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Partly cloudy skies. High 72F. Winds W at 5 to 10 mph..

Partly cloudy skies during the evening will give way to cloudy skies overnight. Low 54F. Winds light and variable.

I saw a photograph in Facebook a few days ago that got me thinking about one of my early jobs. My brother recently celebrated his 50th high school reunion. In the shot, Greg was flanked by Howard, Lee, Kim and a fourth gent I didn’t recognize. As it turns out, it was also a gathering of employees who five decades ago worked at “the warehouse.” That’s where the iconic sport, beam hockey, originated.

Greg, Howard, Lee and I all worked at an industrial plant in our hometown that manufactured metal warehouse storage systems. Most of the parts were extruded, but some assembly was required. That’s where our crew joined the mix. The horizontal and vertical pieces had to be put together. One channel was simply laid on a table and another was inserted into it and tapped into place. No tools were required, but the metal edges were sharp and we all wore gloves. The work wasn’t difficult, but it was extremely monotonous.

I’m not sure who conceived beam hockey, but we were surrounded by “pucks,” round metal punch-outs formed when holes are placed in the brackets to allow assembly with nuts and bolts. The rules were simple, swat the disc back and forth with our gloved hands until the game piece was successfully propelled through the opposite end. Volleys could go on for long periods of time, though we had to change channels (as in finish one piece and start a new one, no Zamboni required between periods) so as not to arouse suspicion.

I don’t think we were being closely monitored or we might have been fired. We didn’t have our own Stanley Cup or anything like that, but it was a mild diversion that interfered only moderately with our productivity.

All in all, it was an insightful summer. Near the end of our stint, one of the mill operators had to go to the hospital after an injury. He was so intense and protective of his job that he returned to his position a few hours later missing parts of three fingers. Staying in college didn’t seem like such a bad idea.

I had to buy a new shower curtain.

Unfortunately, mildew had begun to make inroads on the old one’s lower edge, despite my ample use of daily shower spray.

The curtain had been in place for a long time, so I was only mildly irritated at having to spend money on a new one.

So, I found myself in the bath aisle at Walmart, looking for something cheap but not too cheap, and not fancy at all, just utilitarian.

Hanging on a hook was an item that met my specifications, a frosty rectangle of plastic folded more perfectly than any human could manage.

When I got home and unfolded it, I discovered it was actually transparent. The frosty appearance was an illusion arising from the folded curtain’s many layers.

I was unhappy. I’m sleepy when I shower and prefer something like a dim cave rather than a morning person’s brightly lit environment.

Oh well. It’s just one more grudging adaptation to a world organized for morning people.

I’ll console myself with the thought that no shower curtain lasts forever.

I wonder how many complex issues, composed of shades of gray, would become crystal clear if we just knew how to unfold them.

This was one busy week, in a good way though.

I attended Monday’s Gettysburg Area School District meeting, went the @Home in Adams County event on Tuesday, in addition to the Adams County commissioners’ meeting on Wednesday and the Adams County Council of Governments’ meeting on Thursday.

I also had the chance to meet coroners from across the state, like Scott Lynn from Montour County. Montour County is just over the border to Columbia County, where I went to Bloomsburg University.

With how small this world is, he knew of my former advisor to the school newspaper at Bloomsburg who happens to reside in his county. He also has worked with “Press Enterprise” reporters I know from doing an internship there, which is a newspaper in Bloomsburg. They’ve remained in touch with me over the years, so it was neat to have a couple of connections by chance.

The serendipitous opportunity to meet people from all over is definitely one of the highlights of this job.

I also enjoyed getting to write about two new playgrounds at Bermudian Springs Elementary School with one designed by students. I’ve never heard of an elementary school having a musical garden, but it’s a great option for children who may not be able to climb on the playground equipment and still want to play with something interactive.

It was a rare win for the taxpayers in the Gettysburg Area School District earlier this week when by a 5-4 vote the school board voted down a plan to spend $34 million on new HVAC systems for two school buildings.

Josh Reynolds, the district’s buildings and grounds supervisor, was very upset after the meeting at the way the votes went down; I wonder how upset he would have been with the vote if he was a taxpayer in the school district and was looking at future school tax increases to pay back the $34 million?

This school district project should have been doomed from the start when there was no scope of work put together, no real bidding process taking place, and the preventative maintenance logs and reports on the old systems could not be located for the board or public to review.

So, you can’t prove that you are taking care of the current systems, which by the way is your job, but you want the taxpayers to write you a $34 million check; unbelievably, for once sanity prevailed, at least with five board members.

It was also telling when Reynolds was forced to admit there are no problems with the current systems that suddenly needed to be replaced. Just because a contractor comes to you and wants you to spend $34 million of taxpayer money does not mean you should. Believe it or not, these contractors know you have money sitting there waiting to be spent.

One board member also apologized to Reynolds for asking him detailed questions regarding the project. Stop me if I am wrong, but an elected official should not apologize for asking detailed questions of an employee, especially when that employee is desperately trying to spend $34 million of our money.

Many days ago now, I successfully removed all my stuff from my study, just in time for demolition to begin. There is nothing like a deadline. The object is to make the house safer, eliminating the knob and tube wiring dating from 1909. Everything else is cosmetic.

Demolition is under way, and we are choking on the plaster dust. The discoveries are the name of the wallpaper hanger and his helper from 1923. There were some clever and cute children’s scrawling on the walls underneath the paper, too. And we also verified what I had suspected: there were gas lines mounted in the walls next to the wiring. Those who built the house must not have been confident that this new electricity thing was going to prevail. So they hedged their bets on new things.

With the advance of new technologies and materials, I hope to put data wiring inside the house, so that we don’t need a cat 5 wire running outside. And with new windows, we gain lots of efficiency and function. But the flooring is going to be a new version of an old school product, true linoleum tiles.

This material is more natural, with wood fiber and linseed oil, and is greener than any vinyl product. It naturally promotes sanitary surfaces and wears well. Lots of commercial applications are using it. The frustration is that Central PA seems not to know about it, even though it has been around for 20 years. I inquired with distributors who were listed as having the product, and they had never heard of it. And they were not even interested.

I’m never sure why material like this, with such excellent properties, is slow to catch on in our region. This is especially unexplainable because I am tearing up an earlier version of the same stuff, placed in our house in 1947, my best guess from the wallpaper and the plumbing. Nothing short of hard wood would have worn as well.

For now, we remain in the “choking on the dust” stage of this project, and I am forced to complete my reporting in temporary, makeshift spaces. Today, it’s the kitchen. I am more than eager to get back into my old space and that time cannot come soon enough.

It’s been a sad week at my house. The Goldie Girls crossed the Rainbow Bridge this week.

I came home from work Monday night to find the one sleeping on its side, not a normal position for a goldfish to sleep, but I was hopeful she was learning a new trick.

I broke the surface of the water with the tip of my finger, and only one Goldie rose to give it a night-night nibble.

I scooped out the permanently sleeping fish, and buried her in the pepper patch at the side of the house.

Even though the other Goldie had nibbled my fingertip, she looked depressed, if that’s possible for a goldfish. Even though I offered her fish flakes, she didn’t rise to the occasion to eat, all week.

Thursday night, well actually the early morning hours of Friday, when I got home from work, the other Goldie was also sleeping on her side. She’s buried beside her “sister” in the pepper patch.

It’s probably silly to be upset over the passing of a couple goldfish; it’s not like they are warm and fuzzy and cuddly. But I enjoyed watching them as I worked at the schoolroom table.

That aquarium has been sitting atop the ‘airplane desk’ (an antique American Airlines maple vanity) in the schoolroom for a decade. The Goldie Girls came home from the South Mountain Fair with daughters Sarah and Rebekah 10 years ago. They joined a snake and rat in the schoolroom as classroom pets during our homeschooling years. Initially, we all expected they would go belly up within a couple days.

But, they fooled us. Days passed, then months, and we started counting their lives in years, until they had hung on for half a score of years before departing this life.

Over the years, the daughters grew up, moved into their own homes, and left the Goldies for me. Cats repeatedly attempted to swipe the Goldie Girls from their watery residence, always without success, thankfully. Curious dogs stood on hind legs to watch the goldfish swim. And every night when I got home from work my first stop in the door was to say “Hi, Goldie Girls. Hungry tonight?” and sprinkle food flakes in their aquarium.

The Goldie Girls never did have names of their own; I never expected they would come when called so why differentiate between them.

I’m still trying to decide whether to get a couple more fish to keep me company in the schoolroom, or to drain the tank and stow it away. The thing is, I don’t think any other fish could replace the Goldie Girls.

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