My Historic Day

For some reason known only to God and Bill Gates, Blogger will not take the photos that go with this posting; after fighting this thing for two hours, I give up. I've left blank spaces where I can insert them if the image upload thing ever works again..... So, here are the words without any photos:

No one I know if enjoys life more than I do and Monday really iced my cake!

Even on computer frustrating days I love my work and today I practically wallowed in it. Not only did my work go well, but I found three minor but peculiar adventures.

This day was too good to miss a moment of it:

Up at my usual 3 a.m. to enter yesterday’s blog and study till time for Ginny to wake at 6. Packed lunch for her then drove her to work so I could keep the car.

Did a few life-maintence chores, gas station, drug store, etc., then drove to the Jacksonville Fire Museum to photograph exhibits for my fire history book.

The Fire Museum, old Fire Station 2, stands at the edge of Metropolitan Park on the St. Johns River immediately adjacent to Kid’s Kampus, Jacksonville’s premier playground for children.

That’s important to what comes later.

Last week I’d made an appointment with a young woman, Mrs. Linda Treadwell, the museum curator. She showed me every possible courtesy and cooperated fully giving me access to every thing I needed. At the same time she was shepherding classes of school kids through the museum and I learned a lot as I eavesdropped on her lectures.

For instance, she showed the kids a flag which had flown over the World Trade Center site and was presented by New York’s mayor to Jacksonville Firefighters for their help in rescue and recovery efforts in the aftermath of the bombings.

When I walked into the museum, the first thing I saw was a barefoot woman stretched out on the polished hardwood floor doing yoga contortions. No, this was not the museum curator. This was a mother chaperoning a kindergarten class; she was exercising while the kids were at the other end of the building. She challenged me and demanded that I explain my presence.

Because she was so snotty, I refuse to answer her questions except in monosyllables. She was not pleased and remained suspicious, but since I did nothing but stand to the side and wait for the class to leave, she could not convict me of any crime.

Thank God for her and others like her.

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Anyhow, I spent a couple of hours pouring over old albums and Alarm Records upstairs in the bunk room which is not general open to the public. I love doing that kind of research. I discovered that in 1951, nobody appears to ever know how any fire started:

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Don’t know. Don’t know. Don’t know — That’s the reason folks gave the firemen to explain how their house caught fire… Like the old hotel joke about not smoking in bed: “It was on fire when I lay down on it.”

The day was warm, mid 80s, so I’d parked a ways away from the museum in the shade. As I left the museum, I noticed a black, or dark green, pickup truck parked in the same area; it was backed in against some bushes so the tag was not visible.

A man in his mid-30s, had the look of a construction worker, sat in the truck watching the children at play in the park as he jacked off.

He was so intent on his recreation that he did not see me until I banged the trunk of my car shut. The noise startled him and he reved up his truck and sped away.

Unfortunately, I did not get the tag number. Nevertheless, spooking this guy may have been the most important thing I did today.

Let me emphasize that the Kid’s Kampus is well patrolled both by city cops and belligerent, watchful parents. Horny adults should find some place else to play.

Back home I downloaded the photos I’d taken (sorry, but my photo gallery is still down or I’d post them all).

As I drove to Ginny’s office to pick her up from work, my mind kept writing passages from this book or that. I was not paying attention to where I was driving.

You know, Jesus saves us from our sins but He doesn’t often save us from our stupidity.

He made an exception for me today. Because with my brain on autopilot, I wheeled around the corner in a left turn on Jefferson Street which is One Way — One Way coming toward me!

Some God-inspired guy on the street called me a nasty name that got my attention and I realized that hundreds of rush-hour cars were speeding toward me headon. I bumped over the curb into a vacant lot to the sound of blearing horns.

Thank You, Jesus.

I made a dignified U-Turn and drove the right way with traffic without making the acquaintance of Jacksonville’s fine Fire/Rescue Department first hand.

Now here’s where it gets cool:

When I got to Ginny’s office building in the slums, I parked in the designated Employee Of The Month parking space. (At the old office, Ginny earned that distinction several times but the rat-finks didn’t give her a parking space there).Since this building is new construction workmen had dug the hole putting up the sign recently.

There poking from the dirt left over from the posthole, lay a rusty horseshoe. The metal is warped, twisting the shoe back in on itself. The warping makes me think this metal had been exposed to intense heat.

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I’m pretty sure that there haven’t been horses in the area more recently than 1920, but I’m not sure if this site was among the 400+ acres of Jacksonville that burned in the Great Fire of 1901…

But this ends on a sad note.

The nails are still in the horse shoe.

Does that indicate that the horse was still wearing them when it burned?

So, there you have it. Just a typical day in the life of a writer.

Thank You, Lord.

I’m really enjoying the life You give me… but, being what I am, I still wait for the other shoe to drop.