Back from the Schnectady race and Timmy did great - best time in his age group and also the first grade rated male (whatever that means).  It earned him 89+% points or a "national class record" (whatever that means) and a 90% would have put him in "world class" (whatever that means).  Also, and this is the best part, he won a cash award, his first earnings for running.  His brother Pat showed up unexpectedly and yelled at him near the finish line - I think this probably got him going even faster.  He finished in 58 minutes, wanting a 57, but as the girl next to me said, "they are never satisfied with their results".  So he got the money, a large pottery vase, a smaller pottery piece with a top on it and his picture taken with the other 5 top winners.  All in all a good day.  More later.

There has been a beautiful male pheasant in our yard the last two days.  They used to be common, my father hunted them, as did most of the men in our neighborhood.  I don't remember eating them, Grandma Burky probably did the honor of cooking the bird.  But I do remember chasing them for the entertainment of my younger sisters and brother.  Daddy would drive to Matteawan State Hospital for the criminally insane.  It was a beautiful set of brick buildings, the grounds were gorgeous and well kept.  There were vegetable gardens that I imagine the inmates took care of.  Anyway, at that time there was a road open to the public that drove right up to it.  Because of its seclusion, there were pheasants all over the grounds.  When Daddy spotted one, he would tell me to get out of the car and chase it.  The bird would then fly up for the amusement of the kids in the car.  I remember being scared as I looked up at the barred windows, with faces looking down at me.  Today Route 84 runs close enough for you to see the prison, but barbed wires would keep anyone pheasant chaser out.

Growing up near such an institute was not frightening.  Only when the sirens blew, indicating an escape, did people panic.  My mother told us, "when they escape, they run two places.  Either to the river to follow the train tracks to be safe in the city, or (worse for us) run for the mountains where they can hide."  Bucky knew somebody who had their clothes stolen off the line.  The escapees had to quickly change from their prison clothes to  regular clothes so they wouldnt be so noticeable.  So the sound of the siren would send Bucky to the clothes line to bring in the not yet dried laundry.

In those days of no cell phones, ipads, etc, etc, sirens were the way we were notified of important events, like school closures which was a good siren and one we didn't hear very often.  A siren would blow more frequently for fires, a number of blasts - like 3 blasts, 2 blasts then 1.  We would run to the refrigerator where a listing was taped.  "321 - that's Washington Avenue" and we would run to the picture window to watch for the trucks and firemen.  Simple days and simple memories of 50 years or more ago.

Driving to Cape Cod three weeks ago, we started to see pickup trucks with gas grills in the back.  Wondering why, we figured it out when we got on 495 heading south.  Then almost every pickup truck had a gas grill in the back.  Drawing nearer to Foxboro we realized the popular Patriots were having a football game, and the traffic got heavier on both sides of the highway.   It made me wonder about these partying Patriots.  Did they cook right in the truck?  Did they all climb up around the grill to party?  Or did they drag it down in the parking lot.  And how safe could that be....gas grills among parked cars.

This week driving in Kingston along the Thruway, I saw truck after truck heading south toward  New York City.  Some were carrying those giant outdoor lights they use for working in the dark.  Several had large pipes on them, each pipe the full size of the truck bed.  Probably they would link these pipes together to empty the water from the tunnels and subways.  Poor New York, really got battered by Sandy, where we went Scot free...not even losing electricity which usually happens if a breeze blows.  The old apple tree, at least the rotten part, fell over.  A sad sight - that tree was the last of four apple trees that were in the yard when we came in 1967.  This one had a large hole in it that squirrels and chipmunks would run up and down and hide in when a hawk appeared.  Each one of my grandchildren at one time or another, ran a truck or a ball, down the hole and out the bottom, a game they never seem to tire of.  They were too short to reach the hole and had to get a chair to climb on to put the toy in the runway.  No more.

The only remembrance of Sandy still apparent is no sound of train whistles.  We are a good mile from the railroad tracks, but the trains are easily heard, especially at night.  I love to hear that whistle, and I wonder if it is a freight train with a small staff, or are there people traveling, probably sleeping at this time.  It will be good to hear that whistle again.