2nd Wind, July 2002
"It's easy to get a reputation for wisdom. It's only necessary to live long, spend little and do less."
-P.D. James-It's better to have laugh wrinkles than worry warts.
The rooster crows, but the hen delivers the goods.
I've just learned the solution to a 60 year old mystery. George's mother once had a baby duck. I don't remember why or how she acquired this little orphan, but it had adopted her as "Mom" and waddled in her wake around the house. He (or she) was appropriately named Oneduck. We occasionally let Oneduck, still sporting mostly fuzz, sample the great outdoors under supervision, and decided he should have the opportunity to swim. We filled a galvanized tub with water, placed a little ramp, and left it for Oneduck to discover. When we returned a very few minutes later, Oneduck had, indeed, discovered the ramp, had found the water and done what any little duck would do. However, Oneduck had drowned. He was a duck, and he drowned! I've told this story over the years and never found anyone who wasn't as puzzled as I. Then, this month, I read in the Auburn Journal about a class of 2nd graders who watched duck eggs hatch and were raising the babies in the classroom. They mentioned that the children gave the ducklings swimming lessons in a plastic wading pool, but monitored them to see the little ones didn't drown. Also, I quote: "Students such as Samantha Erickson know that ducklings do not make their own oil to coat their feathers in order to stay afloat in ponds and lakes. Erickson explained that at this young stage of their lives, the ducks depend on their mother to do that for them.".... from the mouth of a 2nd grader. Higher education, it's wonderful!
The name "Oneduck" reminds me of a columnist in the Auburn paper. She is the retired editor and has written a weekly column for years which always included their dogs (Great Danes), sheep, wild birds, etc., but never cats. She recently moved from the country to town and the last of the dogs had died. She was resigned, at her admitted advanced age, to no replacement. Then, one morning, a hungry grey cat appeared on her doorstep. She said, "Oh, No!" This was a persistent and insistent moocher, who has now worked her way into the house and is teaching the owner that cats are....well, CATS. At last report, Oh No! is well entrenched and we are getting interesting columns about the education the author is receiving.
I have a small "cathedral" clock which was a free gift with something I ordered a year ago. Recently, when I changed batteries, I discovered, in addition to the standard two small batteries, it had a puzzling isolated third battery. I decided to change them all, just to be sure. On the hour, it started playing a tinny electronic tune, then adding dainty little "ping, ping, pings," with the number of pings presumably cueing me in as to the hour. Unfortunately, at three o'clock, it plays "Fur Elise," then merrily ping ten times. Whereas, at eleven, it can be "Home Sweet Home" with three pings. I have the choice of memorizing the combinations or going back to looking at a clock. Looking wins.
Friend Ruby has another suggestion about the mystery aircraft Beth, Ed and Evan saw. She writes, "I have a friend who worked on a research project at an aircraft plant. They worked on a black plane shaped like that and were not even to discuss it with their husband or wife. They have a plane called "Stealth" out like that now. It's flat, triangular and black, so I really believe they saw one of those. They are still in the research stage...not many being made because of cost." I was, of course, aware of the Stealth Bomber, but the thing I question is the total lack of sound. That is the universal report in UFO sightings. Has our technique come that far?
Many funny things happen that for self preservation purposes (mine) are better not put in print. As we've laughed over some of them, Diana has suggested I should write a Post Mortem "tell all" 2nd Wind, to be published after my demise. That's tempting. The people who know me can start worrying.
A news story of a lady stung multiple times by a colony of bees reminded me of this month's re-run, first told in '77: "George's lifelong friend, Jack, was a big amiable man with a sly sense of humor. He can convincingly look as innocent as a boy soprano unless you happen to notice the twinkle in his eye. The family had moved to a new home in the country. In the pasture next door, Jack's mother noticed bee hives. She, who would have certainly flunked basic Child Psychology, told pre-school age, white knicker-clad Jack, 'Don't go near those white boxes, and WHATEVER YOU DO, don't kick them.' As soon as Mama went in the house, Jack shinnied through the fence and started carefully approaching the hitherto unnoticed boxes. And, once near one, unable to resist the idea implanted by Mama, hauled his foot back and gave one a mighty 'Whump.' The results were predictable, but further aggravated due to the elastic banded white knickers. He discovered what every landlord knows. It's easier to get new tenants than to evict them. In his seventies, Jack still has a clear memory of that lesson in cause and effect."
Speaking of evictions, Beth finally got tired of arriving home to find hungry cats, and a kitchen with muddy raccoon footprints. The freeloader would clean out all the dry cat food before the weekend was over. Beth is so soft hearted toward animals it hurt her to cut him off, but she's also aware we are advised not to feed the wildlife. So she covered up the cat door. Her cats are aware of a high bathroom window, partially open, and love the challenge of entering and exiting there. If Mr. Raccoon does discover that, it will be interesting, as Beth's bed is between that window and the cat food.
If you're going to evict anything, try evicting a frown. Even putting on a faked smile can raise you spirits. Better yet, don't let the frown take up residency in the first place.
Peace, Darlys
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Thelma has been my right hand "man" for longer than I can remember. She is a yard sale devotee and has a great eye for picking up old, and unique, items. This spring our woman's group had a fashion show with the majority of the vintage garments furnished by Thelma. She recently loaned me a book, published in 1916, After Dinner Stories. I'm going to lift humor from that book to show you a good story never dies. Some of these are now circulating in E-mail, 86 years later. I remember hearing my dad telling a version of the first one in the twenties. Note, also, the quaint language, which I have copied verbatim.
"An old mountaineer who had never seen an oyster in his lifetime was told there was no food so invigorating and rejuvenating as raw oysters, whereupon he decided to go down into a town in the valley and treat himself to a dozen of the luscious bivalves. As he stood at the raw bar watching a man opening the oysters he was not very favorably impressed with their slimy appearance, and said to the bar attendant. 'Say, mister, I'll jist take one of them garl darn critters to try fust befo' you open more - jist put one o' em on dis plate.' A few minutes later a sporty townsman, who had a slight acquaintance with the mountaineer, came into the place and saw the latter gazing contemplatingly, but with a very wry and disgusted expression, at the big oyster on his plate. 'What's the matter, Hiram, why so contemplative?' 'Oh, nawthin', drawled Hiram, 'only I can't eat this oyster.' 'You can't eat that oyster, Hiram,' rejoined the other, laughing boisterously; 'why, it's the easiest thing in the world to swallow a raw oyster; come, let me show you how to do it.' And, suiting the action to the word, he speared the oyster with a fork and in one gulp it was gone. 'Now, then, there's the way to do it,' he remarked. 'Well, by Heck!' groaned the Rube, 'ef I only had your stomick I mought do that too; but, by Heck, I had that critter down three times and every time it came up again.'"
A version of this one has been recent E-mail fodder: "A young lady who was casting around to get a good second hand piano at a bargain, advertised as follows. 'Wanted - a nice piano by a young lady with mahogany legs.'"
This one was in 2nd Wind not long ago. I thought it was new, but here it is as old as I am: "Two boys were spending the Christmas holidays with their grandmother. One night they were saying their prayers, and one boy vociferated his petitions to the Heavenly Throne in a voice that could be heard a mile. He was telling Divine Providence what he wanted for Christmas, and his enthusiasm in the cause got on his brother's nerves. 'What are you praying for Christmas presents so loud for?' interrupted the other boy. 'The Lord ain't deaf.' 'No, whispered the prayerful one, 'but Grandma is.'"
A version of this one still circulates: "A number of lawyers were doing nothing one day when an old Hoosier came into the tavern and said he would like to have dinner. The landlord told him he should dine when the gentlemen were done eating. 'Let him dine with us,' whispered one of the lawyers, 'and we shall have some fun with him.' The Hoosier took his seat at the table. 'You were born in this country?' said one. 'Yes, sir, I was born in Indianny.' 'Is your father living?' 'No, sir, he's dead.' 'What was his occupation?' 'Trading horses.' 'Did your father ever cheat anyone while here?' 'I suppose he did cheat many, sir.' 'Where do you suppose he went to?' 'To heaven, sir.' 'Has he cheated anyone there?' 'He has cheated one, I believe.' 'Why did that man not prosecute him?' 'Because he searched the kingdom of heaven and couldn't find a lawyer.'"
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