Here we go again… sailing around the bend.

After an absence of some time filling this space with shared items and occasional news bits, I decided to take up residence at the keyboard once more.

I will not promise to tell all about the latest and greatest, especially in the world of the Disney company. You can find it reported by others of the faithful elsewhere online in some form or on YouTube; as it seems that everyone and their family have more time to spread the gospel according to the Mouse.

That and the fact that I am located some distance away from those venues; along with the annoying fact that I had not set foot on Disney property since before Disneyland reopened its gates. It is not a lack of interest, but a lack of opportunities to do so. However, that does not mean that I will not have something to share or comment on. It just will be something less of a focus than it once was.

When I first started online back in the Stone Age, one of my goals was to share something beyond what others were doing. And that is something I hope to do in time to come here.

With this brief bit of page filler, I hope that I can tease or taunt you, loyal readers, into coming back for more. Until then, remember: “It’s always five o’clock somewhere.”

It’s been a hectic month!

New hosting of the web pages along with other changes.

All in all, it means new content being shared here shortly. A bit of this and that, with some Disney stories, Western history, and even some Tiki! Stay tuned…

It has taken me a while to sit down and write this. A good friend and cohort of many misadventures passed away last month after a short illness. In many ways, it just does not seem like he is gone. But Ed Mackinson left his mark in oh so many ways.

I met Ed in the spring of 1976 at the then California Railway Museum at Rio Vista Junction, which is located between Fairfield and Rio Vista, in California’s Solano County. It was a brief introduction through another good friend, as Ed was introduced as one of the Diesel Children. This particular group of individuals was somewhat the odd ones out at the Museum. They had adopted as their project a diesel electric locomotive and brought it back into operation for a second life, now as a preserved workhorse for the railroad there.

Looking back across the years, who could have foretold what those brief introductions would being? Ed had managed to get through his college years in Sacramento and was gainfully employed with the Western Pacific Railroad. That brought plenty of tales to share and the occasional slides of something seen before, during, or after working hours. At the time I met Ed, I was considering a possible career in railroading, with a family connection to the Southern Pacific. Yet, the advice was to get some college and then go railroading. It turned out the national economy would end those dreams for me and put Ed’s career on hold, as the recession of the 1980’s was not kind. We both found ourselves in office jobs. Mine with AAA and Ed’s with the Social Security administration. We commiserated on the vanities of office politics on more than one occasion.

While my career at AAA spanned 26 years, Ed managed to get on with Amtrak when it made the decision to hire its own train crews for operations. His training as a passenger train conductor took him to Los Angeles, with an oddly located hotel. Directly across the street from Disneyland, complete with a complimentary cocktail hour every afternoon. And yes, I did manage to drag him across the street for a memorable day with another museum comrade, young David Wallace. The highlight of which was the purchase of a multitude of pirate merchandise including plastic hook for the hand and patches for the eye. Ed was also glad to have found a long playing record album for the Pirates of the Caribbean attraction, that he recalled from childhood. It was a very silly day and the start of many memorable theme park visitations together.

One of Ed’s long term assignments at Amtrak was aboard the San Joaquin trains between Oakland and Bakersfield. He would have a day in the Oakland coach yard on Tuesdays, starting at 5 am; and then two round trips, ending up in Oakland on Saturday mornings. At the time, it somewhat dovetailed with my own schedule; working overnight at AAA, starting at 11 pm Monday nights and ending with my weekends free at 7 am on Saturdays. If I didn’t sleep Saturday mornings, I would end up with three days off. Likewise with Ed. Which led to misadventures of all kinds, either at the Junction or out and about.

These misadventures often included a tight group of friends. Young and single at the time, we managed to enjoy ourselves. A weekend at the Junction usually included an interesting project followed by a good meals and cocktails, with the required viewing on VHS of either 1941, Animal House, the Blues Brothers, and more than a few train videos in the Museum’s bunkhouse for volunteers. Ed, myself, David Wallace, Jeff Ferris, Chris Allan, Dana Greely, John Plytnick, and a cast of others were often involved. Good times, indeed!

When it was time to head out beyond the Museum, we did indeed. It wasn’t always far, but there were more than a few multi-day trips. Nevada was one destination that we did explore a number of times. Whether along Interstate 80 or Highway 50, we did make memories. Be it an excess of Basque food, playing slot machines next to an indoor swimming pool while enjoying surplus wedding sparkling wine, or more; that and plenty of photography along the way. Ed would often repeat that “you can run out of food, you can run out of fuel, but you never run out of film.”

There were also a multitude of day trips. Some just a few miles from home, some taking hours there, and hours back. And it wasn’t always trains or more to photograph every minute. I learned patience from Ed along the way. I can’t count the number of hours spent just hoping that something would appear.

During this last December, Ed wasn’t feeling up to standard and went to see his doctor only to end up with a hospital admission for his efforts. A few days later, tests confirmed that he had stage 4 cancer of the gall bladder; rather rare and usually not discovered until it was too late to do anything about it. Such was the case for Ed. The prognosis gave him a month. During that time, we spoke by phone and in person. He was at peace with it. He had lived a full life and shared it with good friends, and if he had any regret, it was that he wouldn’t spend more time with his wide and daughter.

Anyone who didn’t think of Ed as a spiritual person was mistaken. He rejoiced in a number of things, but in particular in his family. He remarked how they were the best part of his life. And anyone who ever spent time with him knew how he enjoyed a sense of accomplishment. Be it a task completed, the acquisition of a rare railroad timetable, a well captured image with all of the elements telling the story of the moment, the publication of another book, a snarling four dollar burrito, tater tots or simply an ice cold Coca Cola, all shared with good friends, Ed expressed satisfaction in it all.

It was not uncommon for a quick phone call with Ed to discuss a simple point of information to turn into an hour or better elaboration on a variety of subjects. Perhaps that is what I will miss most of all. Hearing his usual greeting of, “Well… what do you have to say for yourself?”

Plenty, Ed. Plenty…

The image above sums up today’s effort nicely.

If you may not recall, the dingus, a.k.a. the black bird, is the pot of gold at the end of the proverbial rainbow for all of the characters in Dashiell Hammett’s novel, “The Maltese Falcon”. A jewel encrusted icon of allegiance, sent to a high ruler in tribute. Only to go astray before reaching it’s intended destination, and in the process, becoming a much sought after collectible.

I’m a victim of nostalgia, just as many of you, loyal readers, also are. It is not terminal, although at times we tend to wonder if such is not the case. Nostalgia wears many names and faces for us. Be it the passion for a sport, a place, a time, a culture, a story, or the taste of something. And like many of you, such admiration for these can cross over into obsessions of varying degrees.

Here’s the conundrum:

When do we stop, take a look around and realize that the way ahead isn’t back?

As an example, let me step into the world of Tiki, for a brief moment. I, much as my mother and father before me, look fondly upon a meal and or a beverage at the Trader Vic’s mothership in Emeryville, California. And while I only visited the legendary San Francisco Cosmo Alley location once, it was and remains a wonderful memory of an evening with family and friends, with my share of classic cocktails and great food to match. The same can be said of many evenings and events at the mothership, from my parents 50th wedding anniversary dinner to cocktail workshops to birthdays to retirements to just plain good times. I honestly can’t recall when I first visited but I find myself coming back again and again.

Yet, no matter how good each one of those memories was and remains to this day, the pity is that no matter how many visits I may make, none is the same as any of those previous. Trader Vic’s is not what it was on the previous occasions. From the staff to the dining menu to ingredients in a favored beverage not being served any more; things change. And in many cases, those family members and friends, have changed, or may even no longer be with us.

The truth is that we change as well. As hard as it may be for us to admit it, the passage of time plays its own cruel little games on us all. While we would like to capture lightning in a bottle or a moment in amber, to be the same forever, it just isn’t possible for it to be so.

You shouldn’t devalue those memories of moments, however. There lies treasure, irreplaceable. Special times worth recall. Some even worthy of capture in a photograph or a video, recording all of what made that moment at that place with all of the elements captured just so special and worthy of commemoration.

The best advice I can offer is this.

Do not stop there.

Go out and make more memorable moments. Make them for yourself and for the others you have to share them with you. When time allows and you (or they) look back upon those moments, and whatever made them special does come back, however briefly, it will all be worthy of remembrance. You can’t live in those times or places, but the fond recall of such memories?

They are indeed, “The stuff that dreams are made of…”