2nd Wind, September 2002
Friendship improves happiness and abates misery
by doubling our joy and dividing our grief.
Diana has moved. At the new apartment, the maintenance man put up some shelves for her. After he left, she discovered he'd left his stud finder. (For the carpentry untutored, this is a small tool for locating the upright wall supports in order to have a solid surface in which to drive a nail.) Diana popped the stud finder into her purse to return to the office. Meantime, she went to a Bingo game and, when searching for something in her purse, laid the stud finder on the table. One of the ladies asked, "What's that?" Says Diana, "A stud finder." This drew the instant attention of more females. An eager voice from across the table said, " Does it really work?" Obviously, the ladies weren't thinking of carpentry. (For my overseas friends: the word "Stud," in slang, means a very masculine man. Isn't the English language great?)
Long time friend, Ruby, on the occasion of her 79th birthday wrote a story for her family, telling of her trip EAST in a covered wagon when she was six weeks old. The farmers of Oklahoma had such a poor year her dad knew he had to move on. He sold the farm and household goods in order to buy a covered wagon and make the trip. Friends who had already moved to Nashville, Tennessee were encouraging him to follow. Two uncles went ahead by train, got jobs and rented a house. So, with her parents, the two aunts and Grandma they set out. Her dad had never traveled except to cross the Red River into Texas, so this was a major leap of faith. It was the adventure of his life and he loved to tell about it. Ruby, of course, doesn't remember the trip but heard about it many times. She says, "In the morning, they got up early, and while Mother took care of me, Jeff (her dad) made a fire and Grandma made hot biscuits in a big Dutch oven. Jeff also took care of the team. We traveled 20 miles a day. Along the way we stopped at farms and Jeff worked for food for us and the team. The women would wash all the bedding and clothes. They rested up, cleaned the wagon and washed their hair. At night they visited with the families where we were staying and, refreshed in body and spirit, we were on our way again. Jeff told me one night during a terrible lightning and thunderstorm, rain just pouring down, the team stopped and would not go. It was pitch black. He couldn't figure what was wrong. He felt his way alongside the horses, got in front of the wagon and fell off into a big washout in the road, filled with water. He was so frightened, but backed the team up and pulled up in front of a little country store that was closed and stayed there until daylight.
"One day they were traveling in Arkansas and were looking for a road into Arkadelphia. Jeff saw a farmer sitting on a wood fence and asked him if he knew the way to Arkadelphia. The fellow said he didn't know. So he asked him how far to the next town and he said he didn't know. So he asked him where the road we were on went and he said he didn't know. Jeff said, "Well, what do you know?' and the fellow said, "Well. I know I'M not lost.'" The trip took three months.
I hadn't realized anyone had traveled by covered wagon within my lifetime. Two years after Ruby's trip, we drove from Nevada to Ohio in a 1921 Dodge touring car. The "Interstate" of 1925 was a two lane dirt road, and in Missouri it was two ruts through mud. Heaven help you if your wheels left the ruts. One really bad mudhole was in an area that otherwise was fairly driveable. We had to walk to the farmhouse, which was near, and have the farmer, for a fee, pull us through with his team of mules. When we got to the next town we were asked, with a laugh, if we'd had to be pulled through the mudhole. It seemed the farmer towed people by day and hauled water by night to maintain his mud gold mine.
We carried a tent, army cots, khaki wool army blankets (WWI surplus) and a Sterno alcohol stove. Canvas water bags were our only refrigeration. A flat tire had to be patched and changed on the spot. My mother later made a bathrobe out of two of the army blankets (cot size). The result was warm, scratchy and unbelievably ugly (plus it never wore out) but those were the days when a preacher's pay was quite uncertain. You used what you had. For the trip, my mother and I wore khaki knickers. I still can't believe my mother did that. Ladies of that time wore dresses...long ones. Girls, however, were kicking up their heels in the flapper era.
We drove home through the south, touring Civil War battlefields. When it rained there was the rush to put up the isinglass side curtains that snapped together. By the time they were up, the rain usually had stopped and we were already wet. In New Mexico we outran a tornado...an experience I never wanted to repeat. The desert sands near Indio, CA were as treacherous as the Missouri mud....two tracks through deep sand.
I had forwarded to friend Alice (not our webmaster...another Alice) an exchange between a government agency and a property owner who was advised he had an illegal dam on his property, not built to government standards. For lack of space I can't quote the whole thing, but the property owner"s answer, in part. He starts by telling the Department of Environmental Quality that it is a couple of beavers who have built the dam. "While I did not pay for, authorize nor supervise their dam project, I think they would be highly offended that you call their skillful use of natural building materials "debris.' I would like to challenge your department to attempt to emulate their dam project any time and/or any place you choose. I believe I can safely state there is no way you could ever match their dam skills, their dam resourcefulness, their dam ingenuity, their dam persistence, their dam determination and/or their dam work ethics.
"As to your request, I do not think the beavers are aware that they must first fill out a dam permit prior to the start of this type of dam activity. My first dam question is (1) Are you trying to discriminate against my Spring Pond beavers or (2) do you require all beavers throughout this state to conform to said dam request?" He goes on to suggest that the dam case better be tried before the suggested date in January as the Spring Pond beavers will be under the ice by then and there will be no way for the dam government staff to contact/harass them.
A few days after forwarding that gem, I got a letter from Alice, who lives among the redwoods and nature's plenty. "We just received a very official letter from the Head gentleman of the Calif. Fish and Game Dept. requesting permission from all adjacent property owners to allow the Dept. field people to study Palmer Creek below us to determine the status of the Coho Salmon. When we recovered from our helpless laughter---it seems the field personnel were going to conduct the study by snorkeling the creek. Number one, we have never HAD Coho salmon; we have kings, silvers and an occasional Chinook. Number two, Palmer Creek runs maybe one half inch deep between the old tires, refrigerators and car bodies. I seriously doubt one could get their head entirely wet in Palmer Creek. We are going to request that they tell us the date they are planning this study so we can watch. We shudder to think what will be spent on this venture, but it will be good to see our license dollars at work."
I saw a wonderful group of young musicians on PBS. I enjoy classical music, but am also quite flexible in my musical appreciation, as long as there is melody or harmony...or, even better, both. Watching them prompted me to resurrect a memory from an earlier 2nd Wind. In the sixties, when Beth and John were teen age newlyweds, I would cringe when John proclaimed himself a musician. That was before I had become accustomed to "yell, pound and gyrate." I had no objections to the kids branching out, but I wished there was another name for it than "music." One time we went to a church picnic and John took his guitar, which was fortunate. During the afternoon he had to go to the rest room. When he emerged, he was walking very carefully with a strategically placed guitar clutched in front of him. He confided that his ailing zipper had refused to rise. He spent the rest of the afternoon sitting, supposedly to play the guitar. I thought it was fortunate his choice of instrument hadn't been the piccolo.
May your troubles be small enough that a piccolo will cover them.
Shalom, Darlys
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The Sunday School teacher asked the children in her class, "If I sold my house and my car, had a big garage sale, and gave all the money to the church, would I get into heaven? "NO!" all the children answered. "If I cleaned the church every day, mowed the yard and kept everything neat and tidy, would I get to heaven?" Again the answer was, "NO!" Well, she continued, "then how can I get to heaven?" A five year old boy shouted, "You gotta be dead."
HO! HO! HO! "I was taking a shower when my 2 yr. old son came into the bathroom and wrapped himself in toilet paper. Although he made a mess, he looked adorable, so I ran for my camera and took a few shots. They came out so well I had copies made and included one with each of our Christmas cards. Days later, a relative called, laughing hysterically, and suggested I take a closer look at the picture. Puzzled, I stared at the photo and was shocked to discover that in addition to my son, I had captured my reflection in the mirror wearing nothing but a camera." -Name Withheld-
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