Fires On The Ice

Walking into the Moravian Pottery and Tile Works, you cross the threshold, stepping back one hundred years. Not much has changed, the clay still comes from land surrounding the factory, the process of making tile pretty much has stayed the same. Tiles produced here can be found around the world, from the Casino in Monte Carlo, to Grauman’s Chinese Theater in Hollywood. The largest collection of his tiles are at the Pennsylvania State Capitol. So, I guess I should warn you, don’t go walking backwards, eating peanuts, in front of the Barnstormers, during a performance in Ridley Park. You can tell, by the laws in this town( I always wondered why that cop would sit out in front), that they are serious about their theater here, the oldest, continually operating, community theater, in the country. Its going to be good, getting home for Christmas, its going to be nice, avoiding all the drama of going back by air. I think, this will be my seventh trip, cross country by train, my second in the year. Last time, we spent a little time, at the Amtrak Station in Albq. Along the platform, are crafts people, jewelry makers, weavers, potter’s , hand made stuff, at any price, a bargain today. So I talked with Dad today, our conversation, sounded strangely similar, to one we had many times before, only reversed. I asked him why was it, that he couldn’t be happy, with things running smooth, why was it, that he had to through, some new twist, into the mix!!! When he, relentlessly asked me this question, through my early teens, I never had the answer, I didn’t even know what rhetorical meant. So he laughed, he is still pretty sharp, he knew, I’d been saving this question, to throw back at him, he said he was doing all right. I told him, I was upset, having to cancel our skiing trip, he laughed again. Remembering back to his 60th birthday, I was back in Pa., redoing my Mothers Kitchen, the final piece of the puzzle. My buddy Mo, and myself, had built the screened in porch out back, something my Father always wanted, we were under the gun to finish, a surprise party for my Father was the deadline. Honestly speaking, Dad wanted to help, but he was no help, we put him off in the dining room, to fumble around with his speaker wires, we just needed him out of our hair. So this is the morning of the surprise party, we figure to keep any damage of his confined, out of the way. We hear a bang, a drill bit punches through the kitchen wall, in the dining room Dads on the floor, clutching his wrist. It was looking like a hard thing, getting him out of the house, with this, everything worked out, he was back from the hospital by one, with a new cast, for everyone to sign, Happy Birthday Dad! Well, he didn’t get to leave so quick, this time, his leg is broke in three places, chances are, he won’t be home by Christmas. So, with Dad out of the house, out of the way, that should leave plenty of time for Mom to bake, lots of pies, cookies, cakes, and cinnamon buns. My mother would tell us, about getting fruit for Christmas when she was a child, I remember getting Lincoln Logs. The train station, is just a few miles from my family home, sure makes it easy, I arrive, at a small Eastern Pennsylvania town, about mid afternoon, no muss, no fuss , no big city, airport hassles. Who knows, maybe I’ll be lucky, arrive in the middle of a cold snap, no rain, or snow, just cold, clear, crisp, moonlit nights, blustery days, after all, I’m only staying a week. A lot has changed, since the time, when I grew up in Chester County, a lot has stayed the same. In late Winter, every year, they still tap the Maples here, the sap still flows, when the lake freezes over, people still skate, they still build bon fires on the ice