Archaeologists have found what they believe to be the site of the Library of Alexandria.
I was up early yesterday morning and out of Half and Half for my coffee. As it was around 7:30 am, there was still a half-hour to wait until the corner store opened at 8. So, I took my time in getting dressed and contemplated going for a little walk as my neighborhood can be kinda pleasant for that in the early morning hours.
But then as I heard the sound of a circling news helicopter, I remembered: this was the Sunday when the Bay to Breakers race was going on.
This, I knew, meant one of my customary walking routes for strolling about the neighborhood would be blocked off and crazy -- as I happen to live not far from a part of Hayes Street that they use for the race.
I could have wandered around the neighborhood in the other direction. And, normally, that would have been what I would have done -- I am not overly fond of crowds and I more often than not make an effort to steer clear of most of the various hooplas that go on in this city.
Despite having lived near the race route for many years, I had never actually ever watched the Bay to Breakers in person (nor, really, had any inclination to). But yesterday for some weird reason (perhaps it was the lack of coffee), I decided it might be amusing just stroll up to Hayes and Gough and take a quick look before fetching my Half and Half.
So, I turned on the TV to check on KRON's live coverage of the race as I didn't even know then if the race had begun already or when they'd be likely to start passing by in my section of town. I found out that the race was just about to start -- at 8 am. By that time, it was ten minutes to 8:00.
So, I watched the start of the race on TV -- the Kenyans, being serious marathon runners, were of course leading the race. When they seemed to be getting close to where they'd be turning up onto Ninth Street, I went outside to go see if I could catch sight of them running by. I miscalculated how quickly they run, though, and I was still a couple of blocks down Gough going towards Hayes when I saw their lithe legs flash through the intersection. Kinda one big elegant blur, they were.
Then another little pack of the elite runners went by in a blur. And another.
There weren't too many people watching the race from the corner of Hayes and Gough, and I found a comfortable vantage point to stand in between two curbside trees on the sidewalk near the corner. It was still early in the race, and the runners were passing by in sporadic clumps. Then, these clumps of runners stopped being so sporadic and there was instead just one big mass of humanity filling the street (and some now also on the sidewalk).
I watched for a while longer. There were some interesting costumes here and there -- although from what I understand, the more elaborately costumed runners usually aren't the ones who tend to be in the front part of the race. Still, I saw a few. As well as a few naked runners. Of the costumes I saw, I was most amused by a couple of guys done up as Kiss rock band members (I wonder if their face paint made it intact to the finish line?) and another one in Roman Centurion get-up.
As this mass of humanity kept filling up the street and sidewalk, I started to wonder how I was going to get out of there. I'd had my peek and was satisfied, but now because the runners were on the sidewalk too, I couldn't easily get from the tree I was next to over to the corner, although I was only about eight feet away. I was beginning to think I was going to be stuck there for a couple of hours or so. But fortunately there was soon a small gap in the throng on the sidewalk and I took that opportunity to make my escape.
After taking my leave, I bought some Half and Half and went back home where I watched a bit more of the race coverage. I got back home not long after the first of the runners had just crossed the finish line -- the winner was one of the Kenyans, of course, who had finished the race with a time of 34 minutes and 50 seconds. Yow. That is bloody amazing.
My parents were both in their 40s when I was born (in the '60s). They had both lived through the Depression and would be considered to have been of the WWII generation. My father's usual occupation had been as a chemist. He did serve in WWII, though, where I'm told he had been an officer working in Intelligence and his division was one of the divisions that had helped in the planning of D-Day. The details of all that I'm very sketchy on, as he didn't really speak much of his experiences in the war to me when I was growing up. He died twenty-some years ago, so obviously I can't ask him now (... and I rather doubt he'd answer a Ouija board page or the like).
So, sometimes I wonder. The few stories I do remember him telling about the war were usually offbeat anecdotes that purposely didn't reveal a lot.
For instance -- this story that went with a medal of his that he gave me when I was a teenager. I had found the medal hanging around loose in an old box and had been, naturally, kinda curious about it. So, when I took the medal to him and asked him about it, he told me a silly story and said I could have it. I still have it. And, actually, to tell the truth, I'm still kinda curious about it.
I seem to recall he had said it was a medal from the Netherlands, but I could be wrong. When I asked him what he got the medal for, he replied they'd given it to him for regularly supplying a member of the royal family black market cigarettes.
So, in honor of Memorial Day, I share with you this medal of my father's --that he got for doing something, possibly smuggling in black market cigarettes for some royal. But I kinda doubt that .... at the very least, I'm sure that couldn't have been the official reason on record.
