The Middle Seat. The final travel post.

The middle seat: a space that passengers of aisle and window seats expect to be vacant, as in empty, as in open, as in no one there.

The window seat gazes heavenward, the aisle seat grants the legroom of earth, but the middle is in between. The middle seat is purgatory.

It is the seating assignment that purges its occupant of self-worth because it is there that one is  squeezed between two unknown masses and aware that it is the space you now uncomfortably occupy that they want. You are held responsible, a thief of their comfort, an elbow room bandit.

No one talks to the middle seat occupant, he or she is personna non grata.

And if the ignominy of this seating assignment isn't bad enough the physical limitations are. To wit:  three bodies equals six arms but three seats equals four arm-rests which equals trouble, because if all three occupants of the aisle have some girth, shoulders touch, thighs touch, and those extra arms overlap or fight for the thin strips of arm-rest real estate.

Add to this one other element and you get the seating assignment hat-trick from hell.

I am referring to a person in front of you who insists on total recline of his seat during the flight. A middle seat, large neighbors, and a seat reclined onto your knees and one is certain that the gods have spoken and that sins are being atoned for right here, right now, by me, and my knees, and my elbows.

Yes, I have just peeled myself from the middle seat.

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Beach Bikes

I have been visiting the same beach resort all my life and I have seen many changes in the now almost sixty years.

A few things remain the same. Skeeball is still popular in the Boardwalk arcades, and predates even me; same with bumper cars, although they no longer have the whip-lashing ability they once did.

A good beach bike is not much different than the early days of Boardwalk cruising.

The odd thing about a beach bicycle is that, unlike the city street bike, the more honored bikes at the beach are old, rust-covered and well worn. They have been ridden and appreciatively ignored by generations of families for many years. A good beach bicycle looks like it belongs where it is, as does its rider. The beach is no place for a bike that positions the butt uncomfortably high and bends the back over curled handle-bars.

No, the beach bike is wide bottomed, and fat tired, and made for comfortable cruising. The rider sits upright, is relaxed, dons a goofy hat, and spends his time enjoying the view.

The beach bike rider is not concerned with time. He's not checking his pulse rate watch.

The beach bike may have some utilitarian purpose like holding a book or a newspaper, or a bag of beach fries, but it's usually stripped of everything not absolutely essential. The kick stand has rusted into the closed position, the fenders have long ago rusted off. Beach bikes don't need locks because nobody steals them, and besides it's against the spirit of an old bike to lock it. They don't mind being left out in the rain and being dusted with a little sand. They'll like a little oil on the chain, and a little air in the tires, but besides that they're maintenance free.

Most things change no matter where you are, fortunately, some things don't.

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Stewart's Root Beer Drive-In, Vineland NJ.

I have been in Philadelphia for the last few days, and yesterday, needed to visit my brother in Vineland, New Jersey.

Every once in a while the food gods smile upon us when we are visiting foreign lands and looking for a place to eat. Such was the case with Stewarts Root Beer Drive-In. Since root beer is my soda-fountain beverage of choice and Stewart's is a good one,  I tried it.

The lunch special was a Polish sausage sandwich served on a bun with provolone cheese and fried peppers and onions. It sounded perfect. I added french fries on the side and a big glass mug of root beer. Service was car window on a tray style. It was perfect.

The sandwich was piping hot, the fries crisp and the root beer ice cold. I had died and gone to heaven.

Stewart's, please expand into Fort Worth. I hear there's a great spot right next to the In N Out Burger.

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Dr. James Patrick lecture in Dallas. Thursday, June 2.

A Liberal Arts Education in the Oxford Tradition.

presented by:
The Walsingham Society
http://WalsinghamSociety.com

For lovers of great ideas and great conversations -- and rare opportunities in learning and the arts --the Walsingham Society, a new center of culture and critical thinking, announces its inaugural Thursday night Salon, June 2, 2011, 7:30 pm, at the Church of the Holy Cross, Dallas, Texas.

Dr. Patrick, founder and former president of Fort Worth’s College of St. Thomas More and author of the “Magdalen Metaphysicals” will speak on “The Idea of a University: Education in the Oxford Tradition.”

Thomas Shivone, age 21, who entered Philadelphia’s famed Curtis Institute of Music as its youngest vocal student, will perform selections from “The Marriage of Figaro.” A wine reception follows. Mr. Shivone will also headline a Walsingham Society Concert on July 15, open to the public.

Future lectures will include founding member of the Walsingham Society, Mary Moorman Armstrong. Mary is an expert in the interaction between religious legal systems and medieval and contemporary Christian theology. A cum laude graduate of Boston University School of Law, Mary also holds a Masters of Art in Religion from Yale University and is a doctoral candidate and lecturer in systematic theology at Southern Methodist University. Her topic will be: Leisure the Basis of Culture: Judeo-Christian Concepts.

The Walsingham Society begins its first summer lecture series with a lecture by Dr. Patrick at Dallas’s Church of the Holy Cross, located at Herschel and Douglas on June 2. Lectures are Thursdays at 7 p.m.

For more information call Brinton Smith at 817-925-5658 or visit the website: http://walsinghamsociety.com

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In praise of pomp, and circumstance.

I had the good fortune to attend my daughter-in-law's medical school commencement last weekend in San Antonio. It was a joyous affair for all.

While waiting for the faculty and students to process, my son Andrew and I were discussing the virtues of the ceremony's robes, hoods, caps, tassels, and the colors for all the above. Our commencement, the University of Texas, San Antonio, School of Medicine was filled with students wearing green, the color of the medical sciences.

The commencement program made note of the tradition:

"The contemporary tradition of wearing academic regalia for university ceremonies dates to the eleventh and twelfth centuries when the great European universities were being established."

So here we are 1000 years later carrying on a tradition of medieval Europe. In the Middle Ages the dignity of a high office, such as a king at court, or a marching army, or a royal wedding, required a display of respect, a pomp-ous display, for much the same reason that we do not attend our graduation ceremonies in jeans and a t-shirt. Some occasions, some offices, are special.

Shakespeare, in Othello, coined the oft-repeated phrase that is the title of this post:

O farewell,
Farewell the neighing steed, and the shrill trump,
The spirit-stirring drum, th' ear-piercing fife;
The royal banner, and all quality,
Pride, pomp, and circumstance of glorious war!

So I say bring on the pride, pomp and circumstance. Not just for the aesthetics, but because ceremony is something. Because man is more than matter, he is enlivened by the breath of God, and because our ceremonies on earth reflect, if imperfectly, the order of heaven.

Congratulations to the proud graduates, especially Elizabeth.

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