Browse Category: New Jersey

ZERO, ZIP, ZILCH

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(Originally posted on the website Continuum…)

Zero, zip, zilch…

That’s how much I’m writing tonight. I’m tired. I have pneumonia. I don’t feel like writing. I think I’ll watch a movie instead. Maybe I’ll watch “Pulp Fiction” since I’m in a Tarantino mood after watching “Kill Bill 1” with my friend Suzy today.

Actually, what I’m doing is cheating. (Not something a zaddik should do, I know. Not even one wearing a zucchetto. Though one would question the appropriateness of a zaddik wearing a zucchetto.) In my zeal to get started with the AlphaBytes project for June, I am writing an article and posting it today! Ha! It’s still only May! The goal of the project is to write a journal entry for each of the letters of the alphabet. Being as zany as I am, I thought I’d start with the last letter instead of the first. So, you can thank the letter Z, affectionately known as “zed” to some of you outside of America, for this entry.

Not wanting to stay up too later, let me just write a few words since I’m here. I promise not to use the words zucchini, zebra or zygote. I will, however, listen to Frank Zappa while writing this. As a cultural note, I must say that zuppa inglese sounds absolutely delicious, especially the rum part.

Change of plans… Let’s listen to Warren Zevon instead.

Like I said above, I have pneumonia. WHAT? How did that happen?? Exzactly my thoughts! (Slipped that one in there. Heh.) You might remember that I mentioned having bronchitis back in December. The doctor that treated me then, the one who looked like Groucho Marx (not Zeppo), said that I was also experiencing bronchospasms. I had a lot of wheezing.

The breathing difficulties never went away. I was always out of breath, sometimes receiving both the concern and ridicule of those around me as I huffed and puffed up the stairs. So I went to the doctors again in March. Groucho’s partner thought that I might be developing asthma. So he gave me some asthma medicine and told me to get a chest x-ray, even though he didn’t expect anything to show up on the x-ray. Since he didn’t seem too concerned, and I’m a big procrastinator, I didn’t go for the x-ray until mid-April.

When I called for more asthma medicine a week ago, the nurse informed me that my x-ray showed that I had pneumonia in my left lung. Say what??? “Didn’t anyone call you, Mr. Snyder? The doctor wanted you on antibiotics a month ago!” No, no one called me! I heard zero, zip, zilch!

Well, I picked up the antibiotics, Zithromax, as a matter of fact. Today was the tenth day after starting the medication. Guess what. I’m still a wheezing, hacking, huffing, puffing one-lunged tired sucker! I called the doctor on Friday to see what I should do next. He was on vacation and his receptionist told me not to worry about it and just call next week sometime. I don’t think so. This sucker’s going to a different doctor.

You know, a half-year of not being able to breathe properly is enough. The fatigue is driving me crazy. I am not the kind of person who can simply shut down and rest. I don’t want to miss anything. There are too many things to do in the world. I always say that I wish I could just go without sleep completely. Who needs it? I’ll sleep when I’m dead. Well, under the circumstances, if I don’t rest now, I might be dead sooner than I want to be.

But what did I do this weekend? On Saturday, I drove the kids around to work and such, something I do nearly every day now. Then I took a drive to Merril Creek Reservoir, intending to walk around for a few hours and take a few photos. That turned out to be a zoological wonder! The place was swarming with cicadas. It was unbelievable! But that’s a story for the letter C. After a few hours of walking among the billions of bugs, I went home and fell asleep for a few hours. That is completely out of character for me!

On Sunday, I took Suzy to Merril Creek to witness the cicadas. We ended up hiking the five-mile trail around the perimeter of the reservoir. Believe it or not, I made it all the way on just half a functioning lung. Later, I fell asleep again. Exhausted.

Today, Memorial Day, I drove kids to jobs, picked one up an hour later after Burger King lost electrical power. I did manage to take it easy for most of the day though. Our little town had a Memorial Day parade. I haven’t decided to write about that under the letter M for Memorial Day, P for parade, or F for the whole 15 minutes that the parade lasted. Maybe I should use B for boring. Other than that, I did some laundry and watched “Kill Bill.”

Speaking of movies… I gotta go. Warren is almost done singing.

My apologies to ZZ Top for not mentioning them in this article.

(Just out of curiosity… Do you consider yourself to be zoophagous?)

I guess “Zero, Zip, Zilch” wasn’t exactly fitting for this article. I should have called it zomething else.

alphabyteslogo3 An AlphaBytes Project – The Letter Z

GETTING OVER IT

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(Originally posted on the website Continuum…)

CLICK PICS TO ENLARGE.

“Like a bridge over troubled water, I will lay me down…”

Isn’t that what Simon and Garfunkel sang? It’s a very kind gesture for someone to be willing to lie down as a bridge. But may I make one request?

Please! Please! Please, don’t be a bridge that has grating that I can see through! Please don’t be a railroad bridge with gaps between the ties!

Yesterday was an absolutely gorgeous, blue sky spring day here in New Jersey. In the morning, I made plans with my son, Tim, to go with him to a local quarry to do some photography. He was told that there were eagles nesting there. We planned on going around 5 PM when I was finished working. But the day was prime for exploration and photography. I worked until noon and took the rest of the day off in order to have more time for the adventure. I picked Tim up after school, went home and changed out of my repressive suit and tie, and we headed off for the quarry. Tim’s friends said they would meet us there, in Brainards. It was only a few miles away from our house.

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Many people, even in our area, don’t know that the little town of Brainards exists. Even fewer know that the town was named after a Christian missionary, David Brainaird, who did work among the Indians in the area back in the 1740s. (Or was it named after his brother?) Brainard was sent from Connecticut to New Jersey. At times he spent weeks on horseback travelling to Indian settlements in the Pennsylvania wilderness. He established schools to teach English to the Indians. He preached in various churches. Though at first his efforts to bridge the cultural and religious gaps between the English Colonialists and the Native Americans yielded little results, eventually he had a positive influence in several areas of New Jersey and Pennsylvania. To this day, his diaries have been an inspiration to many. He was definitely a man whose name deserves to be memorialized, especially since he accomplished all these things before he died of tuberculosis at the ripe old age of 27.

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We drove over to Brainards around 3:30. We met up with Tim’s friends, prepared our cameras, and started walking. Down a few blocks through the quiet neighborhood we entered the woods and came upon railroad tracks. One of the kids said we had to follow the tracks for a little bit and then go across the bridge to the other side of the river. I didn’t think too much about it when he said it. But then I realized the direction we were headed.

“Wait a minute guys, what bridge? What river? Do you mean the Delaware? The quarry is actually in Pennsylvania? WHAT bridge?”

“Oh yeah, Dad, I forgot to mention, we have to walk across the railroad trestle to get to the quarry. I forgot you were afraid of heights.”

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That’s okay. I’m cool, right? I could walk across that bridge and not look like a sissy in front of Tim’s friends, right?

There were several people on the bridge when we got to it. I think a few were fishing. A few were jumping off. I didn’t notice much detail about that group of people. My full attention was on the fact that the bridge consisted of railroad ties and metal grating, both of which you could see through… all the way down, way down, down, down, down. It was high. No, really high. It was so high that I had to duck for orbiting satellites. Well, maybe not quite that high, but definitely more than high for a dude with a fear of heights.

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We were almost half way across the bridge when Tim turned in front of me and asked, “Are you okay??” Until he said something, I wasn’t even aware of the fact that my body was in panic mode. I was focused on the part of the tracks that I couldn’t see down through. I was walking exactly on the section where the grating overlapped the wooden ties, stepping on the large bolts that secured the walkway. Adrenaline was oozing out of my body and I was breathing in short little breathes as if I was a childbearing woman using Lamaze breathing techniques at the height of a contraction! I was at a height of contraction! My whole consciousness had contracted to the single thought of getting over that bridge!

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Tim said, “Listen to you! Remember what you said in the car about being willing to take risks for the sake of ‘art’ and photography? Well, now’s your chance!” Of course, his friends had to hear this and they started in on me. I had become the sissy and the object of their ridicule right there in the middle of the sky above the river. “Yes, guys, I know how far down it is. Yes, I can see between the ties. Yes, I understand that I will die if the train comes right now.” Ha, ha. It was all very funny… until someone actually stopped dead in front of me. “Look guys, don’t F*** with me!” Never corner a sissy in the middle of a wide-open bridge. He’ll get ugly on you real fast.

By now you have probably assumed, due to the fact that I lived to write this, that I made it across the bridge. I did. The way back wasn’t as bad either. Nobody F***ed with me. I even managed to stop and take a few photos. True to my word, I took the risk for the sake of art. And it didn’t kill me!

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As soon as we crossed the bridge, we were at the quarry area. The place was huge! There were several quarries filled with water. The place is haunted with the relics of old iron machinery and dilapidated buildings. Huge mounds of gravel still stood throughout the grounds, criss-crossed by motorcycle tracks. The place was inhabited by all kinds of birds, toads, turtles and other types of wildlife – including teenagers. There were groups of kids hanging out in several spots. There were girls in tiny bikinis sunning themselves among boys at rivalry to impress them. Kids were jumping and diving off of the cliffs into the green quarry water. Their laughter and casual cursing echoed across the quarries.

We were told that the eagles were at one of the farther quarries, about a 20-minute walk from the bridge. We made our way there, stopping a few times to take photos of old buildings and to explore this strange place. It was like a forgotten ghost down. The old machinery left behind gave the impression that the workers went on break one afternoon and never returned.

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As it turned out, the “eagles” were actually osprey. We were slightly disappointed at first. Then we saw how beautiful osprey can be when they soar overhead. We were able to get within 50 yards of their nest, which was on the top of an electrical pole that stood in the water. The birds were a little upset when we got that close and flew in large graceful circles around us. We were delighted and worked our cameras like paparazzi in Hollywood. It was exciting to see these birds in the wild. One of the kids commented how cool it was to see such a thing when we live in New Jersey. People think of New Jersey as nothing but highways and chemical plants. New Jersey actually has many, many beautiful and scenic areas. (Okay… technically the quarry is in Pennsylvania. But, after risking my life crossing that bridge, I hereby officially annex the quarry as New Jersey land.)

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The quarry is a place worthy of exploration. It is a dangerous place, no doubt about it. There are plenty of places to fall from, high places, more than just the bridge. There are several bodies of water whose mysteries are hidden beneath the murky water. The danger is part of its appeal. We will definitely be going back soon.

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As soon as I get the courage to take on that bridge again.

“JUST AS I FOUND IT”

(Originally posted on the website Continuum…)

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MAY 20, 2004 – THEME: FRAME

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On recent photo hunts, I’ve been taking shots of abandoned structures. The house in this photo is on a country road near Changewater, New Jersey. The place looks like whoever lived there just up and left one day. There is a washer and dryer just inside that open window. There are rusty bikes leaning against the back of an old barn. There’s an old doghouse with a pile of logs and boards next to it. Even the dog took off. Places like these make me wonder what the heck happened here. I want to hear the story and know what happened to everyone and why the property was left to decay.

Sometimes I fool myself into thinking that I can stop the decay with my camera. I can bring it all to a halt. It is my resistance to change, my reluctance to accept the fact that all material things wear out and fade away. Ultimately, the captured images are reminders that I too shall wear out and fade away one day. I will show my defiance by turning the decay into art.

Below are a few other photos from this site, not part of the Theme Thursday project, just presented to satisfy the curious.

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MEMORY MOTEL

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(Originally posted on the website Continuum…)

THERE’S NOTHING like getting an album that you used to listen to when you were a kid and haven’t heard in years. Of course, most kids don’t refer to them as “albums” these days. They are just “CDs.” It’s a rediscovery of sorts when in 2004 you buy an album that was originally released in 1976. Unless, you weren’t even born yet in 1976 or were still a snotty-faced four-year-old who didn’t care about music yet.

The album of my most recent rediscovery is “Black and Blue” by the Rolling Stones, which is playing right now. It may not be one of their most popular albums. It does have the song “Fool to Cry” on it, which was a big hit at the time.

So much music defines different time periods of my life. I was 13 when I first got this Stones album. When I think back, there are several other albums that I remember listening to a lot around that time: “2112” by Rush, “Changes One” by David Bowie, “Rock and Roll Over” by Kiss, “Alice Cooper Goes to Hell” by Alice Cooper (obviously). I would often sit in my bedroom with a black light on and listen to these albums. I had a red, white and blue bedspread. I can still picture the glow of the white sections of the bedspread as “Hey Negrita” plays now in 2004, transporting me back.

I was in eighth grade then, with my Speed Racer looking glasses, double knit pants, and slightly visible peach fuzz moustache. It wasn’t until the next school year that I began wearing jeans and the ever-cool silk shirts and growing my hair long. Thirteen was the last year of “cute,” soon to be followed by the arrival of “cool.” It was an awkward time in which impressing the girls was of growing importance. Yet, riding my pull start Kawasaki mini bike for hours after school was still more fun, and safer than girls turned out to be, I might add!

Ahhh! Right now the Stones are taking me back to an old house along the Muskonetcong River. It was so old that you could look between the floor boards upstairs and see down to the first floor. The basement had a dirt floor… and rats. We didn’t go down there! There was a winding staircase from the kitchen to a small room upstairs.

There was plenty of land along with this house. The property we rented ran along the river for a good stretch. There were fields to ride mini bikes, pick wild raspberries, play frisbee, and run naked if you really wanted (not that I would know anything about THAT!). There was a great hill for sleigh riding in the winter. There was an old mysterious barn. There was a spring house close to the river in which I sometimes put trout that I caught out of the river. Then I could fish in the spring house and catch them over and over.

I remember doing a few mischievous things at that age. Stupid things really. I cut the inner pages out of a book in order to hide packs of bubble gum so my mom wouldn’t know I had them. I was a big candy freak as a kid. The only problem with hiding them in a book was that I used a book that once belonged to my mom as a kid. She discovered the cut out pages in the garbage can. Ooops. I also flushed a banana peel down the toilet because I was too lazy to take it downstairs to throw it away. The only problem was the toilet clogged a while later and my stepfather discovered the banana peel when he was plunging it. Ooops again. I also remember how my sister wiped out on my mini bike in the gravel on the driveway. Ooops. And ouch. But I was more concerned with the possibility that my mini bike got all scratched up than I was with the probability that half of the stones on the driveway got jammed under my sister’s left knee cap. What can I say? I’m a brother.

Speaking of my stepfather, there were a few funny incidents in which he was involved back then. Once, in the middle of the night, some guy was pounding on our door. Then he backed into my stepfather’s truck with his car and took off. So, my stepfather chased him. Later, at the police station, a cop came in and read him his rights. When he asked what was going on, the cop said they had found marijuana growing on our property. Ooops! It turned out that the caretaker of a neighbor’s property was the one who had planted it on our land. In another incident, we all got in the car and drove up the road to the Dairy Queen for ice cream one evening. While there, somebody backed into our car in the parking lot. My stepfather had to get out of the car. And the poor guy was wearing my mom’s fuzzy pink slippers! Oooooops! Okay. He wasn’t in the habit of wearing her clothes. He wasn’t a cross dresser or anything. He only had to drive a few miles up the road to the Dairy Queen. What were the chances that he would have had to get out of the car in front of a parking lot full of people? All those staring people! Work boots! Never leave home without ’em!

As I end this brief article, the Stones are singing “Memory Motel.” How appropriate. A good note to end on, while just giving you a glimpse of that particular time of my life.