Global Wandering

A few months ago my friend Michael who is serving life without parole in an Alabama prison asked me to buy some wood so he could make items to sell at a consignment shop owned by a fellow inmate’s sister. There isn’t a way to earn spending money at the prison.

I figured he had access to a workshop with tools for his projects. When I asked Michael about that, he said there isn’t a workshop. All his woodworking is done in his cell using handmade tools. He’s fashioned a saw out of old razor blades and a drill using the core of a AA battery.

I admit I was a bit skeptical, especially when he said he would build roll top desks and gazebos. How would he have enough room in his cell to build something that big and heavy-not to mention sawing 1 x 6s with razor blades? I was even more skeptical when he sent a letter letting me know he had shipped a roll top desk to me.

This week a large square box arrived from Michael with 34 first class stamps affixed to the outside. The abundance of stamps reminded me of sending letters home from Mexico during a period of hyperinflation when the postage rates kept rising faster than they could print new stamps. Most letters were sent home with five to ten postage stamps on the envelope.

Below is the beautiful cedar miniature roll top desk I found packed with newspaper inside the box. It is about 2 feet tall. Not a single nail was used to build it. I need to fix a few pieces that fell off in transit, but overall it is in excellent shape. What an amazing talent. And to think I doubted.

Posted by jd at 10:25 PM | Permalink | Comments (7)

I receive on average about 100 emails a day, not counting the several hundred that get flagged by our spam shield. Among Saturday’s selection was this one from our milkman. Yes, here in Idaho there are still milkmen that deliver to homes on a weekly basis.

Subject: Stolen Milk Truck

Over the years I have worried
about someone stealing some of our
cows during the night.

I did not expect someone to steal
our milk truck!!! That's right, one
of our milk trucks was stolen Friday night.

Please call me if you have any sightings
of a spotted truck. My cell number
is 208-xxx-xxxx. I am not sure how
far away the robber has taken the truck
so if you leave out of Idaho I would
appreciate it if you also would be on
the look out for a stolen truck.

Thanks for your help,

Alan

I’d like to say I spent the weekend looking for a truck painted to look like a holstein cow, but Breanna and I were in Ohio for a visit to Grandma and Grandpa. Breanna got to learn the art of running through an airport Sunday morning after her Dad’s alarm didn’t go off and we had only 50 minutes to catch our flight.

I was pleased to see a follow up email from our milkman yesterday morning titled Milk Truck Found.

Turns out the mechanic had taken the truck to his home to fix without telling anyone.

Posted by jd at 7:08 PM | Permalink | Comments (4)

Mr. Softee

I took a quick trip to New York City earlier this week. My meeting only lasted two hours so I had some time to walk around before my return flight.

The many Mister Softee soft serve ice cream trucks in the city brought back memories. I snapped this photo with my iPhone on the corner of Bleeker and Broadway. Mister Softee was the first ice cream truck I remember as a child growing up in Cincinnati. I loved the simple clang of the bell that heralded its arrival.

I came upon a fascinating line of people gathered along Lafayette Street. I spend a great deal of time people watching when I travel so I’m usually able to figure out the makeup of particular groups. In fact, it makes for an interesting game for those of us who are easily amused; trying to figure out what convention is being held at a hotel just by studying the guests. One of the easiest is when Mary Kay Cosmetics holds their annual convention in Dallas. I’ve flown through that city several times during convention week. Lots of red and pink suits scattered about the airport.

On Lafayette Street the crowd didn’t fit any particular demographic. Old and young, bohemian and preppy. The only thing that stood out was the number of people using laptops. They also appeared more studious than your average crowd. I considered they might be waiting in line to sign up for community college classes, but with the advent of the Internet I’m not sure students have to wait in line anymore. I finally asked a guy what was going on. Turns out the line was for free tickets to that night’s Shakespeare in the Park performance.

The East Village is a great place for cheap food. I ate some Greek pita thingy I can’t pronounce at one of the small eateries. Delicious. There is a restaurant serving Afghanistanian food I’d like to try in the same area when Camden and I return to the city for a long weekend at the end of this month.

One day unlimited ride Metro Cards expire at midnight so don’t buy one at 7 PM like I did.

I don’t know why W Hotels thinks dark hallways and elevators are cool. They’re just dark and depressing. My room itself was brighter. It was a corner room overlooking Times Square.

In all my trips to Midtown, this was the first time I ventured through the Diamond District on 47th Street. I find it fascinating how similar shops cluster in NYC. Here is an interesting article on how that section of the city ties into the global diamond trade.

The impact of the taxi strike was minimal. The only thing I noticed was the driver got to charge a higher flat-rate fare instead of using the meter. I didn't mind because now that the driver didn't make more by getting stuck in traffic, he was highly motivated to get to the airport quickly. He took a shortcut through the sidestreets of Queens. It was the fastest cab ride to LaGuardia during rush hour I've ever taken.

Posted by jd at 9:05 PM | Permalink | Comments (5)

Mansfield Park

Last Friday, LaPriel and I watched Finding Jane, the new Jane Austin film. I don’t view too many movies so I’m a poor judge of technique. Suffice to say, we were amply entertained ⎯ which given the quality of most movies nowadays is saying something.

Afterwards, LaPriel reminded me of a trick I played on her years ago when our eldest son was a few months old. It was a demanding time. I was in graduate school and LaPriel was home with an all-consuming infant. One afternoon I arrived at the house with an 1892 edition of Jane Austin’s Mansfield Park I had bought at a library book sale. I showed LaPriel the book and encouraged her to read it. At that time in her life, the thought of reading a novel seemed overwhelming to her. Still, after paging through book, she decided it wasn’t too long so she would give it a try. Several weeks later she was absorbed by the plot and the characters. As she neared the end of the book, she noticed the novel wasn’t approaching a conclusion. That’s when she examined the title page more carefully and discovered she’d been reading volume one of two. She was most annoyed. Looking back, it was insensitive of me, but at that point of my life, despite being knee deep in an MBA program, I was consumed by literature. I'd spend hours reading and rereading classic novels, visiting used book stores, attempting to learn ancient greek and wondering why I was studying something so banal as business. Somehow I couldn't relate to why LaPriel wouldn't want to read so a bit of deceit seemed justified to get her back on the literature wagon again.

Posted by jd at 9:58 PM | Permalink | Comments (3)