Portland, Maine WCSH

Gulls adrift.  To and fro.  To and fro.  The afternoon fades into crisp evening.  Dressed in his gray and white, a gull poses atop a brick chimney, a perch in my view from the Holiday Inn.  Coffee’s scent drifts from the pot in the room.  WCSH’s Peacock splashes colorful competition with the gray and white flock.

Get Married in Vegas

There is Wedding Information for couples in need.

Wedding Information photo by Jon Sullivan.

Silver Dragon Davis, CA

My sister cracks a won-ton and dips it into Silver Dragon’s sweet and sour sauce. A sauce that is tangy and consistent, rich. Everyone in my family thinks it is the best sauce in Davis, or California for that matter. “I am a horse. I love horses,” my sister says as she points at the place mat and her 1978 birth-year. “What are you?” she asks.
“I think I am a tiger, however, I have been told I am a rabbit.” I pour myself a cup of tea and read that tigers are aggressive and that rabbits are lucky and wonder where my December 19th birthday falls.
Ah-ha, the chow-mein and sweet and sour chicken. Here comes general chicken and steamed rice. As usual, we have ordered too much food. We dig in. Wow, someone ordered broccoli beef. I dig into the warm gravy and spoon some onto my steamed rice. I crack a won-ton and shovel some pork chow-mein onto my plate.
I have not mastered the use of chopsticks even at the age of thirty-three. My sister swears all I need to do is get my thumb working with my first two fingers and twist. All I can twist with, it seems, is a fork. I just do not have the basics down.
I watch the cars roll by on F Street on the cold winter night. Christmas lights hang in the windows. Cold nights and comfort food, a perfect time for sweet and sour chicken and Silver Dragon in Davis.

Broccoli Beef photo by Jon Sullivan

Kern County and Beyond

I exit I-5 and pass the dairies of Kern County. Ahead lie the Tehachapi Mountains and the world’s largest wind-mill generation area. Beyond is the Mojave-the lonely high desert where Chuck Yeager first broke the speed of sound. The rails then come together at Barstow; ah, my vacation.

Bakersfield Road by Jon Sullivan

Back to Barstow

My Christmas present this year is a trip to Barstow.  Sixty trains a day ply the rails.  Refrigerated trains carry goods from California valleys to the east coast.  Amongst the throttling trains, my artist’s muse refills my spirit for another year’s drawing.

BNSF ES44AC by Andy Fletcher

Oysters on Bourbon Street, New Orleans

Browse the menu and make a selection. Tonight it’s a steaming bowl of chowder and an ice cold beer as I wander off of Bourbon Street.

Acme Oyster Bar photo by Jon Sullivan

My Dream of Being a Traveling Salesman

As a child, I dreamed of becoming a traveling salesman. Every April, my mom and dad did their taxes. My grandma took my brother and me down to Marriot’s (Great America) for a few days to get out of 1040’s way. My brother loved the log ride and the bumper cars; I loved the Ramada Inn where we stayed.
I told my grandma, “I love motels. They are so much more fun than home. I want to be a traveling salesman when I grow up.”
“Don’t you want to go to be a doctor or lawyer?”
“No. I like eating breakfast at Denny’s. It is fun having the waitress ask me how big I am and the truckers ask me how long it’s gonna be until I get big enough to handle a big rig.”
“That’s not what being a traveling salesman is about,” my grandma said. It is about being away from your family and being alone on the road.”
“Do I get to stay in motels like this one?” I asked.
“Well, yes, I suppose,” she said. “But why would you want to do that.”
“I like the way Denny’s and motels smell.” I said.
“That is an awful thing to say for a boy your age.”
“I just do,” I said. “I just like the way they smell.”
“Well, if that makes you happy. Just you don’t smoke.”
“I promise I won’t. I just like Denny’s and motels. Maybe I’ll become a football player.”
“I guess you could do that,” she said.

Motel photo by Andy Fletcher

Chinatown, Grant Ave, San Francisco, CA

I walk down Grant Ave. San Francisco erupts with color. The buildings with intricate trim and awnings address their proprietors and contrast the drab of steel and glass surroundings. Lanterns of all shades and intricate streetlights dazzle the visitor. After a lo mein and general chicken lunch, I walk amongst the shops on my Saturday visit. A coral pendant catches my eye.

Dragon Jon Sullivan photo

The Souvenir Smashed Penny Collector

To be a souvenir smashed-penny collector; I can’t think of a hobby too much finer than that. This collector has an elusive goal; to find every last souvenir smashed penny that exists in the country, in North America, in the world.
There is something special about a smashed-penny collector. He is always on the hunt. He drives down I-5 in California’s Central Valley. He is headed to Los Angeles but sees a sign diverting to Yosemite. The idea hits, “I bet there is a penny-smashing machine in the park. Wow! Yosemite, what a great penny to add.” All of a sudden a mundane trip takes him on a quest.
He is now on highway 120, and no longer pushing lead for Los Angeles. He is on a quest for his treasure- a Yosemite smashed penny. Life has its treasures.
He enters the park. Yosemite is a vast wonderland. There are signs for El Capitan, for Half Dome, for the Seven Sisters, but a penny-smasher makes his own map. “Excuse me, park ranger, I am looking for the penny-smashing machine, can you direct me to it? I have driven here from San Francisco to get my treasure.” That is not exactly the kind of information one volunteers.
So the afternoon proceeds. Into every gift shop, every restaurant, over the shoulder looking at towering rocks and waterfalls; however, in Yosemite’s treasure, there is only one treasure, the smashed penny.
Ah, ha. At 4:45, in a candy stand, there is the elusive machine, where it has sat on duty for thirty plus years. Two quarters into the slot and a penny into the tray, and smash! The image of a bear and “Yosemite National Park,” written on a one cent coin. Seek your treasures.

http://www.anythreewords.com/pennies/calif.php

Yosemite Meadows photo by Jon Sullivan

Visit Pike’s Place Market, Seattle, WA

When in Seattle, Visit Pikes Place Market. Have a latte at the first Starbuck’s and warm yourself up as you stroll the isles. The fishmongers toss today’s catch and the notion for a fresh salmon dinner crosses the palate. Give a dollar to the balloon man as he ties a dog. It looks like rain. Pike’s Place, a sure stop in the Northwest.

“Public Market Center” Watercolor by Andy Fletcher