans wheels!!) full of a vast array of clothes we would probably not wear AND we lugged along a train case full of personal items such as cosmetics, large hair brushes, jewelry, bulky feminine products, etc.  The cases had a nice size mirror mounted inside the lid.  This ridiculous method of travel was a holdover from the days of elegant train travel when women journeyed in silk gowns bedecked with diamonds and porters hefted their multiple trunks onto the train, then delivered them to their mansions upon their arrival.

 

Olive was a gift to me from my folks about my 12th birthday.  I lugged her around the country a zillion times over several decades.

 

Unknown to me, Olive had a twin sister who made an appearance on the baggage belt one fateful day about 30 years ago.  She wasn't an identical twin, but you can see why the two got mixed up when they were not standing side by side.

 

 

I stood in baggage claim waiting for Old Yeller (my giant yellow suitcase, a story for another day), and then for Olive, who was nowhere in sight.  Bags disappeared from the belt one by one, and then only one remained, which you see above. 

 

Mmmm, it wasn't hard to put two and two together.  Someone had mistaken Olive for their own train case and absconded with her to points unknown. 

 

I did what one does in this situation: reported her disappearance to the baggage dude and filled out a detailed report.  My only hope was that Olive's thief would miss her twin as much as I missed Olive.  I left the orphaned case on the belt for baggage dude to deal with.

Well lah-di-dah, I had barely stepped in the door from the airport when the phone rang.  It was the thief, or more kindly, the careless person who had grabbed the first green train case she saw.  You must realize something before I go on.  Portland International Airport--PDX--is the only major airport in our entire state and also serves southern and eastern Washington.  I feared that Olive ended up hours and hours away and how would we get her back if she was hold up in Roseburg (3 hours away) or Klamath Falls (6 hours!)??

Careless person found my phone # on Olive's tag and asked if I had her case.  Sorry, left it at PDX.  I asked her what town she was visiting?  Beaverton!  Oh.  My. Heck.  How could I get so lucky??  We live next to Beaverton.  What a grand relief!   I inquired as to where in Beaverton--give me an address and I'd be happy to run over.  Well, we're at a house on Ridgetop Lane, she said.  Double OH. MY.  HECK.  I live about 20 yards from Ridgetop Lane.  We're visiting G&H she said.  They're my neighbors!   With all the possibilities of Olive's whereabouts, there she was, a 30 second walk around the corner.  I was just sorry I hadn't brought their green case home so we could make a simultaneous exchange, you know, like when you see spies in old movies exchanging the goods while standing on each side of the East German/West German border. 

Olive returned home and all was well.  Last year we endured a painful separation when I gave her up to Goodwill.  Hope she's found a loving home.  Ah, happy memories.

 

School Days: My Adventures With the Exceptions in an Exceptional School District

Let me begin this post on a positive note: My children attended Beaverton Schools over a 26 year period and received a marvelous education.****  Of course, every school has room for improvement, but most of the teachers are really good, most of the curriculum is strong, and most of the rules and regulations are reasonable.  This post will be about some exceptions to the above.

We had the unusual situation of having children at both ends of the educational spectrum: Talented and Gifted (TAG) and Special Ed.  Thank goodness for both.  Schools have the potential to meet the needs of each.  Over the years TAG services in the lower grades have diminished, fallen by the wayside by the violent slashing of programs.  Yet at the high school level competent students can choose from dozens of AP classes or the IB program, or, they can attend our local community college to earn dual high school / college credit.  Special ed has beefed up over the decades due to the influx of  ADHD and "autistic" children.

Our high schools have students choose their classes for the fall term way early, usually in January or February.  One year my freshman student selected AP Biology in January, and by the time fall term came around 7 months later, was completely disenchanted by the idea.  This student had some struggles that made this situation more than just a whimsy change of mind.  The school had previously declared there would be absolutely no changes made to schedules, but the anxiety produced in my student was extreme.  I calmly explained this to the VP over academics, who reminded me of the policy.  But I did what I had to do: I camped outside her office, vowing not to budge until she gave in to a change.  I really hate to be that way--am not the power-trip type--yet this was critical.  Not even an hour passed when she gave in to my reasonable request, for which I was grateful.

Oh my, when I think of what a loser teacher Miss H. is I want to tell everyone to avoid this "teacher" at all costs.  I found out part way through one school year that she was spending most class periods doing one of two things: reading the assigned novel aloud to the students while stretched out provocatively ON her desk and second, showing Hollywood movies most of the other class periods.  When she found time to actually teach something, I don't know.  In a conversation with her I objected to her methods and she justified her reading aloud by saying she didn't have enough copies of the novel to send home (other classes used bought or library copies).  She has ADHD she said, so she has to lie on the desk.  And the movies?  She justified them by explaining how they related to the curriculum.  One of the movies was "Shrek."  She claimed it showed life in medieval times.  Seriously.  She must have thought I was born yesterday.  I reminded her that she was supposed to actually teach the setting to the students, not show them Hollywood movies.  Long story short, I turned in my complaint and list of movies shown to the principal who promised to take care of it.  I was satisfied.  But guess what.  The next fall my student was assigned to be in Miss H's class again!  Over my dead body, I thought.  I was immediately at the office who gave me a form listing the 4 and only 4 reasons for changing classes (things like if that class conflicted with a student's work schedule and so on).  On the form I added a #5: my student had this teacher last year and will absolutely in no way have her again.  An hour later the office called confirming a change.  It was a relief to win that battle without a skirmish.

One more experience pertains to transportation.  When we first move to our current house the area was quite rural, and the school bus stop was across a country road with no sidewalks or shoulders.  Students were expected to stand out there in the curve of that road, the perfect spot for an inattentive driver to veer off and take them all out in one swoop.  It took one simple phone call to inform the bus depot the students would in the future be standing in a safe spot on the other side of the road.  For the following 4 or 5 years I made calls to the bus depot every fall to have them fine tune the bus stops.  One year it was for my high school student who was expected to walk 1/4 mile down that same narrow country road around the curve with no sidewalk while cars whizzed by.  Another year I had them change the route for good, to come right through the neighborhood so that no student would be out on the main road (traffic was increasing).  Yet another year the path to the elementary school was threatened by development.  I informed the school who knew nothing about it.  They sent their transportation rep with me and two of my neighbors to meet with the county and between the 4 of us we were able to get the path designated as a permanent tract so that our neighborhood children would always have a convenient walk to school.

Moaning and complaining is useless.  I'm a quiet person who has found that speaking out can improve a situation for all.  We don't always get what we want but we often prevail when our request is reasonable. 


****So kill me for saying this.  It's in vogue to be angry at our public schools, to yank children out while proclaiming how ignorant the teachers and admins are, and to claim that sending your kids into that great and spacious building is to ruin their chances for a productive life.  For me to admit the reality of how good our schools are is, in a way, putting my life on the line.

Do I Really Want to Live to Be a Hundred??

I used to think living 100 years would be a thrilling milestone, the capstone to a fruitful life, an event to celebrate.  And for some it is.  My Baba lived to 100 and enjoyed the big party in her honor.  My grandfather's cousin made it, and my great-great-great grandmother was supposedly 103 when she died.

Yesterday and today I took a short road trip from NY where I'm already on vacation, to visit some elderly relatives in PA.  It's likely the last time I'll see them. 

My step-mom is nearly 95 and yesterday was the first time I had seen her in about 7 years.  She's still very much herself, but is now nearly blind, very hard of hearing, failing in memory, and living in a very nice care home, the same one where her sister lives.  On the plus side she gets around on her own using a walker, but only in the care home.  She's not capable of say, doing grocery shopping, even if someone provided transportation.  She repeated several times how she can't do anything because she can't see.  It's gotta be hard.

Today I stopped for an hour in another city to visit a distant cousin, an old lady I'm very fond of.  She's 92 and in a care home.  She's intelligent, smart (they are 2 different things), resourceful, has a great memory.  Physically she needs a wheelchair to get around because of a fall 2 years ago.  She explained that she uses Depends and detailed the science behind them for me (I'll file that away under "information I hope I never need to retrieve.")  Before I left I pushed her in her wheelchair to the dining room.  On the way she pointed out the room where the very debilitated patients are brought for their meals.  They have to be fed as they are far beyond doing anything for themselves.  I caught a glimpse through the doorway and was appalled by the condition of some of the folks in there.  Am pretty sure a few aren't even aware of their surroundings.

We have only so much power over our own health.  I would say that making the century mark probably isn't all it's cracked up to be.  One of my elderly relatives mentioned above kept saying she's ready to go.  The other talked about her funeral plans and how the funeral is to be paid for.  Neither one is chomping at the bit to make it to 100.

Great Pop Songs

Ah, memories.  I was thinking about blasts from the pasts that transport me back in time.  Smells do it, and songs do too.

When certain songs come on the radio (or I play them on youtube), I am able to take a nostalgic walk down memory lane.  Tons of tunes bring back fun or precious memories, but it's these below that make me float.

Rocky Mountain High by John Denver: Late 1972.  I was a freshman at College of the Canyons longing to get farther from home.  Dreaming of  a place of quiet solitude among the forest and the streams, a place where it rains fire in the sky, and seeking the serenity of a clear blue mountain lake . . . that was the place for me.  

John Denver; we lost a great musician when he died

Listen to the Music by the Doobie Brothers.  Don't ya feel it comin', day by day . . . this 70s song has a catchy feel-good rhythm to it.

Take it Easy by the Eagles.  What a fun song to sing while driving down the highway.   I may have stood on a corner in Winslow Arizona when we passed through in 1962, but I'm not sure.

Layla by Derek and the Dominos [Eric Clapton]: Layla was a radio staple in summer 1972, the year I graduated from high school.  My job that summer was babysitting a couple of children full-time, and most days we spent at least part of the afternoon at the neighborhood swimming pool.  The radio was always on there, and when Layla came blasting out it was the tune and the fantastic guitar-picking that put me in a good mood every time.  When no one is looking I play my air guitar along with Clapton.  One of the best rock songs ever.

Betcha By Golly Wow by the Stylistics: This dreamy tune from my senior year often played late at night while I was lying in my upstairs bedroom looking at the sky.  I was pushing my way through the Book of Mormon for the first time, and I would leave my curtains open to think while watching the moon and stars move across the night sky.

I'm Stone in Love With You by Stylistics: I was in love.  With a cowboy, the giver of The Book of Mormon.

Too Late to Turn Back Now by Cornelius Brothers: It was too late for me too, in a marvelous way.  Transports me right back to the fall of 1972, a time of great discoveries.

I Only Want to be With You by Dusty Springfield: No one belts it out like Dusty.  Her energy is contagious.  This number gets me right up out of my seat.

The Last Song by Edward Bear: Pleasant voice, pleasant tune.  Kind of a mournful idea that sometimes two people don't want the same things in life.  One can hang on longer than the other. 

I Can See Clearly Now by Jimmy Cliff:  Freshman year at College of the Canyons.  I could see clearly as all get out.

Galveston by the great Glen Campbell: Most anti-Vietnam War songs were hostile and bitter.  Glen's  is wistful and honest.

I will leave the rest for another time.

Tanasbourne

I am away from home thus won't have access to my photo collection for another 5 days.  This post will be of interest to those who are or have been residents of the Beaverton / Hillsboro area. 

Who remembers the old Tanasbourne Mall folks??  That dreadful dark dungeon-y bunker-style mall was the only "major" shopping area for miles around back in the day.  Gloomy and creepy, we patronized it out of necessity.   Our tiny local library was in the underground area.  Sunshine Pizza we went to when our kids had a post-season sports party.  I recall the over-priced children's clothing store, and the Chang's that we never ate at until it moved to Cornell Road.

The link below displays some grainy black and white photos of Tanasbourne Mall.   Why the developer thought it was a good idea to create a shopping area that mimicked  an air-raid bunker on the partially-buried lower floor, and had the feel of a haunted abandoned building on the upper, no one will never understand.

Link to the long-defunct Tanasbourne Mall

Tanasbourne Mall's demolition spawned two tragic building mistakes.  It was replaced by the strip mall from H-E-double toothpicks on the same site--an extended row of ugly big-box stores that make even a walker like me drive from one end to the other.  A friendly neighborhood gathering place it is not.  Then across the street another strip-mall center popped up.  That place is a parking nightmare and dangerous for a pedestrian to negotiate.  Worst of all, it is inaccessible from the backside.  There are no store entrances or parking over there.  A huge "Berlin Wall" blocks it off from the thousands of apartments directly behind the wall, so that even those who live only a  quick stroll away feel the need to get into their car, drive out of their complex, go around the side of the mall and then into the mall parking area.   Sheesh, what was Washington County thinking when they approved that??

What's Black & White & Read All Over??

The title of my post comes from a joke my Mom used to tell.  The first time I heard it--about age 5--I puzzled long into the night about what could be black and white, yet "red" all over.  I was the last one on the planet to guess the answer to her riddle.

When I visit a town I check out the name of their local newspaper.   Lots of newspaper names are colorful and descriptive.  Some are not.  The creative titles are either "one of a kind" or they shed light on the character of the communities they serve.  Would you want to live in the town whose newspaper is titled "The Rustler?"   Mmmm.  You'd best stay out of the street at high noon.  If your paper is called "The Reminder" does that mean your town is dominated by the geriatric crowd?  I can't figure out the Sacramento Bee and Fresno Bee.  Do they mean bee as in bumble bee?  Was the publisher's daughter named Bee?  Or is there a play on words going on here?   ***

I leave you with a list of the plain and mundane, the interesting, and the witty / creative titles of newspapers around the country.

the dull                 the interesting                                    the creative
Times                 Idaho Statesman                                 Cleveland Plain Dealer
Journal               Observer                                             Daily Planet
Sun                     Sounder                                              Vermont Phoenix
Post                    Fresno  Bee                                         Rustler
Tribune              Town Crier                                          Territorial
Chronicle           Brattleboro Reformer                          Reminder
News                  Bugle                                                  Champion
Inquirer              Independent                                        Seattle Post Intelligencer
Globe                 Pioneer                                                Kingman Miner
Gazette               Town Crier                                          Shinbone Star
Herald                Democrat
Press                   Eugene Register Guard
Standard             Watchman
Advertiser           Newhall Signal
Examiner            Oregonian
Dispatch             Ledger
Reporter              Constitution
Mirror                 Commercial
Clarion                Eagle
Citizen                Holyoke Transcript-Telegram
World                  Keene Sentinel

***An alert reader, Susanne from NC, located this article that explains the origin of the name Bee for the newspaper in Sacramento

 

Oh Yeah, Never Walk on the Railroad Tracks

(amended quote by Phil Connors (Bill Murray) in "Groundhog Day")

 

In October of 1970 I and some of my friends nearly became a statistic when we foolishly sat on the railroad tracks of a busy train route that ran along the side of the mountain behind my friend's house.  This friend lived on a large piece of property that could accommodate the construction of our high school class's annual homecoming float.  The float consisted of rolls of chicken wire (usually swiped from a construction site) shaped over a car, and then thousands of Zee paper napkins bunched up and stuck in the holes of the chicken wire in some kind of pattern.  Yeah, it was a real beaut.  Keep in mind that paper napkins only came in white, washed out pale green, washed out pale blue, and washed out pale pink.  Stunning as the float was, we never thought to photograph one of those gems.

Anyway, it was common for the other classes to seek out their rival's float to throw eggs on it.  This one night we heard through the grapevine that the seniors were on their way to wreck our float, and we being as smart as all get out, climbed the hill to the tracks to keep a lookout for the perps on that pitch black night.

Nothing happened where the float was concerned.  But there we were sitting ON the rails when all of a sudden a train rounded the bend, and it was all we could do to leap off down the berm as it passed by.  It seems unbelievable, but we never felt the tracks vibrate, nor did we hear the rumbling of the train as it barreled toward the curve.  Suddenly, there was the powerful beam and the train was upon us.

This memory came back to me because while doing some research recently, I saw this death record of 3 young Irishmen killed in a railroad accident:

A portion of the Chicopee Massachusetts death register dated 25 Sep 1895:

 

I had to know what happened.  The accident likely occurred during the course of rail construction gone wrong, a common method employed by the grim reaper to make his mark.  A search on www.newspapers.com showed this was not the case:

 

 

 The Atlanta Constitution September 27, 1895 Page 3.  A similar article appeared in papers around the country.

Golly, these 3 grown men were walking on the tracks, then carelessly attempted to cross an adjacent set of rails without looking first.  What a sad end.  One wonders if they had a split second to regret their mistake.

 Railroad-related deaths were once common.  Railroad laborers were killed in construction mishaps, while coupling cars, and while switching engines or cars.  Brakemen were killed falling off the caboose or while working the brake and not noticing that low bridge ahead.  Engineers and passengers burned to death in train wrecks when the oil lamps were upset and caught fire.  Derailments caused injury and death when severe weather undermined and destabilized the tracks, causing trains to leap off at top speed. 

My great-great grandfather, Cornelius O'Sullivan, was killed on the tracks in Brattleboro, Vermont in 1877.  The account of the accident made it clear he was the class of railroad employee they now call a lineman.  He was on a handcar, and when it lurched on the track he was knocked off to the rear, and then run over by a following handcar.  It must have tumbled him around underneath, leaving him with severe injuries to the back, lungs, and a broken leg.  He lived 5 days in that condition.  I don't know how the family got by after his death.

 1870-style handcar (http://www.micronart.com)

later handcar

Thoughts of Cornelius O'Sullivan's pain and suffering haunt me every time I drive past the spot of the accident, which I did last week.  The newspaper reporting the accident did not make it clear whether he was brought home to be treated, or taken to the nearest house.  I have a copy of his will created 3 days after the accident and 2 days before his death.  He left everything to his wife Catherine and signed it with his mark, the letter X.  He was laid to rest in the Catholic Cemetery on the hill beside his deceased children.  And resting nearby are a handful of others who also lost their lives due to railroad-related accidents.