Many in the Philadelphia/Delaware area say "wooder" for water, and pronounce mountain without the "t"... "mounain." In our 30s we lived in Dallas for 9 years and never acquired their southern drawl (our children did, but then lost it after we moved away from The South). So whether the dialect here will rub off on us is still up for grabs.
With so much to learn and explore (in other words silvery brain exercises galore) we never underestimate the power of small steps and repetition. One experience helps to better understand the mapping for the next adventure, and the next, and so forth. The past couple of months, our undercover continuing education class homework included acquainting ourselves with above-ground Center City Philly.
Familiarizing ourselves with Philly's set-up includes two taller landmark structures, similar to lighthouses, used for navigation purposes: The 11-story Wells Fargo building (where hubby works) and City Hall, and how everything relates to those two buildings. Spotting one of those buildings helps to navigate the labyrinth.
For example, the post office on Market Street is just past the Wells Fargo building and 4th Street, and also Fox TV's 24-hour ticker tape news headline banner.
An historic landmark, the Ben Franklin Post Office has a worker who hand-stamps a mail customer's letter or postcard with Ben's signature. And the opposite direction, toward City Hall, is the way to head for some of the major museums or to climb Philly's famous "Rocky steps."
This week's adventure included exploring the dark under-world of Philly; in other words, its SEPTA underground subway and trolley systems. For months we have seen pedestrians disappear down strategically placed stairwells, descending many steps to the mysterious and dank underground... the city's underbelly. It resembles a tight and dimly-lit bomb shelter; unappealing to claustrophobes. I tend to shy away from below-ground dark places, like our basement (mice or rats or snakes could be there), and directional unknowns. Solo riding the underground subway fits into the unknown, almost creepy-crawly category.
The subway assumption appears to be that everyone knows what they are doing. Signage is undoubtedly for members-only, because it is vague and encrypt. Due to curving tracks, there is a corn-maze walled perspective. A limited frame of reference makes railway tunnels appear to have no beginning or ending. Gotcha subway turnstiles create sensory overload, because a required code or tattoo is needed to enter, to be a part of the riders club.
It is a good thing to not realize 30 blocks later that you are on a train headed the wrong direction. Otherwise, if not crunched for time, enjoy the ride, study the map posted on the train, and ask a seasoned rider how to get to a particular destination. Steer clear of glassy-eyed riders who know only their specific railway to and from work. They have set paths and no clue how to subway to anyplace other than their weekday route.
Summertime mystery odors in the underground, that smell like oil, B.O., vomit or garbage, emanate from who knows what and where. That is one of the main reasons why for months we steered clear; plus, we like to walk. Subway cars tend to be squeaky, noisy, and in no way, shape, or form germaphobe-friendly. But they get us to where we're going, fast and somewhat climate-controlled. Fall is prime time to explore the under-world (when smells and odors are less), before cold weather arrives and before we need the subway's protection.
With all that has happened recently, it seems like a year has passed rather than just 2 months since we moved half-cross-country, to Delaware, a 40-minute train ride to Philly. Knowing what I know, and still looking for purpose and connection with others, would I have moved? Isolation skews my thoughts and feelings; feelings that are similar to years ago when we lived in Alabama, the first month after birthing our first child (the one who was colicky, whom I treasure and would carry and birth all over again). That first month is when a new Mom is more tired than ever imagined, has more questions than can be counted, and life is a blur. Cell phones were non-existent, and long-distance calls were too pricey for our budget. We lived a long, 12-hour drive from any family, and our car had no air conditioning for muggy summer trips. After Mom's presence and help left, I felt alone; and I feel alone now.
So, how do I feel overall about the move, with what I know so far? I am tickled for hubby's new opportunities, but regret not personally exploring a concrete purpose prior to accepting the call. The need to organize will eventually end! It is useless to cry over spilled milk. We move on. Our lives will continue to be a blur until after the holidays. Creating an RBG costume for Halloween 2019 (re-using our daughter's high school graduation robe plus an RBG-like collar purchased at the thrift store), my answer to this paragraph's opening question can best be expressed using kindred-spirit legal jargon: The jury is still out.
Unless an alternate purpose surfaces, faith and the SEPTA train system will regularly take me to Philly; organization/de-cluttering, after more than 40+ years of accumulation (a most recent household achievement... our sardine-tight-even-when-empty, two-car garage can finally hold two cars at one time, barely. Car door dings might be likely unless we are extra careful, so two cars will fit only when necessary, like on sub-zero and snow storm nights); acts of random kindness; FaceTimes with our treasured 4-year-old; and, holiday planning are current activities.
For example, the post office on Market Street is just past the Wells Fargo building and 4th Street, and also Fox TV's 24-hour ticker tape news headline banner.
 |
This week's adventure included exploring the dark under-world of Philly; in other words, its SEPTA underground subway and trolley systems. For months we have seen pedestrians disappear down strategically placed stairwells, descending many steps to the mysterious and dank underground... the city's underbelly. It resembles a tight and dimly-lit bomb shelter; unappealing to claustrophobes. I tend to shy away from below-ground dark places, like our basement (mice or rats or snakes could be there), and directional unknowns. Solo riding the underground subway fits into the unknown, almost creepy-crawly category.
The subway assumption appears to be that everyone knows what they are doing. Signage is undoubtedly for members-only, because it is vague and encrypt. Due to curving tracks, there is a corn-maze walled perspective. A limited frame of reference makes railway tunnels appear to have no beginning or ending. Gotcha subway turnstiles create sensory overload, because a required code or tattoo is needed to enter, to be a part of the riders club.
 |
| Septa subway, railway, trolley & bus system |
It is a good thing to not realize 30 blocks later that you are on a train headed the wrong direction. Otherwise, if not crunched for time, enjoy the ride, study the map posted on the train, and ask a seasoned rider how to get to a particular destination. Steer clear of glassy-eyed riders who know only their specific railway to and from work. They have set paths and no clue how to subway to anyplace other than their weekday route.
Summertime mystery odors in the underground, that smell like oil, B.O., vomit or garbage, emanate from who knows what and where. That is one of the main reasons why for months we steered clear; plus, we like to walk. Subway cars tend to be squeaky, noisy, and in no way, shape, or form germaphobe-friendly. But they get us to where we're going, fast and somewhat climate-controlled. Fall is prime time to explore the under-world (when smells and odors are less), before cold weather arrives and before we need the subway's protection.
With all that has happened recently, it seems like a year has passed rather than just 2 months since we moved half-cross-country, to Delaware, a 40-minute train ride to Philly. Knowing what I know, and still looking for purpose and connection with others, would I have moved? Isolation skews my thoughts and feelings; feelings that are similar to years ago when we lived in Alabama, the first month after birthing our first child (the one who was colicky, whom I treasure and would carry and birth all over again). That first month is when a new Mom is more tired than ever imagined, has more questions than can be counted, and life is a blur. Cell phones were non-existent, and long-distance calls were too pricey for our budget. We lived a long, 12-hour drive from any family, and our car had no air conditioning for muggy summer trips. After Mom's presence and help left, I felt alone; and I feel alone now.
 |
| At Philly's RBG Exhibit |
So, how do I feel overall about the move, with what I know so far? I am tickled for hubby's new opportunities, but regret not personally exploring a concrete purpose prior to accepting the call. The need to organize will eventually end! It is useless to cry over spilled milk. We move on. Our lives will continue to be a blur until after the holidays. Creating an RBG costume for Halloween 2019 (re-using our daughter's high school graduation robe plus an RBG-like collar purchased at the thrift store), my answer to this paragraph's opening question can best be expressed using kindred-spirit legal jargon: The jury is still out.
Unless an alternate purpose surfaces, faith and the SEPTA train system will regularly take me to Philly; organization/de-cluttering, after more than 40+ years of accumulation (a most recent household achievement... our sardine-tight-even-when-empty, two-car garage can finally hold two cars at one time, barely. Car door dings might be likely unless we are extra careful, so two cars will fit only when necessary, like on sub-zero and snow storm nights); acts of random kindness; FaceTimes with our treasured 4-year-old; and, holiday planning are current activities.
Faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen (Hebrews 11:1)
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