Hopper's Second-Half Summer Reading

 

Well, the dust has settled here in Dallas. The wife is working, I am looking for work, the girls are preparing for their school year, which begins, almost sacrilegiously, in the middle of August. The house is basically unpacked. There are some loose ends to be tied up, minor repairs to be made, and some final tasks related to the move. Hopefully I’ll be working soon enough. I already have a possible interview set up, and am looking to pick up my new used car in a couple of days.

Now, more importantly, I must address my reading plan, now that I have time.

Oh, and I also have a writing plan, but I’ll get to that in another post.

For now, reading.

Here is my tentative list for the second half of summer 2021:

 

1. The Witnesses, excerpts from the Warren Commission

2. Little Big Man by Thomas Berger

3. World War II at Sea by Craig L. Symonds

4. Frankenstein by Mary Shelley

5. The Man Who Killed Kennedy by Roger Stone

6. The Pillars of the Earth by Ken Follet

 

Whew. That’s nonfiction – fiction – nonfiction – fiction – etc. And it’s 3.429 pages. Hopper, as usual, always chooses the modest route. Let’s see … there’s 38 days until Labor Day, so to put these away by summer’s end would require a par of 90 pages a day.

Honestly, that’s not doable, even unemployed. I couldn’t live with myself reading that much and not bringing in any coin to the family coffers. So I’ll hold myself to 40 daily pages. About an hour a day. At that rate, I’ll finish the six-book list by October 24, just in time to start something spooky for Halloween, a tradition I’ve held myself to for nearly twenty years.

Why these books?

Well, in part, these were the cream of the crop of my On Deck Circle when we moved. I donated a couple hundred books to the VA, including a lot of the stuff I’ve never read. But I kept these because, well, they interested me.

The Witnesses and The Man Who Killed Kennedy because now I’m living a half-hour from Ground Zero of the Kennedy Assassination. I was big into this a decade ago and haven’t been so much since reading Posner’s book which persuaded me (to the tune of about 95%) of the Lone Gunman theory. But I still get a thrill, a detective-like fascination, with anything and everything to do with those terrible events of the weekend of November 22 to 24 in 1963.

Little Big Man because, I suppose, I’m now in the south, in the heat, and just a stone’s throw beyond the new developments and shopping malls there is indeed prairie and mountains and cactus and star-filled night skies, and I fancy what I’d be like had I lived a century-and-a-half ago. I fear this book might be a little snarky and almost downright anti-Western, which is probably why I haven’t read it yet (I bought it in 2012), but as it’s the only Western I currently own, I put it on the list.

Frankenstein because it’s an old-school epic and I bought it in mind with reading simultaneously with Patch, much like we did The Count of Monte Cristo in 2019. But, alas, she’s not in the proper frame of mind for a deep dive into early 19th-century epistolary writing. I skim-read the book sophomore year of high school in the early 80s, so I’m looking forward to a thoughtful re-read. My gut tells me the whole dangers-of-man-playing-God thing is quite relevant in today’s society.

World War II at Sea was a recommendation I noted back during my walks last summer when I’d listen to WW2 lectures. Seems to be the be-all and end-all of the top-down view of naval warfare 1937-1945, at least from what I’ve heard. And I’ve always wanted to read Follett’s Pillars for many, many years. It’s an epic I think should fit nicely into the early fall down here.

Read on, amigos!

Road Trip Part III

 

So to conclude this little series on my relocation to Texas from New Jersey, let me describe the end point of our three-day, 1,550 mile journey. Ten days ago we closed on the house down here and moved in.

Now, I suppose some of you reading this may be veterans of “moving.” I and my family are not. The last time I moved, in 2004, was from an apartment to a starter home within the same state, about 30 miles apart. My buddy and I rented a medium sized box truck and loaded up all the possessions of the newly-married Mr. and Mrs. Hopper. This took two or three hours. Then I drove the truck up the NJ Turnpike, met him at my new house, and we unloaded in another three hours. (The Mrs. was pregnant with Little One and primarily did the supervision.)

Simple.

I already documented the vast logistical acrobats involved in our current move. But ten days ago there was light of a sorts at the end of the tunnel.

We woke at the Marriott early, packed up the dog and our bags, drove through a Starbucks and raced to the office of the title agency where the closing would be held, just on the northern edge of Dallas. Our real estate agents here, an older couple named Gary and Cathy, were excellent, accommodating and knowledgeable. We chatted friendly until the banker came in, and she explained the six thousand documents we had to sign one by one. For such a momentous occasion, it was light-hearted and a fun welcome into Texas.

Charlie tuckered out from the move ...

However, we were a little behind the eight ball time-wise, so we motored down the highway to get to the house. Which we had to find, never having been in its neighborhood or even inside it, save for a Zoom demo. The movers and the cleaning ladies were already there, waiting for us, and sure enough, as we pulled up a trio of maids were resting in the shade under a tree on our front lawn. We let them in first to get to work, the movers following along with our furniture and the six thousand boxes we brought down from NJ.

It was a steamy overcast day in the mid-90s, the doors were open all afternoon as movers (three of them this time) were in and out over the course of five hours. We also had an AT&T tech stop by to get our WiFi and our TVs working. I made a run with the girls to the local Walgreens to get about a dozen Gatorades for us and the moving guys (and nearly got us killed racing down a one-way the wrong way – damn out-of-towners!) I also bought us a bottle of that special Walgreens champagne for later. Actually, it was Korbel Brut, but I thought it noteworthy that I bought it at a Walgreens. We got back and the last thing on our list was the delivery of our refrigerator.

The Mrs. decided to drive about to find some dinner for us and returned with Panera salads. We had to open up boxes until we found our plastic forks and knives. The house was finally beginning to cool off around 9 when, amongst a maze of boxes in various stages of being unpacked, we uncorked that champagne and drank a toast to the new homestead.

We’ve accomplished a tremendous amount in the past 10 days. The wife started her new job today. I’ve applied to three jobs already, and I’d like to maintain a one-a-day par. To keep myself enthusiastic I walk for a half-hour every morning when the temperature is in the frigid 80s compared to the normal mid-90s to 100. After my walk I open the garage and do six or seven exercises with my free weights. Patch has been active, too, biking all over the neighborhood and trying to make friends with the girl next door. Both of my little ones hang out at the park across the street.

Heron and ducks by the lake a mile from our house ...

Oh, the trusted Pilot died. Rather, it was put to sleep. While the wife was car shopping for the new job (she has a $400 a month car allowance) she had the dealer look at the undercarriage and it turns out it’s completely rusted through – muffler and both catalytic converters. Rather than spend the couple thousands to fix a nine-year-old vehicle, we just bought me a used Accord. I pick it up in a day or two.

So as of today, ten days in, the house is about 90 percent unpacked with about 90 percent of everything in its rightful place. We have a handyman and a landscaper. The girls have appointments for orientations to their new schools a mile away. About the only issues I’ve discovered is that our faucet cartridges in the master bath are shot and one lawn sprinkler seems to be aimed directly at the house, but we’re addressing those. All in all, it was about as painless a move as I could have hoped for.

Again, for those who’ve helped and supported us, a hearty and heart-felt THANK YOU!

Now, look for some more Hopper-esque posts in the near future, including one on the JFK assassination, a peak interest item of mine from ten years back. Hey, I’m in Dallas now, so it had to happen!

 

Road Trip Part II

 

We hit that road ten days ago after ten hours of last minute cleaning and packing and supervising the movers. After a final walk-through of the house we placed the keys to the left of the kitchen sink per the real estate lady’s instructions, then locked the door behind us. The Pilot was jam packed with the four of us, vacation bags of a week’s worth of clothing for each, the dog and his crate, his accessories (food, bowls, leash, blankets), a bag of snacks and bottled water, and books for the trip. We pulled away at 4:45 pm.

I was behind the wheel and wanted to get a good four hours in for the night. We’d book a dog-friendly hotel on the road. Originally I hoped to make central Virginia by 9, but that was not to be the case. First of all, I had counted on leaving no later than 3 pm and driving five hours until 8. Second, Jersey traffic. Third, not an hour into the drive, our trusty Pilot, nine years old with 130,000 miles, suddenly began growling like a Harley Davidson every time I hit the gas. After running through a bunch of worst case scenarios, I realized it had to be the muffler. We just had it in to the shop three days prior for a full on-the-lift review, and it was deemed travel worthy after an old change and tire rotation.

So I took it easy from the Pennsylvania border on. We hit an Arby’s for dinner, reconciled to casting aside our Keto diets for the three day road trip, steeling our stomachs for burgers and chicken sandwiches and Starbuck’s. After something like 180 miles we found a pair of nice adjacent rooms at a La Quinta for a steal in York, PA. We unloaded, walked the dog, and the girls felt all amazed and grown up exploring their very own room. Which means after showers they knocked on our door and asked to hang out. We watched a pair of Office reruns then, exhausted, went to bed.

Wednesday we rose early, had the complimentary breakfast, repacked the Pilot, did the Starbuck’s drive thru, and, with the wife behind the wheel, motored back on the highway by 8:30. We’d drive for 11 hours making stops every 3-4 hours for the dog to walk and us to stretch our legs. Lunch was at a McDonald’s (blech), and I took over for the afternoon / evening shift. During the morning I alternated between reading Stalingrad by Antony Beevor and staring at the absolutely gorgeous landscape and townscapes of the surrounding Gettysburg area. Dinner was more greasy burgers. We stopped around 7:30 at another bargain hotel, Comfort Suites, where again we had two adjacent rooms. Overall we did 680 miles and traveled southwest through Pennsylvania, Maryland, West Virginia, Virginia, and Tennessee.

Thursday was a similar routine with similar results, with the wife taking the morning shift and me reading in the passenger seat. She got us to the Arkansas border, where we stopped for Subway sandwiches, a welcome change in our fast food diets. After I took over she worked the phones (her specialty) and ordered gift baskets for our realtors and lawyer, and worked on wiring the funds from our old house to the sellers’ bank in Texas, all on that little rectangular device held in her hand.

One thing that fascinated me on the trip was, I guess, a result of my first foray off the coast. I was in the Bible Belt, I guess. I spotted zero rainbow flags, banners, stickers, or yard signs. Skirting the outer edge of Memphis I saw a rainbow towel hanging from a balcony, but that may not have been a statement. What I did see were four – four! – fifty-foot crosses adjacent to various churches of various denominations, and probably drove past four dozen more churches sans the giant monuments. I also counted five – five! – trucks with Bible verses splashed on the sides, back, or both, and these were not the trucks of religious organizations, but ordinary average commercial vehicles. A whole new world, as they say.

At the tail end of Arkansas we had to gas up, and while the ladies were inside using the station facilities a group of these guys

 

 

harassed me at the pump. Seriously. They were aggressively on the prowl for dropped French fries and any trash poking out of the nearby barrels.

We crossed the border into Texas at 5:45 (we were delighted to have gained an hour of time and daylight a state back) and drove for another 90 minutes, stopping at a Marriott just on the city limits of Dallas. Boy was our first sight of Dallas incredible: the sun setting on Lake Roy Hubbard among all the boats and yachts and jet skis flirting and partying on the ocean-like waves. We drove over the lake on a high bridge, then detoured to the George W. Bush parkway and found our hotel in Plano. Another wonderful pair of rooms for a neat price! The friendly desk clerk helped us Door Dash some Chilis, which we ate in leisure in our suites. The girls serenaded us with an a cappella Beatles medley, then went back to their room. I took a hot bath and read some more Stalingrad and when I got out, found the wife asleep. I put the dog in his crate and soon followed her. Tomorrow would be quite the busy day.

Road Trip Part I

 

This time last week me and the family were somewhere in West Virginia – or maybe it was southern PA – or maybe it was that little northwest sliver of Maryland – heading south on our 1,550 mile trip to Dallas.

Allow me to back up a bit. Last Tuesday, the 13th, was one of the most hectic days of my life. Right up there with the wedding, the births of my children, that first time my band played Bogota Day back in ’90 – you get my drift. It was the day we closed on our house of 17 years and had to get the heck out. It was overcast, hot, and humid, the downstairs had no air conditioning, the house was a jumble of over 50 fairly hefty boxes, beds, dressers, desks, a dining room set, an armoire, a washer, a dryer – again, I’m sure you get the drift.

Anyway, I woke at 6 am to do some last-minute packing and bring up 180 pounds of newly discovered weights stashed away in the furnace room out to the garage. The wife was soon up, as were the not-so-little Little Ones, stalking around angrily on the prowl for carbs for their growing, growling teenage bodies. The movers showed up nearly two hours late – all two of them. How were they to transfer all my family’s life’s possessions into that big moving truck in four hours? The new buyers were scheduled to arrive for a walkthrough at 1 pm.

Well, it all happened. The girls took the dog on the longest walk of his short life, and the Mrs. and I swept, vacuumed, and cleaned as the movers cleared out the rooms, one by one. My aunt stopped by with a (Texas) housewarming gift, and after that, our real estate agent showed up to see how the move was going. Turns out the buyers would be delayed, showing up around 3, so we had a little cushion of time.

We hit a wall when the movers realized they couldn’t maneuver our box spring down the narrow stairs. What??? It was true – then I remembered. To make the house saleable, we had to have the door from our master bedroom to the flat roof garage sealed off. That was the path we had taken with the box spring back in 2004. My buddy and I had tied it snugly and hauled it up onto the garage roof, then into the bedroom. That option was no longer available, so I had to … saw the box spring apart so we could put it out to the curb.

Then the same thing happened with my daughter’s headboard bed set. It wouldn’t fit down the stairs. This I remembered to be a piece of Ikea furniture I had assembled when she moved out of her toddler room when her sister was born, back in 2008. Unable to see a quick and easy way to take it apart, it too fell victim to the saw. Of course, as we’re bringing it out to the curb piecemeal, the garbage truck was already down the street. The wife ran down the street waving her arms frantically, and a $20 bill enticed them to back up and take away the newly discarded furniture.

Last minute runs to get lunch, some Gatorade for the movers, drop off some bottles and cans at the recycling center and locate the girls and the dog. The clock kept ticking. 3 o’clock arrived, but no buyers, which was good as the movers had only now started emptying the garage. The wife and I did some last minute cleaning and the realtor called to say the walk-through would happen the next morning and we were not required to be there.

Finally, around 4:30, the old homestead was emptied out, our life packed away with a few inches to spare in the movers’ box truck. My neighbor came out and we said a few words of farewell. Then the truck pulled out of the driveway, with us following. Unfortunately, we’d be hitting one of the busiest intersections in the northeast during rush hour.

But never mind, I was driving, in no particular rush, beginning a twenty-four hour voyage to a new home in a new land. It was a weird feeling – part optimistic and excited, part nervous and uncertain, part trusting, part nail-biting, part chomping at the bit to prove myself as a man, a husband, and a father, part a little worried how my not-so-little Little Ones would adjust to the move.

Settled in Texas

 

Finally!

This past week was the action-packed move 1,550 miles across the country from northern New Jersey to the suburbs of Dallas, Texas.

I am pleasantly exhausted, and still a little in disbelief that the entire thing went off with nary a hitch.

Last weekend, the 10th, 11th, and 12th, was a whirlwind of see-ya-laters (not goodbyes) and last-minute packing. I partook of a wee bit much whiskey one night – Hopper’s a strict beer drinker – and paid the price, though it was worth it. Monday was intense as the only air conditioning unit on our main level broke down and we stacked and packed boxes in brutal heat and humidity. Tuesday the movers came and – well, perhaps that’s a subject of another post.

The car drive down to Texas took a little over 24 hours, spread out over three-and-a-half days. Friday morning we closed on the new home and later supervised movers where to put the furniture, had the AT&T guy wire us up for wireless, and waited for the new refrigerator to be delivered and installed. We uncorked champagne and allowed the girls a small glass each. Saturday and Sunday flew by in a fit of unpacking over twenty boxes of mostly kitchen stuff, but also a good deal of bedroom and bathroom items.

Charlie's first glance inside his new home ...

We had fun though, and made it fun. Watched some shows with the girls in our new Family Room, and sat through a disappointing Bird Box. We tested the local sushi one night. One of the wife’s colleagues dropped off two boxes of donuts and a box of pigs-in-blankets (!). Later, our neighbors welcomed us with additional fried sugar treats. Very touching and nice.

This week the wife is buying a car and getting the not-so-little ones settled as far as their school situation goes (which starts in four weeks down here). I’m starting the job search today, applying to jobs online, contacting recruiters and getting the suit and white shirts – wrinkled abominably in the move – to the cleaners. Oh, and I began the day by waking early, stretching these old bones, doing a 1.5 mile walk and lifting some iron before it gets too hot later in the day.

To all who supported and helped us, a hearty THANK YOU!

To those back up north, to paraphrase General MacArthur, WE SHALL RETURN!

To those wondering what’s going on with the Hopper, more to follow in the next couple of days …