Tonopah NV - A Study from Google Photos

Nestled in the San Antonio Mountains is the city of Tonopah. The road leading into town is insufferably straight. There are no trees that dot the horizon, just some low growing bush with gradations of tan and brown. The powerlines that follow the path of the highway are perplexing, just who needs electricity in this empty countryside? And then there are the mountains. From a distance the slate gray color looks like it belongs more on the moon than here on earth. Nothing is growing on these mountains. Are there animals that live amongst the invisible crevices. It looks so smooth from this distance. And the longer you drive, the further away the mountains seem to be.

Just when you think you are on a road to nowhere, the higway curves and you see life. It's Tonopah. The largest city in Central Nevada with over 2000 citizens. As jagged as the mountains that surround the city are, the city itself is flat. The most cared for and tallest building in town is the Mitzbah Hotel, a five story building located on main street. It's red illuminated sign on the top of the hotel serves as a beacon, a welcoming glow to strangers and the locals as they make their home. Driving along this main street you see the usual mainstays, McDonalds, Shell Station, but the local businesses are what catch your eye. The Clown Motel with it's vibrant colored clown cut out that flanks the driveway. And don't forget the Jim Butler Hotel named for the founder of Tonopah. This man found the 2nd largest silver vein in Nevada. Beyond the main street, you won't find any other stoplights, a stop sign is all that is needed.

The residential neighborhoods go from from well care for homes to shacks that look abandoned, condemned, with broken down cars in the yards and garbage strewn in the yard. A random, loose rooster is not an uncommon sight. And here is a homeowner shooting at rats that have crawled out

from under a trailer. Aside from the local service industries, I wonder just how the citizens make their living. After all, there is no logical reason for Tonopah to exist, to continue to thrive. Here is a smattering of people living in the desert at 6200 feet about sea level. How did they get here? Why do they stay?

I imagine life in the desert to be one of constant avoidance of the elements, the heat, the dirt in the air, the heat, always the heat. And how easily life would become unbearable without electricity to cool you and the water. Just what state is the water coming from? Having lived in a small town 22 years of my life, I feel like life in Tonopah is stagnant. Tonopah is either the beginning or the end a life. Can you imagine a whole life spent here? The mere thought makes me want to take a nap. Day in, day out, the same people, the same routine. But now let's take Tonopah and fill it with your friends. Clean up the streets. Force some trees to grow. And encourage the rednecks to take a hike. Now I see the beautiful night sky, the best in the country for seeing stars. I imagine a patio strung with novelty lights, a grill with glowing embers cooking burgers and brauts, and pitchers of ice cold drinks. But best of all would be the people, sitting on lawn chairs, laughing, arguing, and sneaking a cigarette. At the end of the night, we would hug, get back into our respective BMW's or Geo's or bicycles to go home, crawl into bed, knowing tomorrow, a few streets away, we could meet again.

Disjointed Thoughts

I always wanted to be a writer. My first major in college was Journalism but I soon got overwhelmed by the idea of approaching complete strangers. So I switched to English. In many ways this suited my personality. Reading and writing are solitary pursuits, nobody watching, judging, perfect for me. Once I switched majors I was taking as many English classes as possible and this was nothing but reading. Reading several books in a week or I was supposed to be anyway. The professor would say "Read Upton Sinclair's Main Street" and then we would spend one day, maybe two, discussing it. I was not used to this kind of teaching. My high school teachers spoonfed us the textbooks. So while I did pretty well in high school and college, it was an adjustment. The combination of real life, work, and homework proved to be too much. Something had to give and since I needed money to live, the college always suffered.

Now as an adult I fantasize about spending my free time writing but I am finding it again, overwhelming. I want it to be perfect. But writing is many small steps and it is a habit. So I am going to use this blog to practise writing again. These entries may not always be cohesive or complete but I want to try to challenge my mind to calm down and organise itself through structure and repetition. And learn how to spell again.

Please Stay Out of My Lane

For as long as I can remember I have loved to swim. It was the one exercise that came naturally to me. From day one in school, gym class was a constant source of anxiety, embarrassment, and dread. No matter what the activity, my body fought against whatever the instructor said was the correct thing to do. There was a definite disconnect between my brain and my corresponding limbs. It was as though there was a short somewhere in my nerve endings that could never be fixed. A glitch in the wiring that would cause physical spasms like a newly born calf trying desperately to stand having been just thrust from her mother's womb.
No matter what the activity, my body would not coordinate with itself.

Let me break it down for you. Volleyball was invitation to fall down. With my eyes ever skyward watching the ball bounce from girl to girl praying it would not come to my section of the court, I felt almost dizzy, my feet not understanding what my eyes expected from me. Basketball, girl's half court, it was the 1970's after all, meant running and bouncing a ball at the same, clearly two separate activities. Much like rubbing your stomach and tapping your head at the same time, how could anyone do these things at once? And if I got close enough to the basket to throw the ball, my arms did not know the proper thrust and direction ratio to make a successful swoosh. But baseball was the worst. Coed baseball. Baseball  clearly was invented a narcissist who liked being the center of attention. Look at me hit the ball! Look at me catch the ball! Look at me run the bases! Or in my case please don't watch me strike out. Please don't notice I missed the ball. And for the love of god, please don't watch me run to first base. You see, running is the fat girls nemesis. In my effort to control the jiggling of my various pieces and parts, I always attempted a very controlled running technique and to the observer, everybody on both teams, it appears I wasn't trying or indeed running as fast as I could. They were right. I was TRYING not to look a fool and for my efforts I got "Run! Run Faster!" The looks on the jocks faces as I invariably made the last out of the inning cut a permanent scar in my ego and psyche. But swimming was and IS different.

Growing up we lived less than a block from the city swimming pool. At around age 6 I took beginners swimming lessons and I literally graduated in 5 lessons. It came so naturally for me, I took their little test and that was it, I was on to Intermediate. Intermediate taught me the various strokes, the crawl, backstroke, etc. and then I was done. In my mind, I knew everything I needed to know and anything else they would teach me would just be fine tuning. I never had any interest in swim team, I am just not competitive in that way. Swimming, back then, was never about being better than anybody else, it was always just about being IN the water. The summer swim pass my parents bought me every year was the wisest, most completely used thing they ever bought me. I would live at that swimming pool every summer. And as I grew up, the swimming pool culture morphed into a social world as well but it was there that I learned to love the pool.

There are many glorious steps to swimming. If you step gradually into the water, the temperature difference is impossible to ignore and if the water is cold enough, it can take your breath away. Gliding slowly into the water as though you have some control how the water will hit your skin and if you're a girl, your breasts are the most sensitive to the chill. Finally, realizing you are putting off the inevitable, you make the plunge, head under and you are fully invested. It's surprising how quickly your body acclimates. Your nerve endings calm down and it feels like home, this water. And suddenly your body is lighter and more graceful than you have ever felt on dry land. When I am in the water, I can imagine the pure joy a dancer might feel. I feel graceful and strong and in control. My arms and legs suddenly do exactly what I ask of them, a confidence comes over me I have never once felt in gym class. The water protects me from prying eyes and I can try as hard as I can and I don't feel like a fool.  I don't feel clumsy. I feel athletic and in control and I love it. If I am swimming alone in a pool, the surface calm except for my touch, I can look up as I take a breath, see the surface of the water, see the air bubbles, and I am as happy as I have every been. There is an allure to water that is undefinable. It is a feeling that comes so deep from my core. I cannot explain why I am so drawn to it. When I see even a clean, clear fountain or pond, I just want to get in it. The water draws me to it in such a way that the mere smell or the sight calms me and calms my brain. So I take refuge in the water. So you see, that is why you must simply stay the fuck out of my lane.

Life as an oPossum

This week I had two separate opportunities to assert myself  and.....I didn't. Was my conscience clear in both instances? I imagine the little Brenda's who occupy my brain who make these split decisions were quickly weighing all the evidence and shrugged their shoulders in the end saying "We could go either way". I could feel my heart beat faster. Alarms were going off. ABORT! ABORT! Mr. Sulu, prepared to engage thrusters, warp factor 2.

Was I being attacked by a vigilante neighborhood watch block captain you ask? The first incident happened at my gym's pool. If you have listened to my podcasts, you would have been subjected to my many thoughts regarding swimming pool etiquette. For example, please don't occupy a lane when people are waiting and just talk and not swim. Only so many people can fit in a lane, don't push your way in and work around the people already there. But my biggest pet peeve is when people just show up in your lane. I am not so selfish as to believe that I don't have to follow the gym's rules that state members will be expected to share their lane in the event of a high volume of use. I can't say that I like it but I will do it. 99% of the time if I am the one joining the lane, I will make a point of asking the person's permission as a courtesy or at least make eye contact so they know I am there. But this time I threw caution to the wind and treated the lady that occupied the lane the way I had been treated and just showed up.

There are many kinds of swimmers. The older lady aquasizers who can "work out" but still maintain a conversation the whole time. There are swimmers who are just go there everyday. It has become part of their routine like drinking coffee and the act of being there is enough. The next group at the ex-swim team members. These people do the cool flip at the end of each lap, their strokes are flawless, and they are fast, faster than me. And then there are the therapy swimmers. Technically they ARE swimming. They are in the pool, their limbs are moving and they are floating but it's little more than bath time in a giant tub. So the lady I was joining on the particular day in this particular lane was doing some therapy swimming. Right down the middle of the lane. On her back, barely kicking her legs, and the slap, slap, slap of her arms as they make contact with the water and then there was me. Squeezing my as close to the wall as possible, doing the crawl. As I approached the same portion of the lane that she occupied her arm grazed my leg and that is when the shit hit the fan. Before I could even say "Sorry" which I had intended to do, she flew into a rage. "You could have told me you were getting in the lane! Tap me on the shoulder! You didn't have to just get in without letting me know!"  She was so instantly pissed off and loud I might add. My brain went into double speed trying to decide what to do. If my edit button wasn't as strong I would have said what I was thinking, "Nobody tells me lady. Get the fuck over it." But I didn't. I finished my lap. I could see her just staring at me the whole time. I got my things and got out of the pool and sat dripping waiting for the aquasize class to get over. Then, just like an after school special, a guy walks in and hollers down to the same woman and says, "Hey do you mind if I share your lane?" 

In the past, I would have just gotten up and left the pool entirely thinking to myself "Well, I guess I won't be swimming today." but I really needed that swim. If I didn't do it now, it would not get done today. And part of me felt like I asked for her yelling at me because I really hate it when people do that to me. I didn't feel like I had a guilt free conscience in these circumstances but what followed is what confounds me. Instead of just counting it as one of these creepy, bitchy moments you sometimes experience with strangers, I was so embarrassed and felt beat down. These are the times in life when I feel like I have a bull's eye on my  back. "Hey everybody, this chick is weak! Feel liking dumping your bad day off Brenda, well, shit away!" And this makes me so frustrated and when I am frustrated, I cry. When I got back into the water in a sanctioned lane, I was swimming and crying. Quite an accomplishment I think. My thoughts go to "How can I make this not happen again?". I cannot stand be chastised by strangers. I wish it wasn't the first time this kind of thing has happened. This is my main question to this lady. What is in your brain that makes you think that you can just yell at a complete stranger in a gym pool, where everyone has equal status, and it is quite reasonable to imagine there could be someone else close-by in the pool? Is this just another day in your life when you act like an entitled crazy person? So the lesson learned here was I will never get away with breaking these courtesy rules, don't bother trying.

The other confrontation happened with my sister and this could have had much more serious consequences. As you may or may not know I clean homes for a living and my sister is one of my clients. When she first asked me to clean her house, I didn't see any problem. I had been working in a hospital and was used to being around people in much more vulnerable positions and besides, I assumed they would never be home when I cleaned. Furniture is furniture after all. Well, the bathroom held up it's part of the bargain with it's neutrality but I was not always home alone doing my work. It got uncomfortable real fast. I would be cleaning on a Friday afternoon and they would be at home talking to each other. Not to me. I quickly felt like Cinderella and invisible as all domestic help tend to feel. They were paying me and it was just twice a month, I thought, Brenda, don't be a fool. Take their money. But the longer I cleaned there the more I hated it.

So last night I had enough. I thought, "Brenda, you  know they would quit you if it suited their needs. It's not worth it." Normally it would not occur to me to quit a job through a text message but since I had been the recipient of a "We will no longer need your services text." TWICE now from other people, I thought it must be an okay thing to do. Getting on my phone I find a message sent to me last Friday when I cleaned for them telling me what to do with the dog. I assumed it was my sister's phone number. I type out the texts sounding more like we were breaking up than quitting a job. "It's not you, it's me. It just feels weird. You never did anything wrong." I push send. A minute later I get a response, "I think you sent this to the wrong number, did you mean to send this to me?" At first I say "yes" and then I quick check my contacts and realize this is not my sister's number, it must be my niece's number who lives with them. Oh shit! ABORT ABORT! I deny it saying "Oh that's the trouble with texting." My next thought is, will my niece just forget about this or will she say "Hey, I got this weird text from Brenda last night." I leave it alone and think quitting is harder than I thought.

Since I hadn't heard anything last night I thought, crisis averted. My niece accepted my explanation and I will just have to quit in a month or two. But I guess my niece and sister do have connected brain cells and my sister texts and asks "Were those texts meant for her?". Again my heart starts pounding. Shit. Fuck. Do I continue to deny or do I take advantage of this reopening and get out of this quagmire once and for all. I admit that yes, I do feel uncomfortable making sure to mention they have never done anything wrong. To my relief, my sister says she understood and thanked me for doing it as long as I did. I thanked her for understanding and it was over. So why was my heart still beating so fast and why did I feel like such a flake about wanting to quit? I asked myself is it really the confrontation that is so horrible? What was this really about?

I hate, despise, abhor the idea of people thinking badly about me. I realized just how much I want to control other people. I realized why I don't believe compliments from other people. I realized why  I don't believe people when they say they care for me. Let me explain it like this. If you lie regularly, it's easy to understand and even expect that people are lying to you. If you do things just to be polite like I do, I assume people are just being polite to me. So when this lady just went off on me at the pool I felt trapped and confused. Why is it okay in her world to be so utterly rude? Why are her feelings more important than mine?  Control is an illusive mistress who cooperates only occasionally but more importantly I am beginning to think knowing WHY people do what they do is not nearly so important as I thought. Trying to figure people out is exhausting. I thought if I knew people's motivations I was somehow in control. It is flawed logic. It is what a child does to attempt to control their environment. People are going to do what they are going to do. Letting go of this need to control other people's reaction and thoughts of me feels like such a break through and a relief.

Besides, when was the last time you saw a LIVE possum?

Aromas from the Basement

Right now my house is a disaster. Dishes need to be done and the basement smells like a dog toilet. Molly, my 14 year old Beagle/German Shepherd mix has decided that when it's rainy and when nobody is home, the basement is a perfectly acceptable substitute for the backyard. And though I have scrubbed the concrete with urine odor eliminating solvent bought at Pet Smart, the painted, though peeling concrete floor is holding onto the smell like a sponge. It almost makes my eyes water. As I typed these words, the guilty party just walked into the room and plopped at my feet. I do feel like she can read my mind. She does make it hard to stay mad at her what with her cuteness and her sweetness. Anyway, there is a huge part of me that wants to call in sick to my cleaning clients' houses today just so I can clean my own house. Much like the editor who works on other's transcripts for living so he can write his own great American novel, I want to put some time into my own musings. A person might assume that it's the money that motivates to go to work today but it's secondary. Strange words from a person who can use all the money they can get their hands on. The thing I want to avoid is the confrontation, the conversation with the customers telling them I won't be working for them today. These interactions are almost unbearable for me at times. People in general really. Now in the same breath I tell you this. I am a lonely person. I crave human contact but only under specific conditions. Following is a list of times I would rather be alone.

1. Working. If I am cleaning your house, please be nowhere that I can see you. If I enter a room please feel free to disappear into another room. I won't be offended. And the fact that your mother-in-law is visiting is a perfectly acceptable reason to cancel. Your 1500 square foot home cannot accommodate me, my cleaning equipment, and all your people trying walk around me.

2. Visiting Family. How does this make sense you say? It doesn't. This just means I would rather be home alone watching nonstop Fullhouse reruns than hanging out being insulted by my family. And I loathe John Stamos. And by the way, Joey, that creepy dishwater blond mullet makes me gag and you're not funny.

3. Exercising. If I could have my very own pool I would be the happiest girl in the world and since that is not going to happen, please vacate the pool gym when I enter. What little bit of a competitive spirit I have comes out swimming these laps. And the fact that you ALWAYS swim in the middle lane is of no consequence to me. Adapt, humans are supposed to be good at it.

4. Shopping for clothes. The idea of having a girls day for clothes shopping sounds like a nightmare. Clothes have become a means to an end. Cover up and don't make a stink about it. The endless pawing through racks of outfits that you would never consider putting on your body just become your companion is interested in this year's polyester magenta crop top is of no interest to me.

5. Public bathrooms. We all know what's happening in here, so no eye contact and no idle chit chat please. And if YOU could keep the grunts down to a minimum, that would be great.

But that's really it. I am open to human contact in most all other situations. Scientists say that humans want to be part of a tribe, that we instinctively want to belong to a group because it increases our chance of survival. As every National Geographic special you saw growing up depicts, the lone wildebeest is never long for this world when the lioness is on the hunt. But I have found being a part of the group is quite tenuous. It is a delicate balance. Who is the alpha? How did they get to be in charge or at least the most popular? And more importantly to me, how do I fit in here? What is my role? This is what I am continuing to try and figure out. To be continued....

Undigested Corn

You may not know this but I have a podcast. Actually I have two. Clearly I think I have a lot to say. One is a personal journal podcast called Hello Again It's Brenda Boo where I say too much, share too much, and probably throw my family under the bus too much. The other show I participate in is called Life on the Shit List.  We call it LOTSL because iTunes says you can have an entire show devoted to skat play but for God's sake, do not use the word in the title. Life on the Shit List is a name that occurred to me at a time when I felt my life was particularly shit laden but it's basically the way I've always felt about my life. I am the emotional garbage man picking up and at every one's leftovers trying to make a full heart. This sounds dramatic. I am a girl after all. It's a skill. A  person cannot be subject to this much hormonal change each month and not expect some kind of longterm effects. But estrogen fluctuations aside, can we talk about the way we communicate with each other?

My podcasts allow me to have my say. I can sit in front of my microphone and in an uninterrupted way, speak my mind. Much of the time I am spouting off about the world as I see it. As much as I like to fool myself into thinking I am a "go with the flow" kind of person and that I am not constantly judging the world around me, I do. Oh, I am a world away from the way I used to be. For example, I no longer care what strangers wear unless if you're heavy and I am subjected to too much of your skin. I am fat. I cover up my pasty white flesh. Please do the same for me. I notice women who power walk through Target, pushing their cart with more determination than I see from my dog when she tries to mind meld with me in order to get me to, "Give Me Your Ice Cream Cone!" Take it down a notch, you'll get your organic self-sustaining napkins and garlic hummus. Don't fucking panic. And don't get me started on swimming pool etiquette. I feel like I am getting better. Better at looking at the world with a neutral eye, live and let live, and blah blah, blah. But passive aggressive behavior has reached a whole new art form with Facebook and Twitter.

The whole idea behind social media is to provide a way to connect with people, if not face to face but mind to mind. I cannot be there with you, I am at work but I would like to check in with you. Sounds like a great idea. But the written word can be read in so many different ways depending on how you see the world. For instance, a person who has a podcast called Life on the Shit List MIGHT just assume the worst of people. A person with a larger than life ego might assume EVERYBODY thinks they can do no wrong. Perception is the key but I have a complaint about these social media outlets. Using Twitter and Facebook to get high on your horse drives me fucking crazy. Making vague comments leaving people to wonder "Is she talking about me?". Or "Oh, he must be pissed off at so and so". I know the writer feels better. It is out of their head and into the world and I am no stranger to venting on Twitter however, if you would not say this to their face, please don't say it on Twitter.

There have been times when I was desperate, throwing out the emotional "ALL HANDS ON DECK, I NEED SOME ATTENTION!" and I have tweeted the words "I hate Eric". What you may not know is that Eric is sitting right beside and I am telling him as I do it "I am tweeting that I hate you right now". It's all in fun. But if you are trying to convey a message through the social media hoping someone will read it but you don't have to take ownership of it, I just think that is all kinds of wrong and weak and childish. Look whose pointing the childish finger, me. To say I don't have these thoughts is a lie but it's called self-control and thinking about the consequences of your actions and is it WORTH it to put that negative energy out in the world. So again, I say, unless you are tweeting about the world's bitchiest cat who won't quit hissing and batting at your butt as you try to walk by, maybe think twice before hitting send. The same goes for giving unsolicited advice to celebrities, correcting their grammar or a misspoken detail. Challenging famous people on Twitter is the fastest way to get B-l-o-c-k-e-d. The only person who cares that John Lennon changed his middle name to Ono from Winston is you. Confession: I once called a local DJ to let him know this when he acknowledged John Lennon's birthday on morning show. Nobody likes a know-it-all and that's what I sound like right now. My point is the shower of shit from life has a strong enough current without adding unnecessary undigested corn.

My Kitchen is Across the Hall

So I have never been very good about keeping a journal, a diary, what have you. My edit button is so strong that I can't even be honest with myself when presumably when nobody else is there to bear witness.  My mind races from here to there like what? Sometimes it's like a dog. If you're like my dogs, one moment you're lying comfortably on the couch and the next, BAM! A sound, an unknown occurrence and before you can figure out what happened you're barking and your head is flying up in a start. But sometimes my brain seems to fold in on itself like batter in a bowl. The beaters are in the middle, moving everything around this central point and one moment it's gone and the next it's back right where it started. 

I bring this up because today, despite having company, I spent a lot of time by myself. The day started out productive. I did a solo podcast. I got some shit of my chest and then my sister calls. She says "How about me and Mike come up for lunch and we can play?". I said "Sure, Eric is busy but I can do something." And it was nice, you know pleasant enough. My sister has never understood my sense of humor so there were a couple of times when she thought I was making fun of her which mostly, I wasn't. But my brother-in-law said the nicest thing to me. He says "It's so nice to see you." And that simple sentence, that small gesture absolutely disarmed me. I returned the sentiment and he says "How long have we known each other?" My sister pipes up "28 years because we have been together 30 years and we moved back from New York two years after we got together." If you listen to our podcast, Life on the Shit List, this is brother-in-law I spoke of having always encouraging me and made me feel like an artist. He even said those words "a natural artist". What a thrill to hear those words. But as we sat at Cold Stone Creamery we reminisced a bit. You see back in my even poorer days, we actually managed to live right across the street from each other.

So my sister and Mike had just moved back from New York City. My sister had graduated with a Film/Broadcasting Degree and had always dreamed of living in New York. Being trained in secretarial field she had skills enough to make a living until she could make her way into the film world. Living in Brooklyn with no car and only the subway for transportation took it's toll. Not surprisingly the lifestyle of an city dweller with no money is much less convenient than the lifestyle of that same person in a small town. Carrying your dirty clothes to a laundromat and groceries by foot loses it's romance pretty quickly not to mention the two sided tape strung along the bottom of the bed positioned to catch or slow down the roaches. I was working at Wendy's at the time and saving my pennies to come visit her in New York but after her friend got mugged right outside her apartment, she uninvited me. She was not about to responsible for anything happening to her baby sister. So two years after this experiment started, it ended and my sister came back home to Iowa. But she brought something back with her that she didn't have when she left, Mike.

Things were incredibly tight when they first moved back. No jobs, just a small amount of savings, so they rented what they could afford. The first place was a room with a bathroom and then across the hall was the tiniest kitchen I have ever seen. When I say it was across the hall, I mean there was the door to their room and the hallway leading to the other places and then a locked kitchen. It was so weird. Did I mention this building originally was an asylum for mental patients. Yep. So this place was too small and the layout was too kooky so they moved down the street to an efficiency. Same amount of space but at least it was all contained behind the one door. During this time I was breaking up with what turned out to be one of my "gay" boyfriends. This boyfriend and I had been living together so I needed a place and I just happen to find this room in a house across the street from them. I did this a lot back then, lived in houses that had once been single family dwellings and then some greedy mother broke the place up into this misshapen monstrosities and called them rent able spaces. The place I got had so much character, so I thought. It was quite ridiculous actually. It was the front room of the house. There was a giant picture window and a fireplace, complete with a mantle and peeling, floral wallpaper. Technically this room was supposed to be divided into two rooms separated only by a curtain. There was a complete stranger living on the other side of this curtain. Not a wall, a mere tapestry. Lucky for me the girl that was living there moved out when I moved in and nobody else moved into the other side until I moved out. The setup was that I shared the kitchen with the rest of the house and then I had my own bathroom but that was separated from my main living space much like my sister "estranged" kitchen.

During this time my sister didn't have a phone so she would use mine when she needed. She was reduced to driving my old first car, a 19 sixty something Wrambler, camoflage green. Our main entertainment was watching network television on our black and white portables and hanging around the kithcen table and talking. We would sit on their roof/porch in the evening and talk and complain and listen to records. One time their cat Katie singed her whiskers from jumping on the stove which had a pot of boiling water going just for some extra heat. We would draw portaits of each other at the kitchen table and swim at the city pool just around the corner for a dollar a visit. I have a lot of affection for this time. It was the beginning of 28 years of knowing each other and I miss those times.