Category essay

Road Trip: Ephrata and the Cloisters

Angel Ackerman 4 Comments

Yesterday, my friend Gayle and I embarked on an adventure. I wanted to motivate myself toward more movement and healthier living and Gayle enjoys visiting new towns via self-guided walks designed by local clubs of the American Volkssporting Association. Gayle has wanted to hit the Ephrata, Pa., walk (which is about 90 minutes away from our homes) and I love a day trip. The walk is maintained by the Susquehanna Rovers.

Gayle packed lunch. I packed sunscreen. I even tossed some electrolyte powders packets in my bag, knowing it would be a sunny summer day. I took my muscle relaxers.

Off we went.

The background

Now, as someone with a mobility disability (cerebral palsy, spastic diplegia), I suspected– or perhaps even knew– that this would end with some sort of injury or discomfort. I had hoped that having this walk, a 5K by design, would motivate me to get away from my desk and wander around the neighborhood.

That didn’t happen. I could blame the heat wave, but in reality, I doubt I would have changed my behavior even if the weather were nice.

In the end, I said to myself, “Anyone can walk a 5K.”

And in one respect, I was correct. I did it. On the other hand, it was stupid. And I’m suffering because of it. But that’s getting ahead of myself.

I wanted to use this walk to see how my movement was in a more long-term commitment. I wanted to test my breathing and my heart rate. I suspect a lot of my health issues will not resolve until I lose at least 20, if not 30, or even 35 pounds (at which point I ask myself– how did I gain this much weight so quickly?)

So this walk would help me evaluate my true status and make health-related goals.

That was my logic. Was it a tad reckless? Maybe, maybe not.

The Walk

Ephrata has a lovely main street, historic buildings and apparently monuments– none of which we saw because the 5K was mostly through residential neighborhoods. And we missed a turn somewhere and ended up shaving off about a half mile. Our time for our 2.8 mile 5K was about 31 minutes a mile, and we periodically stopped to enjoy the shade, look at weird buildings, and sometimes cuss about hills.

AVA walks are rated, and this was a 1B which means it was supposed to be easy, with sidewalks and the occasional hill. But if you looked at the “fine print,” the walk was rated “medium” for strollers and “hard” for wheelchairs. I think for the foreseeable future Gayle and I need 1A walks that are easy for wheelchairs.

So here’s my analysis of what we saw in Ephrata on the 5K:

  • A gnome garden. I like this tiered design of outdoor knick knacks. I’m not sure what sense it makes, but it seems like a concept the no-longer-a-Teenager would embrace.

  • A neighborhood egg stand, that was closed.

  • The strangest “double” homes I’ve ever seen. The walk took us through an entire neighborhood of attached, split-level homes. I own “half a double,” and some neighborhoods in my area are row homes that expand an entire block. But I have never seen neighborhoods like these. I fail to understand the logic. There are two reasons to “attach” homes– one is to lower the cost by sharing a wall, and the second is to squeeze more people into a smaller space.

These homes have the space to be detached. They are on suburban lots. So, if you are going to invest in a suburban home, why would you want (or even accept?) being attached to your neighbor. There were also attached ranch homes, with the same concept, but just without the extra stories. And some had a strange shared doorway in the middle, like a breezeway, so they were both attached and detached.

  • We did see a lot of great distant views. Mountains in the distance. Clear skies.

  • One of the first things we encountered was the Anne Brossman Sweigert Charitable Foundation, with a family sculpture out front and a sign engraved on a grave marker. (They also have not updated their website in almost 10 years according to the “grant history” tab.) Why did they place their sign on a grave marker? So it didn’t blow away? Fade?

Around the two-mile mark, we realized we had missed the turn and reached our threshold for the residential tour, and ironically, we ended up taking a street parallel to the main drag back to the hotel where the walk-box is stored.

Interlude: Early in the walk, I noticed my right leg was pulling in toward my left leg. So, minding my fitness and strength coach’s advice, I led with my knees to make sure I wouldn’t end up tripping over my own legs due to my knees facing inward. I tried stretching, to see if I could get my hips and thighs to move more outwardly, but I couldn’t come up with the right movement.

Nothing hurt, but damn everything was tight, and my legs fought me with every step. By the time we climbed the hill and stairs by the hotel, my back was starting to feel the stress. My legs didn’t want to lift. So I made it to the car and popped another muscle relaxer.

Step count: about 8,500

The Ephrata Cloister

We went to Ephrata Cloister, driving down the main drag and wondering why the walk couldn’t have shown us all these lovely local businesses and perhaps led us to a cafe where we could have rested. We had a savory-and-sweet vegan chickpea and carrot salad with a side of grapes for lunch. From there we headed into the gift shop.

At the gift shop, I found an impressive collection of wood crafts, paper folding kits for Moravian Stars, quilted cards, replacement ink for quills, Amish novels and a nice selection of Pennsylvania Dutch nonfiction books.

The no-longer-a-Teenager is mostly Pennsylvania Dutch on her father’s side. One paternal great-grandfather was Welsh, but all of her other paternal great-grandparents were Pennsylvania Dutch. Her paternal grandmother’s father spoke Pennsylvania Dutch (Leroy Buss) as his first language, learning English at the one-room schoolhouse he entered at age five. I would have loved to buy her a Pennsylvania Dutch to English dictionary or Superstitions and Folklore of the Pennsylvania Dutch, but the budget did not allow.

We visited the museum where we learned that the Cloister was a spiritual community with roots in Germany that came to Pennsylvania, just like the Quakers and the Moravians, in the early 18th century for religious freedom.** They had strict beliefs and practices, one of which was celibacy so it became impossible to keep the community alive. (The “householders” later became the German Seventh Day Baptist Church. Householders were the families on neighboring farms who supported the community and their religious beliefs without going all in on the celibacy, vegetarianism, and sleeping on a wooden block disciplines.)

We also saw a really long glass horn.

** 1720. That’s more than FIFTY YEARS before the Revolutionary War.

The tour

Gayle and I like to support local history and nonprofits, and who doesn’t love the story of a good old colonial cult. So, we embarked on the tour.

First, we watched a really information-packed but poorly acted and filmed movie. You can watch it online here. (This was where Gayle thought she lost her phone and I got a text from a client who needed me to do something later that day.) We were told the tour was 45 minutes to an hour long, depending how many questions people had, and that we should be on our way at 3 p.m., 3:15 p.m. at the latest.

Gayle was hoping the tour would send us all over the grounds walking from building to building. I was suddenly starting to hurt and could barely stand. Neither of us voiced what we were thinking to the other.

“You’ll love the tour guide,” the volunteer at the desk said. “He’s really knowledgeable and passionate.”

Our tour guide took ten minutes to get us out the door because already other members of the tour were asking stupid questions covered by the movie we had just watched. We walked out to the middle of the yard, not even a half acre away where the tour guide announced we had reached the village.

We stood outside for a long time, at first talking about architecture, then the idiots with us had to debate how old the trees might be, and whether they were “original.” I was mesmerized the whole time by a man who looked very Mennonite/new order Amish/”Dutchy.” You don’t think the Pennsylvania Dutch have certain genetic “looks,” but they do.

Now, somewhere around this time, it became difficult to know when the tour guide was telling us historical fact, and when he was expounding on his own “theories” (his word). He talked a lot about significance of numbers, how the triangle formed by the Village served as a reminder of our path to God, and the powers of the mystics. This is where I, as a journalist and a historian, started to get annoyed. He provided no proof of the sources of his ideas. (Here are some of the official lectures on the topics.)

We stood in the main living area of what became the Sister’s House. Eventually we ended up in the Meeting Room. We were *locked in* the building, so strangers who had not purchased the tour could not wander in. I know this because the Dutchy man needed to leave and he could not without interrupting the tour.

I faded in and out of the door mentally because my legs were hurting at about an eight. When we left the meeting room and entered the add-on kitchen, I was ready to fight the sweet little old ladies for a space on the small bench. My heartrate had been soaring since we started the tour (130s when standing and 110 when seated) probably in response to the pain. There was room for all of us.

Interior of the Meeting House (saal, meaning “room.”)

At this point, my plan was to sneak out of the tour when he let us out of the building and to tell Gayle to take her time as I would sit outside and read my book. But it turned out the tour was only to this building.

Our tour guide unlocked the door at 3:40 p.m.

The repercussions

By the time I went to bed, my pain levels had reached a nine. They are between a six and seven today and I’m taking it easy. I think my body has forgotten how to walk. As a person who deals with spasticity, which means my muscles in my legs never relax, I have a theory. This is the first long walk I’ve taken probably in years, certainly since I started taking muscle relaxers. It’s the first long walk I’ve taken since I started fitness training with Andrew, and even more certainly, the first I’ve taken since he had to pause our sessions several months ago. And I sit at a desk now, 8-10 hours a day, seven days a week, and walk 3,500 to 5,000 steps a day.

So, sure I overdid it.

But I still maintain that I have never moved the way I moved yesterday. I fried my adductors.

Hard to believe for several months from 2020-2021 I was a picker in the Stitch Fix warehouse where I walked miles and miles and miles every night, five days a week.

For more about this trip and some discussion of books, printing and those arts at the Cloisters, see ParisianPhoenix.com.

Two weeks in the life of Angel

Angel Ackerman Leave a comment

I wish I had some exciting reason that it’s been two weeks without a post. The reality is that I’ve been ghostwriting a novel and that every free moment I have has been dedicated to that client who is currently paying my mortgage. Luckily, I love the client, I love the story and I love the whole experience of being a part of the project so it’s not a hardship by any means.

The book publishing entity– Parisian Phoenix Publishing— has been paying the other costs of life. If you follow the blog there and/or read the Substack newsletter, you will see we are always doing something to keep the company and its authors growing. And if you need another reminder of why and where to buy books, check out the shop we’ve curated at Bookshop.org, where you can shop online and designate your favorite independent bookseller to receive the profits from the sale.

So, rather than try to catch you up with every bit of crazy while I’ve been away, let me provide this fine list:

The Initial Joys of Summer

  1. The Teenager only has a few more days of Teenagerdom and she has spent much of the last month renovating our garage into an indoor/outdoor living space. She is hosting her birthday party out there and I can’t wait to show you the final result.

2. I have started using the outdoor patio more as the Internet extends that far and there’s really no excuse.

3. We decided to try the Papa Johns Cheeseburger Pizza and their new Spicy Lemon Pepper Wing Sauce. The boneless wings are terrible, but the sauce is out of this world. And the burger pizza– especially with the $10 promotional price point–might be our new favorite food. The Teenager has proclaimed that all pizza should have pickles.

4. I spent some more time with my cat, Fog. We normally use a “crate and rotate”-style system for all the animals. For the last year, my boy Fog, our old tripod Opie and the cat the rescue gave up on, Canyon, have been in my room. We decided to let them free roam and this meant I got to spend some time during my long work days with my man, Fog.

5. Speaking of cats, our houseguest, Paulie, still loves to bite me, but he has gotten quite forward about being in my business.

6. We pre-gamed the Teenager’s birthday by going to Dave & Buster’s for some arcade time and then visited this strange convenience store with the old style poker video machines, alcohol, vaping supplies, penny candy, ice cream, strange snacks and all the household goods one would expect from a convenience store.

7. I made some new recipes including rhubarb quick bread (think banana bread but with rhubarb) and my own twist on fried pickles. I smeared/shredded cheese on a kosher dill pickle sandwich slice and then pinched it into a piece of Italian meat before breading and frying. Both were amazing.

8. My 2015 Jetta turned over to 71,000 miles. The Teenager has been driving it for work, so it only had 55,000 on it when I got laid off from Stitch Fix in September. But in other exciting news, before the end of the month, the Teenager should pay off her 2012 Nissan Rogue which we’ve had two years when we only planned to keep it for six months. It’s pretty much ready for a demolition derby now, but it was The Teenager’s first car loan and she paid it off six months early.

And lucky number nine….

(The Celts believed 9 was a holy number, because nine was a collection of three sacred threes.)

9. Today, I got to have a lavender matcha latte with my book-making, mixed media, painting artist friend Maryann Riker of Justarip Press. We stopped at Spectacular Coffee at Easton’s Silk Mill after indulging in a green sale (yes there is such a thing!) at Vasari Oil Paint.

People and Dogs: Come on, where’s the common sense?

Angel Ackerman 1 Comment

If you don’t know, my daughter– The Teenager about to turn 20– works in the pet care industry, primarily doing dog walks and in-home pet care visits. She is also a dog trainer, and spends a lot of time and energy studying dogs, observing dog body language and finding solutions to people’s problems with their dogs.

She is the one who encouraged me to apply for a service dog, and although I grew up with dogs, she has taught me so much about dogs and why they do what they do.

Her dog, F. Bean Barker, who, will be four this summer, can be reactive and territorial. The Teenager has worked very hard to decrease her dog’s reactivity and expose the dog to situations to improve her tolerance. Today, we took her to a dog park. The dog park is less than two miles away from our home and off-the-beaten path so it’s not as well-traveled as some other local places. It has a lot of green area to explore even outside of the dog park. So, if the dog park is occupied, there is other stuff to do.

This dog park has two sides, one for dogs 25 pounds and under, the other for dogs larger than 25 pounds. Each side has a double gate system, so you can enter the first enclosed room and make sure your dog is ready to enter the other side without risking releasing any dogs already in the park. (In this dog park, there is also a gate between the two sides.)

Now, if you do not have a dog or if you have a rural dog who has no need of a dog park, you may not understand that dog parks can be extremely dangerous. You never know how other people’s dogs will react, and you can find that certain dogs have behaviors that can unnerve the most calm and pleasant dog. Owners often don’t keep close enough control over their dogs inside the park, believing the environment is contained and safe. But just like two normally well-behaved children can suddenly behave like cold-hearted killers on a public playground, dogs can change in this unfamiliar and potentially unmonitored environment.

We know Bean is a good dog, well-trained with a recall, but that she often has a hard time with other dogs especially if they aren’t appropriately socialized. Now, even if you think your dog is “good with other dogs” or “well-socialized,” you may not understand dog body language or stress signals to know how well your dog is doing in a new situation.

Knowing this, we brought plenty of our dog’s favorite treats, put her in a harness and on a prong collar and tucked a can of “pet corrector” into our gear. When we arrived at the dog park, one adult and one child had two small dogs running the entire expanse of both sides of the dog park. The Teenager decided not to engage and walked the dog around the human passive recreation trails.

The family soon left, taking their two small dogs off leash through the parking lot and leaving every gate in the dog park open— the two entering the small dog park AND the interior. That means if someone had entered the large dog park, appropriately, the large dog could have run into the small dog side and exited into the busy parking lot. Really?

Needless to say, this dog grandmother went through and checked every gate before Bean and The Teenager entered.

I sat under the pavilion and watched while Bean and The Teenager explored.

I was technically lookout, because The Teenager had removed Bean’s leash and if another dog came The Teenager wanted enough time to leash her dog and make sure Bean was under control, or at least, obedient.

I looked up from my book (Hunter’s Shea’s Manrattan which I am enjoying very much) and there was an unattended mastiff with no leash standing outside the gate. The Teenager already had Bean outside the dog park and releashed. So, we left.

The owner of the mastiff strolled leisurely to the gate, while his unleashed dog just had free reign. Why don’t people have common sense???

Dogs in public should be leashed. It’s a law. I don’t care how well-behaved your dog is– if it is attacked or frightened, it will end up in a fight. Even the best dog in the world would defend itself in a fight, so regardless of how the fight starts, both dogs could be injured or killed.

And, as someone on a wait-list for a service dog, it angers me to see how many people don’t understand why certain laws exist regarding where dogs can go and how they should be handled. A dog masquerading as a service dog in a store for example not only might create a bad example for real service dogs, but if it is not trained properly it could attack or spook another animal (or a person or a service dog). A service dog that encounters poorly-managed and badly trained animals in public could be attacked or spooked in such a way that it might not be able to do its job, creating a financial and practical hardship for the disabled person relying on that dog.

So please, leash and control your dogs as the laws ask you to do.

The magic in downtown Easton

Angel Ackerman 1 Comment

Ever since my husband and I moved there circa 1998, downtown Easton has always been a magical place for me. I have lived there, worked there, dined there, and seen the neighborhood grow and change, businesses come and go.

Easton PA and Phillipsburg NJ were both struggling fiercely then, and fine artists were starting to buy property and set up studios in Easton. A lot of my favorite people came to Easton in this way. Phillipsburg had hoped to redevelop industrial lands (which, as in the trend now, has become warehouses) and attract railroad-related tourism.

For those who are not local, while these two towns are in different states, they are only separated by a river– the Delaware River– and that river is easy to cross, even on foot. When I was covering Phillipsburg as a newspaper reporter, I learned that Phillipsburg residents often referred to Easton as “going to town.” Both regions, in Pennsylvania and New Jersey, have strong agricultural roots so state lines meant little when compared to where the department stores, services, and professionals were.

Even though I do not live in Easton, and have not for the last 20 years, I have lived a mere two miles away from downtown Easton and can still physically walk there it’s so close. The street where I live, and those parallel, all go straight downtown.

I went downtown yesterday for an appointment at the Sigal Museum. Now, as a historian and a proud local history nerd, this alone was a great way to start the day. When I arrived, they had just opened so they weren’t quite ready for me yet. Being gracious hosts, they told me to go play in the museum. I mean visit. Visit the museum.

Arts Community of Easton Small Works show

Before I could reach the exhibits, I had the chance to explore the Arts Community of Easton Small Works Show — which features works by Parisian Phoenix contributors Joan Zachary and Maryann Riker (even if her piece didn’t have her name on it. I recognized it!), (speaking of Phillipsburg) a long-time peer and lover of Barenaked Ladies Claire Jewett who used to own a business in downtown Phillipsburg, and my neighbors, literally the other side of my house, James Cox and Sarah George.

I will be doing two workshops for ACE, at the Easton Area Public Library main branch in July. I believe it’s July 8 I will present a memoir class, and on July 30 we will be working on writing clear nonfiction.

So that was fun… And then it was time to immerse myself in local history.

They have a wonderful exhibit about the origins of the two rivers area and the Native American tribes there. And a wigwam/wikewam! I explored the first floor for a while but I had to carefully extract myself before I wouldn’t be coming out again until they closed.

After my adventure at the museum, I meandered to “the circle” to visit Andy at Book & Puppet Company, our local independent bookstore. We had a fantastic conversation and I found the most unusual purchase– a graphic novel rendition of Albert Camus’ autobiographical novel, The First Man. I learned that Andy had produced not only a new CD but also an audio book memoir by Melba Tolliver. Melba had a very interesting career as a television journalist.

And then there was only one acceptable way to end my morning out, with pie from Pie + Tart. I brought the pie home and shared it with the Teenager. I spent the afternoon working on a ghostwriting project and took a break to drive The Teenager to renew her drivers license. In the evening, I returned downtown to have a belated birthday celebration with a friend, poet and former work colleague. We had drinks, guac and other goodies at Mesa Modern Mexican.

Numbers make me happy

Angel Ackerman Leave a comment

My daughter and I come from very different generations. This first paragraph is absolutely, 100% my perception and my opinion; and I am categorizing or generalizing in a way that I have not researched as fact– not with my academic hat nor my journalism skills. Her generation (let’s call it born around 2000) loves labels. Even when that generation rejects labels, they put new labels on concepts they rebel against.

It took me until I reached my fourth decade to consider, accept and adopt the identity of someone with a disability. The Teenager, on the other hand, studies identities, labels and the DSM as a part of understanding who she is and how she interacts with the world. She ponders whether or not I have OCD, if her father has ADD, but she also has her own ADHD mind, and her hearing loss, which is a powerful combination.

I call her my tornado, but in reality she might be more of a thunderstorm– the crashing and banging, the relentless burst of energy, thrashing winds and then a deluge.

As people we all show symptoms or signs of all sorts of conditions that may or may not be part of a label, that may or may not be something we “have.” And one of the nuances of who I am is that numbers make me happy.

I think the phenomenon has become more noticeable since I starting spending more time with my traveling partner, M., because as someone with Asperger’s, numbers play a huge role in organizing his life. And we talk about numbers when we notice them, because it’s nice to have someone who also likes the comfort of numbers.

I was relieved when I got my current car, because the license plate featured a number I could live with. Speaking of cars, I have been in a special kind of mourning every since that car, my Jetta, turned over to 70,000. (Since I lost my job at Stitch Fix, my daughter has been driving it. She’s put about 12,000 miles on it in eight months.) But The Teenager also sent me a photo when her father’s car turned over to 11,111 miles.

I will transfer money between savings and checking to create more favorable bank balances, ones that are pleasing to see.

And I dread the day I need to close my primary bank account, because the account number features a sequence I particularly like.

I’m old enough to remember when telephone numbers were seven digits, not ten. And the strange sensation of having to add the area code for local numbers and not just long distance. The generation before me can probably remember when phone numbers did not include the local exchange.

And if you are unfamiliar with some of these terms…

These terms and systems originated and grew with the “landline” telephone technology. The numbers directed users to specific systems of wires and before automatic switching, a telephone switchboard operator had to direct callers to specific wires by unplugging them and plugging them back in.

An American phone number is customarily organized like this:

1-XXX-YYY-ZZZZ

The “1” is the country code.

The XXX is the area code which refers to a larger geographic region, like a few counties in a state, depending on population.

The YYY is the local exchange, usually a town.

And then the ZZZZ were specific residents. Like your house number, but for your telephone.

The Unexpected Post Birthday Bliss

Angel Ackerman Leave a comment

Gayle and I have been friends a long time. So last week, she asked, as friends often do, “What are you doing on your actual birthday?”

My birthday was on Monday and nobody celebrates on Mondays. She offered to take me out, if I wanted to go somewhere and have fun. I texted back, “What is this fun you speak of?”

Enormous TV with the best resolution I have ever seen

I asked her the budget, and she said $50. I thought “arcade.” I have been trying to make it to various small arcades in the region, but as small businesses, they often don’t have hours conducive to my plans. So I looked up Dave & Buster’s, knowing we have one by the Lehigh Valley Mall.

Gayle said, “You want to go to a sports bar?”

And I said, “No…. They have an arcade.”

But further investigation revealed that the have half-price games on Wednesday, so I asked if we could postpone until then to take advantage. Gayle said sure.

She tossed lunch into the deal, so I ordered the Hawaiian chicken sandwich with pineapple, slaw, and sriracha. Gayle ordered a house salad and we agreed to share all the vegetables. I say all the vegetables because I replaced my fries with asparagus, and we got sides of Brussel sprouts and roasted cauliflower.

Surprisingly, the Brussel sprouts were a disappointment. They tasted too crunchy, as if they were fresh and raw. The seasoning was decent, but they didn’t have the decadent, drowning in roasted flavor that parmesan-crusted Brussel sprouts normally have when prepared in a restaurant. The cauflower was great— but the dipping sauces for both were heavily mayonnaise-based. And the asparagus turned out to be thin and perfectly dripping with goodness. As was the sandwich, which surprised me with how thick and hearty the patty was and how sweet and abundant the glaze was. A very messy sandwich, but worth it. 

With the server’s assistance, we purchased a Dave & Buster’s Power Card with something like 200 (or was it 250?) chips on it. At about 2:30, we headed into the arcade and started our exploration. My first game was a mechanical, full-size version of Hungry Hungry Hippos. I will tell you at our Lehigh Valley Dave & Busters, the blue and the green hippos have a disadvantage, the ball popper holes do not function properly. To digest a respectable amount of balls, one must take advantage of the yellow or orange hippo.

I taught Gayle to play Air Hockey, and Centipede, and then I challenged her to Mario Kart (on Easy) and then we did Hot Wheels. And Rampage! We tried axe throwing and tried our skill shooting hoops. We even did some electronic bowling. And we tried the kids’ games— Cut the Rope and Doodle Jump. 

I looked at my watch and it was 4 o’clock and even though we still had forty chips left (and at half-price most games costs 3.4-5 chips per player), Gayle let me have the power card and now I’m plotting a visit with the Teenager. 

At that point, I picked up the Teenager and we headed to Joan the Photographer’s house. Joan wanted to take me to Point Phillips Hotel for dinner, where they have an on-site smokehouse and some of the weirdness seasonal cocktails I have ever seen.

That region has very Pennsylvania Dutch roots— and my grandfather- and grandmother-in-law are buried in that area. At the restaurant, the waitresses’ shirts said, “if you ain’t PA Dutch, you ain’t much” which led to Joan’s partner claiming to be the most PA Dutch person in the room.

To which I made a challenge. The Teenager is 3/4 Pennsylvania Dutch on her father’s side. Darrell’s mother’s side is Pennsylvania Dutch (his grandfather didn’t learn English until he started school at age five back in the one-room schoolhouse days) and his father’s side is 1/2 PA Dutch and 1/2 Welsh.

The food (and cocktails) were delcious and then we spent some time at Joan’s house, where he partner learned, apparently for the first time, that the Teenager is/was a musician. Discussion ensured of her experiences playing low brass and the differences between a euphonium and a baritone. Some old marching band videos were shared, and one thing led to another and suddenly the two of them had a trombone. 

Amidst a near-full moon, the Teenager picked up a musical instrument for the first time in three years and even though she had never played trombone, she attempted to find some notes.

It brought back a lot of memories for both of us.

How this nerd had the most spectacular birthday

Angel Ackerman Leave a comment

My 49th birthday was Monday, May 20, 2024.

And my illustrator Joseph Swarctz of the Echo City Capers series drew me this “sexy Angel” for the conference coming in the fall. I think she’s fantastic. He asked me, over lattes at Panera because we were being fancy at our business meeting because it was my birthday, if I felt any different.

I had mentioned that as I get older, I suddenly realized how old everything else around me has gotten. Like the used car I bought in 2019, it’s almost ten years old now. And don’t even get me started on The Teenager– she’s going to not be a teenager anymore next month.

The mood (and the drama?)

I expected my birthday to be a catch-up-on-work day. I had hoped my birthday would be such. And I hoped that would distract me from the fact that since my father passed away, my family no longer talks to me. My mother sent me a passive-aggressive birthday card last week and my stepmother, who shares my birthday, made it clear that she does not want me in her life, first by ghosting me for more than a year and then by calling me up in February and listing everything I’ve done that she disapproved of during our 30-year-relationship.

Both my mother and my stepmother have experienced a lot of loss in the last few years, so I’m going to remember that. This isn’t the place to talk about family history, trauma, and the list of all the terrible things that can or did happen to people. We all live, we all love the best we can, and we all make mistakes. I think that’s part of why my dad meant so much to me– he understood that.

My dad

My dad was an extremely imperfect person, and now that I reflect upon it, he would make the most amazing fiction character. He was only five-feet tall and wore black motorcycle boots, jeans and Harley-Davidson t-shirts. He had tattoos, some of which honored the important people in his life. He was an alcoholic, and when I was a kid, he drank a lot. And sometimes that led to violence between him and my mother. Violence that I witnessed.

He also could fix anything. He had this sharp, strategic mind that could solve puzzles. He liked the Pittsburgh Steelers and would play Uno with me as he laid on the couch and watched Sunday night football. Which, as a parent now, I see is the easiest way possible to spend time with a child and still do what you want to do. For a while, I even collected football cards to share something, other than Uno, with my dad.

My dad would always have friends around with motorcycles or cars that needed fixing. They would arrange trades or bring gifts, which might have been because he wouldn’t take money.

I could tell stories forever about my dad, but the point is, that it always seemed like he gave people the benefit of the doubt, even when it was clear they were a mess, and I think that’s because he understood that we all have imperfections and some of his, he couldn’t fix. He could changed his behavior in a lot of ways, but sometimes those imperfections still hold us back.

So, it’s my birthday. And the only relatives who contact me do so on Facebook– and I have one cousin who posts this fabulous picture of us kids by my grandmother’s pool. I am between my cousins in the middle of the back row.

But for someone who did not expect or intend much birthday celebrating, it was a chaotic one and I have a feeling it might all extend into next week.

The PreGame

On Saturday, I presented a workshop to the Greater Lehigh Valley Writers Group. So, some of last week I “lost” in preparation for this event, which went fabulously, though I spoke too fast and squeezed what should have been two presentations into one. I thought I could use Sunday to recoup some lost client time.

How wrong I was.

I started with a Substack newsletter for Parisian Phoenix Publishing. You can read that here. I caught up on some email and watched a replay of a webinar I missed when I went up to the Times-News on Thursday. Then, it was time to go to Barnes & Noble in the Southmont Shopping Center where Joe was selling a LOT of books. It was one of our best days there ever for Echo City Capers.

And when I got home, I thought, now I can focus on some ghostwriting for my mafia novel client.

And then the Teenager approached. “Hey, Mom. I’m going down to groom [my friend and fellow author Tiffani Burnett-Velez’s] dog. You’re coming, right?”

Well, five-plus hours later I came home with a full belly and a copy of Tiff’s first novel because we traded– her first, for my fourth. And a cookie.

The family even sacrificed a cherry pie they had purchased for themselves to celebrate my birthday. And Tiff and I talked about neurologists longer than we probably should have. Because mine is the best one ever.

And during the drive home, the Teenager mentions that she has time on my actual birthday if I want to have a little adventure in the afternoon. So, I send her a list of ideas.

My birthday

The Teenager was definitely confused and perhaps disappointed by my final choice of Palmerton, Pa., for our outing. But I have a strange soft spot in my heart for that town and after my trip to Lehighton earlier in the week it felt like an easy choice.

Our first stop was the Country Harvest grocery store because according to Google maps they had doughnuts and a coffee bar inside. And unexpectedly, or perhaps very expectedly, The Teenager and I found lots of fun items in there. Including the iced teas we both had in school, and varieties of cat food that The Teenager’s finicky cat might eat. And for some reason The Teenager wanted puffed rice, and we picked desserts from the cooler and I bought a copy of the Times-News.

Then we walked down the main drag to go have a quick slice of pizza. Imagine our surprise when we discovered an amazing taco pizza, which we chased with a walk past the park and a visit to the public library so I could use the bathroom and enjoy the beautiful architecture.

The Teenager mentioned that she recognized the town and she felt like it was a place she had visited with my father on the motorcycle. That made sense, I told her, because my dad loved to take the motorcycle along the Lehigh River and through the picturesque hills and valleys of the region. So to celebrate him, we spent some time with the crane machine, another of my dad’s favorite activities.

I think what made the day special was that all we did was walk, talk and enjoy the scenery. Toss in some desserts and a good slice of pizza and what more could I ask… well, and it turns out we also had the presence of my dad.

The Face ID meltdown

Angel Ackerman Leave a comment

In middle school, I was part of the generation of kids who had introductory computer programming classes mandatory in the curriculum. Everyone had to sit at the IBM computer and learn DOS commands. It was 1989, and we had no idea why we would ever need to do this. Our parents were farmers, mechanics, plumbers and other blue collar workers.

At the same time, we saw our first local farms sold and turned into developments. One summer, school let out and in September, at one farm on my bus route, suddenly 8 kids stood at the end of a road by a field that now had houses all over it. But the real shock was when some of these kids had dads that worked in offices and wore suits and carried briefcases.

My dad went back and forth between an OTR truck driver and a diesel mechanic. Periodically he would buy a truck (twice he bought the same 1965 Kenworth) and when he had driven our family into debt with the cost of massive tires and gasoline, my mom would force him back to work as a diesel mechanic at a local paving company.

In high school, we got ONE computer in the back of the classroom to print the stories for the high school newspaper and literary magazine. Previously, we sent our copy down to the business classes so those students could type it in columns. Whether the business students typed it or we did it on the computer, we cut it out and glued it on blue grids with rubber cement.

By college, we all had email addresses and computer labs and web sites on Geocities.

My college roommate had an IBM computer that ran Windows 95. And after my freshman year, I saved ALL my money, drove two hours and bought a floor display model of a Powerbook 165, which if you do not know, was the first real consumer laptop.

I’ve been a die-hard, fight-to-the-death Mac girl ever since. And if you want to have the Mac vs PC fight, save your breath and remember, Steve Jobs and Bill Gates both stole their ideas from Xerox.

My point is, I am not a Luddite.

But I have reached the age– and tomorrow is my birthday– where technology issues can unhinge me. I ate half a bag of flaming hot Cheetos last night because the FaceID on my iPhone 13 suddenly stopped working.

I tried being patient. I tried restarting it. At the behest of The Teenager (who only has one more month of being a teenager) I tried to reset it. That failed. And suddenly I was being asked for the password to my bank account. I was faced (pun intended) with having to TYPE passwords and I, for a moment, wondered if fingerprint ID would work… and then I remembered fingerprint ID went out with FaceID.

I tried again. I could not reset FaceID.

Well, I thought, the sensors that read my face must have died. And then suddenly it worked.

I reset my FaceID. Without the help of a teenager.

It still only works about 50% of the time. But, somehow, I will persevere.

Looking for my tribe

Angel Ackerman Leave a comment

So I had two professional meetings today— both regarding professional opportunities. One was a second interview for a niche professional journal, a publisher and sales position.

The other led me to Lehighton, to the Times-News building where I met with some staff members about the possibility of doing some copy editing work for them.

Regardless of how either of these opportunities work out, I had a great day talking to committee people in print media, an industry that has a lot of issues to overcome every day.

But talking to these professionals at these polar opposites of publications, that reminded me of my own passions and what it’s like to connect with others who share that.

Plus…

I love Palmerton, the coal regions and rural post-industrial Pennsylvania.

Life lessons according to Grey’s Anatomy

Angel Ackerman Leave a comment

Periodically, I select a random television series and watch the whole thing, as much as I can get my hands on. Some of the shows come as recommendations from friends or family. Some are pop culture references that I feel the need to know.

With the variety of streaming services, I watch these shows when dining alone or when doing the dishes or folding wash. And I think I like seeing the various storytelling styles and the various characters built over the arcs of these long-running shows.

But no matter what– I just don’t like Meredith Grey as a person.

So with no further ado.

10 Life Lessons from Grey’s Anatomy

1. The people you love will die in car accidents at a young age. Or have catastrophic accidents and have miraculous recoveries. There are a lot of car accidents in the show, and some of them are downright crazy. Some people shouldn’t survive, and some should. Or some people get hit by a bus and die, others fly out a windshield and manage to bounce back from the most dramatic surgeries ever and don’t even have a scar. Drowning is also an issue.

2. Marriage is temporary. Just go with it. People get married quickly and divorce just as quickly. The average marriage on Grey’s lasts six months. And if it does last, people die in car accidents. People marry for love, for lust, for medical benefits.

3. 1 in 4 surgeons get brain tumors. At least. At least THREE of the main characters have specifically brain tumors and then in an unusual moment, one surgeon gets a spinal tumor in season 15. And brain. surgery, even with inoperable or cancerous tumors, is really easy to come back from in the Grey’s universerse.

4. Even if you spent a decade in school and have a lucrative career, feel free to start over in a new path on a whim. Doctors change specialties, or turn down impressive fellowships, or leave the country on a moments notice. And sometimes they become firemen.

5. You can easily change your name, leave the state and go to med school without anyone questioning it. OR if you run into immigration issues, the hospital can ship you off to Switzerland overnight so you don’t get deported.

6. Real friends cover up each other’s crimes and improprieties. I sometimes think this show should be named after the MORALLY GREY aspects of their lives. It doesn’t matter if you sabotage a clinical trial or beat the life out of someone, you can still be a doctor.

7. Most women doctors are lesbians or bisexual. A strange number of the female leads sleep with each other, but it takes until season 15 to have male characters in a gay relationship.

8. Doctors have no child care issues ever, even as a single parent with three kids. These doctors have the most convenient 24-hour day care that allows them to drop off their kids even if they are not scheduled to work.

9. Planes and helicopters crash A LOT. Not only do several characters die in a plane crash– but another character jokes about his plane crash. And those helicopters have a lot of mishaps.

10. Doctors have sex all over the hospital.