Newark Technical Support

Yesterday morning, my computer screen began blinking in and out. It would stay on for about two seconds, then blink out, to reappear for a second or two before blinking again. Now, I'm a man who is rather complimented by a wink. Just not from my desktop screen. What to do, what to do. I know! I'll contact Newark, Ohio Technical Support.

Once the texts had begun, I filmed around a half minute of the monitor winking and sent it. The tech asked me to try hitting four buttons on the keyboard all at the same time. No result. So he said to try three different keys. 

The screen changed. I snapped a pic of that and texted it. Aha, we're getting somewhere, responded the tech. Click on blah-blah option.

A new screen came up. In fact, it was the start up screen. Enter your PIN, I was told, and see what happens. 

Viola! The computer, she worked, and right fine. I expressed profound gratitude.

Newark Technical Support. Five stars!

Pit Stop

As we made our way back home from Philadelphia, or at least to my oldest son's home in Newark, Ohio, we made a side trip while still well from arrival. 

The place had several impressive amenities. There were picnic tables here and there outside, while inside the building were sitting areas arranged in conference style, tables surrounded by six quite comfortable looking chairs. Broad, wide windows illuminated a spacious central room which you might even call an atrium. Interior walls were decorated with maps both modern and historic, detailing places and events of yore. There were even a few articles of interest from local artisans along with past archaeological finds. An extensive array of vending machines were to the side and blended into the scene unobtrusively, almost apologetic in their presence. Porticos ran along opposite outside walls, and were lined with sturdy yet graceful rocking chairs. One was occupied by a woman, relaxing and reading a book. It was very nearly a resort. 

Have I mentioned yet that we were at a rest area on Interstate 70 in southeast Ohio?

The place was made up as though it were a destination rather than a convenient spot for, ah, urgent human functions. Do folks actually go there simply to lounge? Would a husband wishing to spend time with his wife ask, "Honey, feel like taking a little time off this afternoon and chilling at the bathrooms on I-70? They have cold drinks and small bags of Doritos. We could pack a lunch. The sunset from the west portico is divine." Of course as I've said, one person was indeed sitting on a rocker reading as though on the deck of a cruise ship or in the lobby of a spa. 

I get it. I get that states try to make rest areas double as promotional adverts for local and statewide places and events. Yet this felt like something beyond that: something almost surreal. 'Welcome to Ohio! Come for the potties, stay for the views.' 

A bit over the top for a bathroom break, in my opinion.

Nerk

I'm not actually sure if that's how to spell it, but that's about how it sounds. But I've been told that the locals in Newark, Ohio say Nerk, Ohiya.

This isn't my first experience with pronunciation not matching spelling. Rutherford, North Carolina, near where a lot of my southern family live, often comes out as, roughly, Rofton or Rullaferd. George Kell, the former Detroit sportscaster who hailed from Arkansas, used to end Missouri with an A: Missoura.

I don't mean this as a criticism. We all have accents and that's just how things are. I remember about 30 years ago talking to a local in Toronto, Ontario, Canada who after a few minutes of conversation asked, "So you're from Detroit?" even though I hadn't told him. "How can you tell?" I asked in turn.

"By your accent."

I actually replied, with no ill intent and as though it were a perfectly reasonable answer, "I don't have an accent."

Of course I do. We all do. We just don't often think of it that way.

Time Zones

As I spoke of yesterday, me son Charlie and I watched live wrestling. It turns out that the show was in Perth, in Western Australia. It was late afternoon there as it was early morning here.

We don't often think about how big this world can be. He we were, my son and I, in the early morning hours of a Saturday in the eastern United States, and there they were in the dying embers of Sunday. As the Sun was literally rising here it was setting there. They were closer to Monday while we had only left Friday six hours behind us.

Maybe it isn't that big a deal. But it seems so to me. It's an interesting feeling, almost like awe. We ought to feel more of that in life.

Ringside Seats

What do you do at 5 O'clock in the morning in central Ohio on a late February Saturday morning? Why, watch pay per view wresting live...from Australia.

Yep, that's just what me and me son Charlie are doing. It's tomorrow afternoon in the land down under, because of the International Date Line or something like that. I believe Australia is 19 hours ahead of us, so while it's today here it's tomorrow there. Mind blowing.

Charlie bought a pizza, which is cooking in the oven right now. As we eat that means I'll get to ask, for the first time in my life, "Is this delivery?"

Get it?

Anyway, there are worse ways to spend Saturday mornings. I know. I've experienced them.

A mostly successful weekend

I spent last weekend in Newark, Ohio visiting the Ohio Cosgriffs.  We were able to have a good family visit, talking and watching movies. We saw 300, which is a good movie about loyalty and honor, and Battlefield Earth, which is not a good movie on any level. Yet even that was made bearable because we watched with Rifftrax commentary. Rifftrax makes fun of movies, and Battlefield Earth was a slow pitch over the heart of the plate just asking to be skewered.

We made shopping trips to the local Ollie's Discount Store, whose slogan is 'good stuff cheap'. That was about the only disappointment. I was hoping to find Chase and Sanborn coffee (my coffee of choice) which is often at Ollie's. I haven't been able to find it at the Detroit area stores and, alas, it was not at the Newark Ollie's either. Rats.

But at the Newark (actually Heath, Ohio) Rural King, and I love Rural King, we found absolutely scads of red birch beer. Well, not scads, but dozens of quart bottles of the stuff. I love it; it's a form of root beer derived from the sap of red birch trees. I haven't been able to get that in the Detroit area, but Rural King saved the day. I bought 15 quarts. It's that good, and at 99 cents a bottle with no deposit (Ohio doesn't have a bottle deposit) it was a steal. It's made by Frostop. You should try it. I can sell you a bottle for...hell, I ain't selling it to you. Get your own.

So, it was a mostly successful weekend. For the Ohio Cosgriffs, my exit Monday morning was surely what made it a complete success. And as an aside, if any of you know where to get Chase and Sanborn I'd appreciate the tip.

The Newark Keurig

When I was young I was very sentimental. Then I went through a time where I didn't believe I was sentimental at all. Now I wonder if I've come a little more than full circle. I'm starting to think I'm too sentimental.

This all started with the Keurig I bought in a flea market in Newark, Ohio, where some of my kids live. I have it up at The Shop, where I use it nearly every day. And I've begun, in my own mind anyway, to refer to it as my Newark Keurig.

Perhaps that doesn't sound all that bad. Yet it's reached a point where I almost get misty eyed while watching it brew a cup of coffee. "Yep, that's my Newark Keurig, the one I bought while in Ohio visiting my family," I think as I await my morning starter.

It's a silly thing, almost an affectation. Would it be a little less silly if I mentioned that I often drink coffee from it out of the Newark Catholic mug I bought at the same time? Yes, I call it my Newark Catholic mug. But it says as much right on the side, so that's not all me.

Newark, North Carolina

I spent a few precious hours over three days last week with my son's family in relatively rural Ohio. There is a large cornfield right outside their back door perhaps 15 feet from the porch, just, and I mean only just, past their driveway. Once in particular I stepped outside and looked across the lightly rolling country, over the currently plowed up cornfield, and I smiled reflexively. I was ambushed by an old feeling, one I hadn't felt in years. I felt like I was back in North Carolina in my youth, looking out over the 13 acres of my grandfather's small farm. You could step off his back porch and spy a similar sight.

What goes around, eh? I find that the older I get the more often I am overtaken by old sensations, even those now decades old. This is not a bad thing. I wonder if it's what keeps us sane; there's something good to be said about continuity within cycles, of similarities with differences. We have the seasons, each distinct (in much of the world anyway) yet returning. It allows us change while also grounding us. We need change. But we need constants too.

So I had the opportunity to remember what it was like to be with me old Grandpaw Hutchins, up early and checking out the crops, if only for a relatively fleeting moment. I found in an instant a connection between my oldest son and the great-grandfather he only met once, and that as a six month old infant. We have a picture of them somewhere; I need to find it.

Anyway, what goes around. Life is good.