AUTHORS of "THE END"

Bogdan, McFee, Gunther and I were discussing the authors that we had discussed before.

There was Jorge Luis Borges and William Henry Hudson. Amazingly both of them were born in Argentina. 

Argentina is a romantic country with two degrees of separation between it and The Romantic Empire.

The first separation was to the Iberian Peninsula where it picked up a little Arabic. The second was to South America where it picked up a little lustfulness.

But we didn't really discuss that particular point too much. We discussed "The End."

We wondered why authors spend so much time and effort getting their opening paragraph correct and then they simply write "The End" when they are all done.

The stories are never done when a reader completes reading it. The story continues to roll around in the cranium for quite some time.

Questions arise.

"I wonder what happened to Character #8?"  or "What if he had not corrected that horrible error he made?" or "I wonder if she really was that devious or was her goal completely moral?"

So "The End" never really is the end. It is just the beginning of a new series of thoughts by the reader.

With that said I think I should say that this is really "The End."

However if you do not believe me then click on this.

 

THE END

 

A TO Z

Back to the court records we go.

Nothing exciting jumped out and I did not really want to go through all the thousands of records from A to Z.

Tedious!

So I thought I would look at the very first record and the very last record.

 

 

 

Nothing except headers here (Someday they are going to call this "metadata.")

 

However, I found it interesting to see that both the first and last records are for first degree murder.

 

Not wishing to skew the data I took another tack.

 

There was page after page after page after page of these headers.

 

I went to the middle of these headers for crimes committed in New York City during the last decade of the 1800's and the first two decades of the 1900's.

 

And I came up with poor Irving Mendelsohn and friends

 

 

Well, we got four guys listed as defendants but not on charges as exciting as first degree murder.

Election fraud is not exciting but it is serious.

So we have the prosecutor demeaning his own case. He seems to be saying that he does not prosecute anything except the most serious cases; not those simply of technical fault.

Politics; that always seems to be the final question.

©W. Tomosky♠

TEAR STAINS

By Oscar/Oska

The star that is shining so brightly in the night sky
Is like the lonesome me
Regretting the heart-rending love
Becoming a sad constellation of tears
If I were given another chance
To go back to the time when we had first met
I would not foolishly let you leave
I would not let it happen again
The starry sky is filled with flowing tears
If they can illuminate the yearning hearts
When you can see the mournful stars
You may be able to forgive the pitiful me
If I were given a chance again
To go back to the time when we fell in love
I would not so foolishly hurt you
I would not have let it happen again
The starry sky is filled with flowing tears
If they can illuminate the yearning hearts
When you can see the mournful stars
You may be able to forgive the pitiful me
The distance between us is farther than the starry sky
We cannot reach each other’s hearts
How many more times must I cry, how much more tears must I shed
So that my tears can overflow into your eyes
Do you understand my heart?

(Full screen to enjoy the show and the lyrics. Thank you.)

 

©W. Tomosky♠

TROUT FISHING

All of the fellows in the rail yard agreed that trout fishing on a small stream was much better than on a large river.

That was especially true for those who had a secret little stream somewhere up in the mountains.

Finding a secret stream and then trying not to brag about it is very hard. You wish to keep the stream for yourself but yet you would like to show a friend what a great spot you have discovered.

Finally you share it and a new type of friendship is discovered.

THE WOODLAND STREAM

©W. Tomosky♠

WHAT THE HELL HAVE WE DONE TO OURSELVES?

CONVERSATION

An acquaintance said something to me today that is still rattles around in my head. He was quoting someone or other - - - I wish I could remember who.

This is what he said.

“Not just any talk is conversation; not any talk raises consciousness. Good conversation has an edge: it opens your eyes to something, quickens your ears. And good conversation reverberates: it keeps on talking in your mind later in the day; the next day, you find yourself still conversing with what was said. That reverberation afterward is the very raising of consciousness; your mind’s been moved. You are at another level with your reflections.”

That is what I like about Bogdan. His statements keep talking to me for days on end. He builds pictures in my mind; pictures of Russia, The Straights of Darien, Tzars and other such things.

Jim McFee is no slouch either when it comes to conversation and such.  He introduced me to Barclay and his family in Henryville, Pennsylvania not to mention the Hanging Rock in Danville.

Gunther takes another tack. He talks about BOOKS and then we have to look at them and then the next thing you know we are reading them. Gunther is subtle.

Me? Not quite so much a conversationalist as a traveler. I just like to travel and see things such as Browns Landing and the Starucca Viaduct.

At other times I enjoy tweeking the nose of politicians; which someday is sure to get me in trouble.

So today I will simply hope that someone engages you in great conversation; or, better yet, that you engage someone in great conversation. Tell them something of interest.

Attempt to avoid the small talk; unless you are a salesman.

©W. Tomosky♠

PORT TOWNSEND

Bogdan asked if I had ever been to the west coast of the United States.
 
I told him no; but I am sure Gunther had been there - - - maybe even grew up there. Then I asked him why and he showed me these sketches of Victoria, British Columbia.

 

 

And the people that lived there.

 

 

 

And then Gunther came over to see what we were "wasting our time on."

 

When we showed him he said "Oh no! Those sketches are all wrong. The Indians from my territory were quite handsome. These are just wrong."

 

He told us about a painting he had seen as a child. It was a group of the Klallam People in one of their buildings. He said that he wished he could show it to us.

 

 

Gunther said that "If ever there was going to be a Meditteranean-like place on the west side of the United States then God would have located it here." And he pointed to a map in Bogdan's periodical magazine.

 

 

 

And then he went on to explain the people, their ways, how they only took what they needed and preserved the land and the sea.

 

Gunther also said that each group had their own name, language and territory but for some reason had no trouble communicating or helping each other.

 

 

 

 

"But now" said Gunther, "all that is disappearing due to lumbering and so many people who wish to live in that beautiful place."

 

 

 

 

 

 

©W. Tomosky♠

 

 

 

 

 

LANDSCAPE BY THE RAILSIDE

People leave the darndest things in the passenger cars at the rail yard.

I am not sure who found this but I bet the fellow that wrote it wish he had not left it behind.

 

 

 

MATH AND NATURE

Yesterday I was telling you about how us guys in the rail yard were discussing fishing.

And then Jim McFee wanted to look in the red book because he remembered that fishing was not always about fishing. He said that the "Shallows" were sometimes a good place to just sit and watch the dragon flies, the flowers, the minnows and then he went on a bit.

So we discussed at length the beauty of just enjoying a day of fishing; with or without fish.

And one thing lead to another and before you knew it we had looked at several nice scenes of nature.

Then we looked at how math can sometimes describe nature.

Then there was this Italian guy who wanted to figure out why rabbits multiplied so fast but he never figured out why, he only figured out how to plan for them.

Which isn't a bad thing.

Except that apparently he did not know the story about Gunf from the Ukraine.

And then, of course, Bogdan had to bring in a page he ripped out of an encyclopedia (which is not really a smart thing to do because it will never go back into the encyclopedia at the right place and eventually it will get lost, torn, crumpled or used for a mat under a coffee cup).

So without farther ado I show you what Bogdan brought in about the Italian mathematician.

©W. Tomosky♠

SHALLOW

Just last week we were discussing the best places to fish.

One guy said that the best place was at the bottom of a waterfall - - - where the pool of water is aerated and cool.

Another fellow said that it was next to a rock ledge were the trout could hide and wait for their next meal to come floating by.

Yet another Izaak Walton said it would be in an eddy where the water whirled round-and-round so that if the fish missed his meal the first time round it surely would come back.

That is where Jim McFee stepped into the conversation.

Jim asked "How many of you have ever had a day where you didn't catch a fish?"

We all nodded - - - somewhat embarrassed.

And then he asked "How many of you were disappointed in your day just because you didn't catch a fish?"

We all were in agreement again; none of us were disappointed in a day of fish-less-ness.

"See what I mean?" continued Jim.  "Fishing is not always about fish. Most of the time it is about enjoying nature."

We, once again, all nodded, enthusiastically, in agreement.

"So sometimes the best place to fish is the most pleasant place" opined Jim.

And then he asked me if I had the book with the red cover.

I told him it was in the railroad station with the ticket master.

Jim trotted over to the station and returned with the book.

He opened it to this page.

He read the poem for us - - - many of us are illiterate - - - and then passed it around so that we could see the picture.

Jim is correct. I could easily lay my fishing pole against an alder bush just to sit and watch what goes on around the shallows.

 

©W. Tomosky♠

HUMANITY

The Road Home Is Never Simple

©W. Tomosky♠

FOUNDERS

Bogdan found several copies of this in each passenger car.

He asked for more details.

Gunther supplied them.

There was nothing that Jim or I could add.

But this fellow will do just that - - - not now - - - but maybe in a hundred years or so.

©W. Tomosky♠

BI-CENTENNIAL (Plus 37)

HAPPY 4th of JULY

 

 

 

 

 

IMPASSIONED

It was an Italian wedding on a Saturday.

Jim, Bogdan, Gunther and myself were all invited to the wedding of his daughter.

Oh yes, I forgot to mention that the father was Octavio Barrusso. Octavio worked the railroad ever since its inception.

So we, the four of us, went to the church wedding and later that day to the wedding reception. The reception took place in a large Italian Social Club hall in Dunmore.

We had a long walk up Mulberry Street and then cut over the Nayaug to Dunmore. However the walk was worth it. It was the best reception I had ever attended. There were cookies (some of them quite hard but tasty) and a never ending table of food; chicken, several pasta dishes and assorted delicacies whose names I did not know and can not pronounce for you.

After the reception we spent a lot of time telling Octavio what a great time we had and what a good father he was to put on such a great reception for his daughter. We talked and laughed and hugged Octavio and he cried and laughed all at the same time. What a nice man Octavio is.

We finally departed and went to Jim's house. Nobody was tired. Maybe we were all excited over Octavio's reception. On the other hand I think we were all thinking about what made Octavio such a good man. He was humble but never backed away from a challenge; intellectual, physical or emotional. He just faced things and dealt with them.

At Jim's house someone finally said what we were all thinking. "What makes Octavio, Octavio?"

"He is always quite emotional" said Jim.

Bogdan agreed and wondered if that was harmful to Octavio's health and would he live as long as the average person.

I said that sometimes I get emotional but it doesn't last long. I added that sometimes I don't even know what I get emotional about.

"Come on Wally" said Gunther. "You have to know why you get emotional."

I told him I did not know and told him of two instances.

The first one was when I was walking home from a fishing trip on Roaring Brook. It had been a nice day and the evening was cool. I wasn't thinking about much of anything. I looked up and above the mountains was this beautiful reddish-orange sun. A few wispy clouds decorated its edges. All of a sudden I was overwhelmed by something that I can not explain. It felt as though my heart was so full of joy that it would burst out of my chest. It was more than a pleasant feeling; it was passion. To this day I can not explain it.

The second time was after I had left a girl friends house. We had talked and had a great time simply enjoying each other's company. Once again I was walking home and I had this feeling that the whole world was right, that I would be very successful and that I would make some kind of great discovery or invention. Again this passion of joy had overcome any thoughts or signals from my surroundings as I walked.

Gunther eyed me with great suspicion but said nothing.

Then Bogdan piped up and said "Hey - - - that has happened to me too. Not just like you said but the same type of feeling without reason."

And Jim said it had happened to him several times also.

Gunther finally spoke. "I have never had anything like that happen to me. Everything has a reason and I think it all through. It appears as though you guys sometimes live in a pipe dream."

Maybe he was right. I hadn't invented anything or become famous; but I was still happy with my life. Maybe that is good enough.

We talked about it for hours on end. Before I knew it the sun was starting to come up. I excused myself and said I should be getting home. We all departed Jim's home at the same time and went our separate ways.

The sun was not up but its light carried over the mountains. It had awakened the birds. I was so happy just to be alive, to be up before the sun, to hear the birds singing to me, to have been able to share good times and good conversation with friends; it was such a great and emotional feeling. I can not describe it.

It wasn't as emotional as that time I blubbered and wept at the Fourth of July Parade in downtown Scranton. I can't explain that one either so don't ask me to.

 

 

 

 

©W. Tomosky♠

FUTURISTICALAFRAGILESQUE

We were all standing around the rail yard and this is what we think the future will look like!

I know, I know. What do a bunch of railroad yard guys know about the future? Not much but we had a lot of fun talking about it.

Give me a minute to collect my thoughts.

Oh yes - - - now I am ready.

 

 

 

 

 

 

And of course Gunther had to put his two cents worth in. He had traveled around the world you know.

 

He said this was going to be the future of Sydney, Australia.

 

 

And then Bogdan Yelcovich had to remind us of when we went to the Bradford, Pennsylvania oil fields?

He said we would not have to walk so much if we went there thirty years from now.







©W. Tomosky♠

ADVERTISEMENT

This is what Jim McFee found in a passenger car yesterday at the railroad station.

And these caught our attention

 

 

 

 

But we all understood why. That cowboy business must be hard on a soul.

If a man is seeking a home away from home, this is the place to go.

 

 

After talking it over we decided to stay in Scranton, Pennsylvania.

 

Even Gunther said he had enough excitement in one lifetime.

 

 

I would think this guy would have had enough also. Go figure!

 

 

 

 

©W. Tomosky♠