We're Changing

We’re changing!
Like the family who found out
Their boy was actually a girl
We’re changing!

Like the warrior who found out
There was no one left to kill
We’re changing!

Like the drunk who found out
The urinal was broken
We’re changing!

“History Tourists” sounds so...tourist.

So evocative of brown shoes with black slacks, of knee high black socks with beige shorts, of sticky, stinky, sweaty wet socks with open sandals.

But I go on, and I’ve only started with fashion, not my strong suit. Wait till you see me in the hot sun wearing black shorts, a black tee shirt, and white sneakers.

The attempt to appear as benign as possible to authorities, despite our mutual desire to visit some of the dark places southern california has to offer, is what drove me to embrace the appellation “History Tourists.” All my other choices: seekers, trekkers, trippers, buffs, fanatics, were already taken. Thus, “History Tourists” became the first choice for an association of history enthusiasts.

But, not happy with the “History Tourists” moniker and willing to change, my days and nights were spent striving to find something new, all the while bedridden and fighting a terrible stomach flu. As my digestion system raged at the moon and the sewers below reaped my bounty, my fevered mind thought of nothing but history, architecture, and cemeteries.

The Greek and Roman mythologies were considered. Their philosophers as well.

The works of Shakespeare were considered.

The few classical options proved too archaic, regional, or difficult to spell for a web name.

But we’re not to be just a web group. We’re on the move. We can exist in the warm light of day promenading on enormous lawns filled with stones, on a cloudy day discovering the different rooms in an old adobe, or on the wet concrete floor of a mausoleum basement finding that long lost grave in the chilling cold.

“An association of history enthusiasts,” I reflected. We will be a body of enthusiasts: enthusiasts, excursionists, jaunters, buffs, buddies, buds and pals, folks, fans, fanatics, and even rats. Yes, “history rats.” I considered it.

“Enthusiasts, excursionists, jaunters, buffs, buddies, buds and pals, folks, fans, fanatics, and rats,” I considered. The use of the word “amblers” might have produced a successful choice, but it’s too Spielberg to me. Not that that’s a bad thing, just too Arizona. Not that that’s a bad thing. I’d like to return to Tombstone someday, perhaps do the Billy the Kid self-tour in New Mexico. But Southern California will be the home base. There’s a lot to see locally and still be able to get home for “60 Minutes.”

To the list of possibilities: “enthusiasts, excursionists, jaunters, buffs, buddies, buds and pals, folks, fans, fanatics, and rats,” I added RAMBLERS. Thus, I divined “History Ramblers.”

“Ramblers, History Ramblers.”

The name proved to be available.

No, we’re not a band. We’re not a cowboy organization. We’re not a line of automobiles.

(I loved those cars. I didn’t have one. But the Ford Falcon I had briefly, until I hit a bump in the road in Long Beach and sent the fan into the radiator, looked similar.) But, I go on.

“Ramblers, History Ramblers.”

No, we’re not a band. We’re not a cowboy organization. We’re not a line of automobiles

We’re ramblers, history ramblers, the History Ramblers.

Smile.

We’re changing.