This was the house I remember fondly from my childhood. I lived in a lot of places. By my count we lived in nine places by the time I was eighteen. So the story I told was that my father was a bank robber and we had to move a lot. Actually, my mom liked to live in a nice house and my father liked to change jobs. But the bank robber thing stopped people from asking too many questions. They just knew I was not giving straight answers.
Three bedrooms, and a large mud room behind the garage, the house was small but well laid out. It was a brick house with a hip roof. Not cool, it’s just what the style is called. It’s special different because it’s more labor intensive to construct. We had one car garage because my father was holding down cost. My mother never let him forget his error. The green door was white and original until about a year ago. I’m surprised that the trees are not more mature. The windows are the same. And the electric meter on the right side – I used to race it around the house to see if I could go round before it spun once.
The night shot is the first view I had of the house as we got to Elkins. Fifty years plus later, I found out you can go back. It was so similar and so not.
We had to be there. Don’t ask. It wouldn’t matter. I decided to act silly.
It’s a presumed copy of the liberty bell. In Washington, how nice. No, it does not ring. Unlike many stations which are now markets and in alternate use, Washington’s Union Station is very much in active service.
If you look online the music scene is on U Street in Washington. There was a parade later this day. But we were here now. So, hula hoop? White boots? Short dress and a DJ. Oh my go figure. I’m out of it I guess.
It leads me to another place near to the subway entrance. This motley crew all wore expressions that serve as ample fodder for a short story. I guess. Or it was simultaneously catching everyone with their mouth open while they ate.
Dinner was a Thai restaurant with a jazz trio. It was too much work to navigate a club. New city different rules. We had enough trouble getting on the subway. Each of us needed a ticket and you had to know where you were going in order to pay per station. To be sure you didn’t cheat you had to swipe your ticket when leaving. Oh my it’s a whole lot more unfriendly than NYC mass transit. But then again I never remembered Washington as user friendly. Go figure it’s our nation’s capital. Or, “I’m from the government and I’m here to help you.” Oh yeah!
Well, it is the FBI – J Edgar Hoover – building. The flags make a nice graphic. There are concrete barriers in front. I’m not sure it’s wise to consider crashing the building.
Anywhere you look the American flag waves. This was DOJ. If you need to ask then you don’t need to know.
Go figure. The old fire alarm boxes are sometimes decorated. I guess it is because the wires cannot be removed. Some not all are like this. And you don’t see them too frequently. So I have to ask why? Why? Get it? I asked?
Hey! I went to an old elementary school in Elkins, West Virginia. Don’t ask. But we had desks just like this. You can see the ink well desk holes. We did not use ink. But I sat in these desks for my elementary years in First Ward school. The front of the room was not as quaint as the image and set up in this Shaker village school. I used the set up to set up my own image. A little Photoshop later and voila. The gal you see would be Colleen who as it turns out was a classmate from 3rd to 6th grade in the same elementary school. She swears her name was later in the alphabet and that she sat in the back of the class. It’s a lot of years gone by. I am sure that at least one year I sat in the back on the left.
Colleen was a girl I met in the third grade. She lived across the street from my grade school. And when she didn’t feel like attending she walked across the street through the school building and out the other door to return home without being seen by her mother. Yes, that is my kind of humor. This many years later she remains a good sport. Imagine during our early conversation she said to me, “I like beer.” Well, “I like pretzels.” It’s all relative I guess. Beer and pretzels go – right? A year ago I met her again.
Yes. I did this in Photoshop. I’m lazy. I just kept the focal length the same and we each shot a frame standing in the same spot. Paste and clone. It’s not as close as a selfie but it works.
I lived in Maine for several years. I always marveled at the abandoned vehicles in the yards of the natives. Yes, I am ridiculing the habit. Tell me? Why? Are they there for parts, as a monument, some totem of significance or just that the vehicle died and is left to rot. Okay. Sorry. I do not mean to insult. But you folks have some ways that we flatlanders do not understand. Eye sore. Proud?
We were passing through Portsmouth and in a novelty craft sort of store… Guess what? It took me a moment to get it. Yes. The said object is for tissues. And yes it was funny for about a second. And no. I did not purchase said item as a joke. It was funny only once.
Leonard P. Zakim Bunker Hill Bridge – part of the big dig – it is a landmark when you enter Boston these days. I happened to do so by accident. I had intended to bypass Boston entirely. Instead I was downtown. Taking pictures is a rather interesting task. I shot through the car window holding my trusty camera as I drove through on a rainy day. You can look through the view finder and still drive or you can just point and shoot. I did. And sometimes you get a shot and sometimes you don’t. If you don’t try you get nothing.