God doesn’t play golf

So, what’s all this about being “retired? Retired from what, I wonder?

In case you haven’t noticed, I haven’t written a word on my blog for about ten months. I’ve noticed, though. Each time that the thought of writing something, anything, would materialize into a vague urge, it would disappear only to mind-creep again into some form of consciousness. The fact is,  I didn’t have much to say, or write. It was a time to think. And, so I did. thinking monkeyIn no particular order my thoughts ranged from: Was I happy? Was it a mistake moving to Florida? If it wasn’t a mistake moving here, was it working out as I had hoped? What was I supposed to be doing with my time, my life? Aren’t retirees supposed to play golf? I don’t play golf. And, I doubt God will hold that against me. He didn’t either, I think. 

The happiness question was a tough one to figure. Am I ecstatic? No, or at least rarely. Am I unhappy? No, I’d say it’s more that there’s a feeling of being unsatisfied or unfulfilled. Hmm, after six months or so of “deep thought” this was the best I could do? Oh, well, it was a start.

Now, The Move thing. Was it a mistake? No, of that I’m sure. If we hadn’t left Connecticut life probably would have been more difficult and certainly more unpleasant. Florida has been good in a number of ways. I obtained my commercial driver license and became a Licensed Tour Guide in St. Augustine. And drove The Red Train! That was mostly interesting and fun… until the heat became a bit much.

First day giving tours (576x1024)We also turned a somewhat wreck of a house into a really beautiful home that became a favorite gathering place for the friends we made here. That was fun, interesting and a useful thing to do.aquiline11818 drone2

And, we made some nice acquaintances and friends here. Some are gone. Some moved on. But, the really special ones, the true friends, will remain an important part of our life. But…here it comes, the heat. Who wudda’ thought? My DNA, my genetics, whatever, are just not capable of enjoying 6 months of what I consider summer and 3 more months of what can best be described as, “The Nether World”. devil picOther than that, it’s great! And, that heat did something I did not expect. It took away my desire to do much, especially outdoors. It and I just weren’t working. And that brought me to my next Big Question: What was I supposed to be doing with my time and life?

Surprisingly, that was the easiest question for me to answer. Simply put, I was meant to work; to do something that mattered – to myself and maybe to others. I enjoy working. Really. And so, over these past 10 months I’ve pondered, along with my Redhead, as to what to do. We travelled some distances, too: Tennessee, North Carolina, and South Carolina. Searching to find a place that better suited us and we it. We searched these areas several times and came pretty close to deciding upon Greenville, SC as being our new home. But, in the end, each had some shortcoming (for us) that we wanted to avoid: too much development, too remote, too hot (that was a deal breaker for several places), too costly or too kooky (and believe me, I know kooky)! And, then, an unexpected, but entirely welcome, event happened and it gave us reason to check one more area in our quest – Virginia. I resisted at first. My impression of Virginia was that it was too hot and too close to DC. I guess some geography lessons in grammar school were for naught. After lots of research, we became intrigued by the Shenandoah Valley area, particularly the Staunton area. The climate seems agreeable: moderately warm summers and with lower humidity and cooler night temperatures than here in Florida, real winters with snow, but perhaps a bit shorter in duration than Connecticut winters. Our adventure up there during July was very pleasant – jeans during the day and a light sweater some nights. Also, for me, the allergies that plague me here in Florida were welcomingly absent in the Staunton area.

There are a number of other things about the Valley that appeal to us both, but one in particular calls to me: auctions. Yes, auctions. Because, back in Connecticut, it was at small town auctions that I discovered some of my best antique and vintage furniture finds. And that was the foundation of my passion – taking old, sometimes just plain discarded furniture and restoring it and finding it a new home. It was work. And it mattered to me and to the many people that wound up with a piece of furniture from Redeux. Bill in workshop20121010

And, so, this week we placed our beautiful home on the market. Within a few hours (and after praying for God’s guidance and St. Joseph’s intercession) we had an offer. In two months we will say goodbye to Florida. 

Charlie

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Tough day today, huh, Charlie?

“Yeah, it sure is. It seems a lot more days are getting tougher and tougher, for me at least”.

We’re in the break room, cooling off after driving our machines in the sun for an hour and a half on a day when the thermometer reads 103 degrees in the shade. Add another 10-15 degrees inside the cabs and today, like the past 10 or so, is indeed a Tough One.

He slips a “cooling bandana” from around his forehead. It is drenched in sweat as are his shorts and shirt. A mini cooler is pulled from the fridge and Charlie slumps into a chair while retrieving a half-eaten sandwich and a juice carton from the thermal bag. At 67, 140 pounds overweight, diabetic and with open sores visible on his lower legs, Charlie looks like he is losing the battle – with the heat, with the job and with himself.

“I wasn’t always like this”, he says. Was I staring or was he reading my mind? He had been a small-town policeman up north somewhere, I knew. Other than that, all I knew about him was that he was always polite, always soft-spoken and always the butt of jokes from the straw bosses up front that sat all day in an air-conditioned room criticizing Charlie for usually being a few minutes behind schedule on his tours. Miss your times and you, too, became a “Charlie”.

“My wife and I came down here after we retired. We had a small house. We’d go fishin’ and cook on the grill and drive around seeing the sights. We were happy. Then she got sick. Cancer. I took a job as a security guard to help with the bills. One day I was beat up and fell to the ground and hit my head. Never been the same. My wife died soon after”.

I’m sorry to hear this, Charlie.

“It’s o.k., it’s been a while. I live up the street, you know. At the motel. The one with the sign that says, ‘American Owned’ out front. Not many of those left. They treat me nice. No kitchen, though. I usually eat at Hungry Howie’s”.

Charlie is telling me this in a very matter of fact way. But, I’m not sure why. Is it because he knows that I, too, was “on the job” up north? Kind of like comrades?  I don’t know. All I know is that my eyes are stinging from sweat – or maybe it is something else.

Train’s in!

I’ve got to go, Charlie. See you later. Drink lots of water before you go out again.

He looks up and says, “Oh, yeah”.  And then, “You know, I used to be a somebody, once”.

Before I open the doors to go back into the blast furnace of St. Augustine in August I look around the office. It has changed. I will never again see it as I did just one hour before. Maybe I’ll be a few minutes late beyond the allotted 90 minutes of my next scheduled tour. Just so Charlie isn’t alone today.

At Last!

Train first tour driving day

Disappointment is not easy. Dealing with it takes time.

Back in March I had taken the road exam for the Commercial Drivers License (CDL) – a prerequisite for driving as a tour guide for the company. The test did not go well, as I have already described in my last, several weeks ago post. Sporadic training on bus driving – mostly backing up techniques – had done little to instill confidence that the next test would be much more successful. It was a dilemma.

So weeks were filled with driving shuttle vans throughout St. Augustine, learning back streets and alleys and always honing my narrative skills and knowledge on each and every passenger. And then it happened. I was told that train driving lessons would begin. But, what about the CDL? It seems the management had more confidence in my next driving test than did I.

So, fire up the train I did – with the best driving instructor in town. All geometry he said. Axels and radius’s, turning points, weight distribution,etc. Very nice. All I wanted to do was show people the city and talk about it. But, somehow it all came together. Until I had to learn how to talk and drive. Simple? Not nearly. See, the training consisted of first talking – giving the narrative tour – while someone else drove the train. Talk what you see was the motto. Problem was, different drivers = different speeds and when I would see what. Add to that, I’d sometimes get the sideways “short eye” look of disapproval. “What did you say”, I’d hear? “What did you just say”? My response, “Huh”? It seems some of these Southern boys think I have an accent. Well!  They’d ask,”where y’all frum”?  “Kin-et-e-kit”, I’d tell them. Their look said it all. What we had was a “failure to co-mu-nee- kate“! Another learning curve to overcome.

Next, was the drive and talk test. After figuring I could speak somewhat intelligently about the Ancient City, the bosses judged it was time to drive the train and give the tour – with only an instructor aboard, of course. Without a CDL – no passengers.

O.K. So, off we go down San Marco Avenue with me wearing a microphone headset. Since I was driving, the headset was plugged in so the mouthpiece was on my right side. Something new.

Me: “So, in 1565 Pedro Menendez landed ashore just to our left in the Indian village of Faigy“.

What the *&^%$)@#!  Was I having a stroke? Or did the Timucuan Indians really name their village after my beloved Redhead? The instructor couldn’t answer me. He was too busy choking on his morning coffee and laughing.

O.K. Gibby, I thought, keep driving. This will get better.

Me, again: “Now we’re heading toward the city gates of North Benson”.

Am I really back in Fairfield? Seriously, somebody better call an ambulance or get a straitjacket. I’ve lost my mind!

Instructor: “Why don’t we take a little time to figure this out? Pull over”.

Check list: Am I sick? I don’t think so.

Did I really pass the City Board test for Tour Guide? Yes.

Think, Gibby.

Boing! The light goes on!

The microphone is on my right side and I realize that I can’t think or speak with a telephone in my right hand. Always the left!! So, a quick change of the headset and and rearranging of cords and voila!

Instructor: “We’ll, that was interestin'”

It certainly was.

Weeks go by. I’m mostly a “talker”, giving the narration on tours while an experienced guide drives the train and observes me. And some more train driving and a bit more bus driving and backing up practice – the key to everything going forward, so to speak. That’s a thought. Sometimes to move forward you have to first go back. Hmmm.

And then the day of the bus test is announced. May 9th.

And then the next day everything changes. Good news for the company: The test has been scheduled for sooner – May 2nd. Good news for me: No backing up, parking, etc. I had, unknowingly, already passed that part of the test. Countless days and nights of worry – for naught! All I had to do now was drive forward. And remember speed limits and railroad crossings and not get rattled by the tester telling you to do something quickly and forgetting – safety first! O.K.

It goes well.

On Wednesday, May 4th I took a train out, with passengers (and an experienced driver as an observer) for my first tour. St. Augustine had a gale blowing in that day, but it was o.k. Just another test.

The next day another tour. This time the instructor sat in the passenger seats.

There will be another week or so of testing, instruction and observation. But things seem to be on track again.

First day giving tours (576x1024)

And, while my Redhead is always with me in thought, Faigy is not the village of the Timucuans. I now make sure the microphone is always on my left!

Hope to hear from you,

Bill

 

Learning from the Past

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So much for a part time job.  What had started out as an interest in being a tour guide in St. Augustine has turned into that and more.

First, the technical side of being a Red Train Tour Guide.  As I’ve previously written, the City test for tour guides was successfully taken over a month or so ago. Since then I’ve been learning to properly drive extended shuttle vans and also buses. The buses have been my nemeses, especially learning how to back and “off-set park” and to parallel park the buggers. A recent test was not completely satisfactory, especially since the standards were that of driving an 18 wheel tractor trailer – something I will not be doing and haven’t even been in one! So, training continues. In the meantime I drive an assortment of shuttle vans throughout St. Augustine. If nothing else it hones my tour guide narrative and whets my curiosity for learning more and more about what it is I’m driving by every day.

Secondly, the intellectual side of being a tour guide is, for me, the most interesting.  One morsel of information often leads to half-dozen more questions – at least. 450 years of a city’s history reveals a lot about human behavior and that there really is “nothing new under the sun”. Considering all of the strife, turmoil, wars, deprivation and human failings that occurred in this small area of Florida, it is nothing short of a miracle that this city of St. Augustine survived. It is becoming more and more clear that what would become the United States of America was only possible when the emphasis was on being united. Progress in becoming this very unique nation came about only when ethnic, religious, racial and economic differences became secondary to being American.

Are we becoming again a hyphenated society? If we are, then all of the sacrifices of our ancestors were for naught. Looking back may be our guide for going forward.

Telling History

shrimp boats 2 (275x183)

The coast road from Jacksonville to St. Augustine was nearly deserted at dawn. Stars still shown as only the first glimmers of light arose on the horizon. A trinity of fishing boats were close to shore, facing land, booms out – embracing all. I’m going to work and it is a blessing.

Earlier this month I sat for the City of Saint Augustine Tour Guide test. Passing it (after lots of coffee and late-night studying – I thought those days were long gone) has given me more direct access to the historical records and the people who keep those records of this very complicated city. Saint Augustine is a city of peacefulness and charity. And it is a city that has seen incredible brutality. It is a city that gave shelter to refugees; it is a city that oppressed its own. It is also a city of tenacity, kindness and faith.

St Augustine Chapel

Studying the history of anyone or anything is like peeling an onion – even the sweetest of them can make you cry. On a recent trip to the St. Augustine Historical Society I asked the folks there what the most important thing a Tour Guide could do. Without hesitation their answer was: “Tell the Truth”.  I’ll do my best to peel the onion.

My next field of study were the manuals to qualify for a Commercial Drivers (truck, bus, etc.) License. I took the written tests last week and will begin training on buses this week. Since the State testers don’t have trains, I have to qualify driving a vehicle commonly used by commercial drivers before I can drive a train. Buses are not exactly the same as 65 foot trains – especially when trying to navigate tandem trains through the winding Old Town section of St. Augustine – but being able to drive both are required. Who can I get to be my first passengers? Hmmm.

If things go as hoped, I will take the practical driving test in 2 – 3 weeks. After that, driving the trains and giving tours will begin. I’m told that the goal is for me to be ready to commence with tours in time for Spring Break. Now, if that isn’t motivation, what is?  Yikes!

City Gates 1 (2)

But, safely driving the trains, while very important, is only part of the process of being a great tour guide. Dates, names, places can become very confusing for visitors to a city. I’m thinking more along the lines of being a storyteller. Problem is, time will not be my friend. I’ll need to develop several narratives – short vignettes – for each point of interest and weave them into the journey through the city and through time.  As any of my friends (and even some new acquaintances) know, short vignettes are not my usual way of telling a story. I love the road less traveled! I’ll have to fall back on some previous training for my narratives.

Back in my youth, as a young and inexperienced policeman, I had the very good fortune of having as my supervisor a tall, red-faced, Irish sergeant known as “The Tom-tom”. One evening, after making an arrest for what I considered to be the crime of the century, I submitted to Sgt. Tom-tom a considerable stack of 5×7 file cards detailing all the gory details of this arrest. Tom- tom looked at the stack, took note of the actual crime committed and then looked at me.
“What is this b.s., kid”?
“It’s my report, sir”.
“No, it’s not. This is b.s. Now, take this b.s. and cut it down to one file card – both sides – and no more. If you think I or the state attorney have the time or need to read your Great American Novel you are sadly mistaken”

I gave it great effort and returned with a much abbreviated account of the events in question – the stack was reduced to a measly 3 file cards.

I told you, one file card! Take this back; get it right, even if it takes you until tomorrow morning to do it”.

It did. But, the final report contained all it had to – nothing less and certainly nothing more. Tom-tom taught me to cut to the chase when needed and fill in the details when requested.

So, developing a narrative for my tours to within the given time frame is possible. I think. But, I’ll need help from you to do it right.

If you have taken an historic tour, anywhere, what about it did you like most? The least? Please let me know!

Hope to see you soon.

Bill

Back On Track

It has been some time since I’ve written here. The Holidays – Thanksgiving, Christmas and New Year have taken their yearly toll. Not so much in the bustle but in the emotional stew they churn up and which takes some quiet time to digest. It is a heartburn from which we all suffer.

But this quiet time was not all for naught. Ecclesiastics (and The Byrds) say, “To everything there is a season”. My mother put it more succinctly – “Are you thinkin’ or stinkin’?” In other words, “Are you actually using your brain or just wasting time”? The quiet season has ended and now is the time to plant.

cowboy

How many of us have seen someone working and wished we could do the same thing? I have done so many times. But, Cowboys, Brain Surgeons, King of All the World and Folks That Can Actually Use a Smart Phone each have skills sets I don’t possess. Fashion modeling, sadly, just isn’t the same as it once was so ixnay on that, too.

Borrowing a page from my friend Cheryl’s “Book of Things You Might Like To Do and Things You Should Avoid”(sometimes referred to as the Meyers/Briggs Test), I did a self-evaluation of what I liked and might be able to do. Maybe something would develop from this process, I figured.

I have always loved history, so much so that I sometimes repeat it. Writing, too, has been something I’ve enjoyed, even though my writing a coherent sentence is often a struggle. But, from deep within my Celtic genes comes a love of storytelling – both as a listener and sometimes the teller. storyteller (2)

Life would be much less colorful and interesting without hearing the tales of gypsies waiting to take naughty children away, Irish fairies and leprechauns (they’re different), gangsters and bad guys with names like The Beaver, GaGa, Itchy and Da’ Phone and The Lump. No history of Cuba would be complete without the story of a naked dwarf being placed in the “foundlings’ gate” of a Havana convent nor would the memory of a certain Connecticut town be as rich without recalling The Ride of Louie the Dog. Storytelling is the life blood of history.

So, what to do?

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Friends and family that have visited us here in Jacksonville have most often taken with us a tour of St. Augustine. Some have toured with the Old Town Trolley, others on the golf cart with Peter Gold of Gold Tours. It has been the tours of the Ancient City with Peter Gold that we have, so far, found to be the most interesting. After each tour I would find myself digging into books for further information or verification of what we had heard from the guides.  So, what to do?

Several weeks ago The Redhead and I were down in St. Augustine. We were spending the afternoon just walking around viewing the sites, talking with the several shop owners we have gotten to know and enjoying walking the streets of the oldest city in our nation. Tour guides were everywhere: Carriage Horse Tours, Pedal Cab Tours, Ghost Tours, Wine Tours, Walking Tours and, of course, the trolleys – the orange one and The Red Train. Leaving town later that night we passed by the Red Train depot. One of us muttered, “I’d love to drive one of those”. The Redhead said, “Why don’t you”?

After a week or so of research we again went down to the Red Train. I filled out an application. We then took a ride on one of their trains and later spoke with the owner. A few days later I was filling out more paperwork and getting a physical exam.

Tomorrow, February 2, I begin training as a St. Augustine Tour Guide working for The Red Train.

History, writing, storytelling, tour guide, host to tourists and international visitors, getting to know as much of the “oldest city” – its people and places – past and present as I can absorb…what a job!

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Hope to see you soon