1:59 p.m. - Wednesday, May. 07, 2003
Looney in Altoona Part I

The drive to Altoona was easy. I had already booked a room at the Ramada Inn, as suggested by neurotic-one. Altoona, as I understand it, was once the terminus of a shipping canal from Philadelphia or somewhere and then later, was a major stop on the transcontinental railroad. It seems to live today on the residue of those better times. But the Ramada was brand new, and well appointed for business uses, like conferences, seminars, and the like. I�m not sure exactly why, but it looked like Altoona, at least two hours from any major airport, was doing OK as some kind of regional business hub. Either that or some real estate investors were taking a bath on a very nice hotel property while I was taking a shower in it.

I�ve had a hard time reading neurotic-one�s diary, and I told her so when I met her in the Grouse�s Nest, the hotel�s lounge. It was quiet when I walked in, ordered a rum and diet coke at the waitress� station and carried it to a protected table in the corner where I could see both doors. Just behind me, a couple of young local studs were playing pool and flirting both aimlessly and shamelessly with a couple of unseen ladies just around the corner of the bar. I nursed my drink like it had the last ice in America in it while my fifteen minutes early slowly turned into forty minutes late. A few businessmen came in as had some drinks and the flirting behind me grew rowdier, but no neurotic-one.

It�s not that I was impatient, or in any hurry, but as the time passed, I began to feel uneasy. Had I misunderstood the time of our meeting? The place? Had something happened to her? I was uneasy and a little tired, even after having had a shower. My drive to Altoona had given me a chance to get more comfortable with my new used car, but I was still drained from my big day traveling so far. I was just about out of ice and patience when someone tapped me on the back of the head. There, behind me, was neurotic-one!

I had been watching both doors. No way could she have sneaked in without me seeing her. Yet there she was, a middle aged, dark pixie haired lady with the dimpled cheeks to go with the hair. She had been in the bar for some time, waiting for me. Was she one of the flirting ladies? I can�t say for sure, but she was in that area. And as I got to know her over the course of the evening, I began to believe she just might have been.

We walked across the hall to the dining room, which was empty by now, and ordered a very, very happy meal. For starters, we had the baked brie� American made, I�m sure� in pastry with fresh strawberries on the side. �Oh, not to worry�, she said as she handed me the second surprise gift of the day. Inside a decorative paper bag I found another cuuuuute, bear, with a shirt that says �No place like Home in Lebanon, PA� and two boxes of Chinese herbal tea. One box of Dieter�s Green Tea and the other of Detox Tea. These two teas, she informed me, were the answer to my weight loss woes. No dieting, no exercise, just eat whatever I want and drink the tea. I would shit all the calories right out. That�s what she said. Then she realized she had said it and perhaps wondered, just for an instant, if I was ready to hear that from her so soon after meeting.

No problem. I was.

So, armed with my Chinese wonder herbs, I ordered the prime rib from our darling young waiter, James. After she placed her order for lumps of crab meat in a buttery sauce.. I forget the name� she asked me what I thought of her diary.

I couldn�t give her a straight answer right then. I told her I found it somehow �dark�, though I don�t think that was the right word for it either. It�s just that I�ve always found her diary disturbing. She writes about her many foster children. They come and stay with her for varying lengths of time and then leave again. Some of them seem to do well, but others have unhappy, even tragic departures. She, in fact, described it best over dinner when she said she was like an oasis of sanity and love in their mad worlds. Oases are great, but you can never stay there. You always have to go back out into the cruel desert, whether forward or back. Your journey can never end at an oasis.

I learned about feeding sparrows during one of my abortive attempts at college. I read about how sometimes a homeowner will put a bird feeder in the back yard and stock it with seed. As the days turn into weeks, birds in the area find the feeder and begin to depend on it for sustenance. They will nest nearby and lay a clutch of eggs, and the offspring will come to the same feeder when they�re ready to fly and fend for themselves. In time, the bird population will grow until it meets the capacity of the feeder to sustain the maximum number of birds. The world is in balance.

But, when the owner dies, or moves, or just loses interest in keeping the feeder stocked, those same birds now have no place to find food. The capacity of the neighborhood to support the existing number of birds is reduced by one feeder. Unseen, unnoticed, but without fail, a definite number of birds will starve and drop from their perch. It�s all in the mathematics.

I think maybe that�s what I�ve always felt when I read neurotic-one�s diary. I see a great deal of kindness in her, but I also see the end of that kindness when her foster children become once again enveloped in the system that cares for them so little. I read about children, but I feel sparrows, sheltered from the winter winds for a time and then turned out again. How sad.

It�s good that I met neurotic-one. I got to see a different side of her. It was a side that made me feel better about reading of her kids and better about the emotional pain she exposes herself to with every child.

neurotic-one is kind of a left-over flower child, I think. She has that same quality, that same smile. She�s, umm, shall we say, unreserved? There is no pretense, no false shyness, just an honest appreciation for life and an eagerness to live the next moment. I think that�s wonderful, but it�s very different from the person I expected to meet. And now that I do know it, I think maybe I can understand a little easier, how she can let herself in for the amazing highs and lows of caring for society�s invisible kids. Because she lives in the moment, perhaps a lot more than most of us, she is better able to appreciate and experience the wonderful times. She apparently doesn�t focus too much on the bad times that may or may not be to come. Then, if they do come, she experiences them as if she has no memory. She writes about it, she cries, she does her best, and she moves forward.

After dinner, neurotic-one decided nothing would do but we go to see an ancient bar; a place from her youth, but which was there long before she was ever young. The U.S. Hotel, located at the very end of the old Altoona canal, where the boatmen would end their long trips and spend their money before going back to start over again. The hotel is preserved very closely to the way it was in the late 19th century. The lobby and rooms are now a restaurant, but to stand in it, you�d be hard pressed to name the century. The ceilings are a mile high and lined with patterned tin in the old fashioned way. The brick fireplace is original, as is the antique wallpaper, the tables, chairs, and all the furnishings.

It�s the bar, though, that I found most interesting. neurotic-one told me that up until the mid 20th century, the bar was restricted to men only. Inside, I found confirmation of that fact in the form of a shallow gutter built into the tile floor all along and just in front of the bar. It had a drain in one end and had been placed there in the beginning for the convenience of the patrons, who could either piss or puke without ever leaving their place at the rail. I�ve seen some old bars, but I�ve never seen anything like that. All I can say is that those guys must have been some serious partiers.

After admiring that bar for a couple of drinks, we adjourned to another old bar in the neighborhood. It was only slightly less ancient. By this time, although the streets were empty, the bar was hopping with what neurotic-one mused must be the children of the people she used to come here to drink with. I was impressed by that. She was able to drive around this town and point out houses she used to live in. I can�t do that. Everywhere I�ve ever been has been obliterated, as if by men in black. My old houses are parking lots, my old schools are shopping malls. I quit looking for my old places years ago. I was envious that she still had hers.

Happy Thoughts, Deep Breaths,

Coming Soon:

More About Altoona

A Day in Luray

Driving in the fellership of Jeezus

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